“Can’t say I blame her.” “A suitcase is no kind of home for a lady!” Emmy exclaims, fanning herself like a southern belle. “I guess she just got comfortable in there,” I muse. Of course, that was before I knew about Goodwill. I liked imagining them finding new families and kids to play with. I can still remember Wainwright explaining to nine-year-old me that they’d gone to foster care, too. My grammy bought me many more-Doggy the Dog, Findango, Corduroy-If-You-Please, and Sullen Moomelstein, to name a few. Wishful thinking, I guess.” “I know! You haven’t even taken out Fancypaws!” That’d be Ms.įancypaws McKittenfluff, my sole remaining stuffed animal from a childhood menagerie. Two weeks back and I haven’t emptied my suitcase yet. “You going to the art course with me this morning?” she mumbles into Minnie’s ear. Emmy finally tosses the tennis ball away and curls around her Minnie Mouse pillow. A couple of those did involve legal issues on my end, but the others? Finances, leases running out-heck, one of my families got deported two weeks after I moved in. Sometimes things don’t work out, and things just didn’t work out for me. It’s not like I have any major horror stories to tell-nobody hit me, or starved me, or touched me. I’ve been with five-count ’em, five-families in five years since Grammy died, and I’ve spent as much time in the Center as I have in homes. I seem to be covered in nail polish remover or something. The lucky kids stick to their foster families.
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May 2023
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