had gone back to sleep on the futon on the living room floor, which is still our headquarters, I heard him begin to whimper, and I thought, “Go back to sleep, you little shit.” He kept whimpering, like a golden retriever whose feelings you’ve hurt, but he wasn’t really crying, so I didn’t wake up all the way. I kept shushing him and thinking, “You whiny little bugger.” Finally, at least ten minutes later, with total hostility and resentment, I roused myself enough to reach over to rub his back, which sometimes helps him a little—and he wasn’t there! I turned on the light, and he wasn’t
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