No sorrow is small
Tonight we lost our second pet mouse in three days. The first one I could weather with some stoicism, but two... No. I've grown attracted to those small critters. They're dumb as a glove, sleep all day, and make a huge rattle at night ("Quiet as a mouse", they say? Not true.), but shit... They grow on you. She loves them, and so do I, I now realize.
I really liked those brown small sisters. I really did. I like the rest of them, too. Just... no more deaths for a while. Okay?
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