My tail pulsed with fury when I landed on Jim’s at the bottom of the pile. I didn’t want to read his note. Every pen stroke of his, whether it was crossing the t’s or dotting the i’s, slashed my heart with both ferocious anger and wretched, unwanted affection for the diabolical man who had controlled so much of my human fate. He was always doing questionable things; by now, in the hospital, I interpreted his actions as wrong and inappropriate, but it was too late to stop him, and back then when he might have listened, I had been too young—and too human—to understand the harm the man’s thousand
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