I used to throw him up in the air, making him smack on the cottage cheese ceiling hard enough that a fine dusk would sprinkle down. I thought that he was real, and that if I jarred him enough, he would stop the charade and his glass eyes would come to life, his little nose would moisten and suck in a breath, and his furry little body would warm with the blood that I was convinced flowed through him. I was always disappointed when it didn't work. Read more >
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