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It wasn’t a terribly small bed—you could fit two people on it—but Copper was a master of the canine art of oozing to fill in all available space.
She’d never liked windows at night. She always had the feeling that if she looked up too quickly, she’d see a face pressed against them.
It was the simple kind of crazy, though, the can’t-cope-anymore crazy, the kind that has you bursting into tears at small setbacks and contemplating your own mortality with sneaking relief. You could fake your way through life with that kind of crazy.
“But that’s over a hundred years old!”
100? Math ain’t mathin’
