Like, isn’t it supposed to be 90 something?” Now Shawn was behind me and he replied, “98.6 in Fahrenheit – that’s what you’re thinking abo...t . . .” Shawn approached me again, this time he slipped a finger in the waistband of my underwear and tugged it down a little bit while showing me the thermometer. “You’re 36.6 Centigrade. . .” then, he pushed a button and the number changed, “. . . that’s 97.9 Fahrenheit - questionably low if you’re not feeling well.” Shawn walked back to the counter and. Some of us rush to greet them, some of us stay in the den, I watch the commotion and stay by myself. I am not sure how to proceed with the task of picking a human. I am roughly picked and I resist, biting and squirming. I am put down. My brother is showing off and I watch him charm the human I reject. He is scooped up and seems happy. Tail wagging. Licking. He is gone before we can say goodbye. I hope he has chosen well. Each day passes and another one from our den is gone. Our little brood is. More

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