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The Monster attacks, mercilessly, attempting to maul my face. It’s not her fault. She thinks she’s starving, though she ate mere hours ago. She longs for the days when she was fed steak, bacon, bread. Now she eats salted rocks and is expected to be happy.

The Monster finally allows herself to be shoved to the bottom of the bed. Oh well, she’ll just sniff the cat’s butt now.