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“Does that feel good?” the humans always ask. “I’m still here aren’t I?”, I respond with my eyes.
Gumby? He sleeps with the fishes.
Happy birthday, Mackenzie!
Noticed that the pantry door, where my food is kept, is wide open. Mood: Conflicted.
The humans have gotten into this nasty habit of breaking my treats in half. Their snack portions have not decreased proportionally. Developing…
I have an imaginary friend named I-just-chewed-up-your-slipper-now-deal-with-it.
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