I took a seat in the rocker next to the table and reached over to pet the orange Maine Coon cat now perched next to Uncle George’s urn. “Hi, there, Apollo.” I gave the lion-looking cat a scratch on his head. He allowed it with an imperious look and a heavy blink of his orange eyes. “Where are Hera and Persephone?” “Hunting, I presume. They like to bring Apollo dead mice and squirrels, proving their value as his concubines.” Smiling against the lip of the glass, I swallowed a sip before saying, “Aren’t they all fixed?” She huffed a laugh. “That don’t make no difference. He still thinks he’s
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I love you aunt lucille and your cats and your cats names and how they act like mine LMAO
