“I ask for so little,” Avra said. “Yet when you deign to kick a stale, moldy heel of bread to me, you simply walk away and leave me to fight off all the alley possums before I can eat even one crumb of a nibble. You don’t even care that I have developed mange. You don’t even care that the possums are exploiting me! You could just hand me the moldy crust of bread instead of wrapping it around a rock and kicking it at me—”
