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  • She would always beg my attention. Biting at my beard and nose till I stopped what I was doing and addressed her. I always stopped; always gave her my time.

    She appeared one day. She was in my room, with some food and a litter box. No note; no explanation. It's as though she was always there, as though she belonged. White Chocolate Thunder was a name that fit about as well as she did.

    She was Siamese. Her coat was cream, her boots: coffee, her eyes a deep spring.

    The first night was miserable. She had never been away from her mother. Even back then she begged my attention in very similar ways. Clawing at my face and nipping at my cheeks for attention. Sleep was impossible. I was never angry; even then I needed her as much as she needed me.

    I grew. I left; left her.
    I guess I didn't need her anymore. Only in not needing do I appreciate those bites; long for her presence. Was she really the one begging my attention?
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