“Fine, here I come.” I mumbled, picking up Beetle, knowing Popeye would follow. Beetle was my cat, jet black except for the tips of his ears, which were white. Popeye had been mom's dog. A little black pug, that had latched to me as soon as he had realized Mom wasn't coming back. He'd taken it as hard as we had it almost seemed, complaining and whining, waiting for her.
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