Spaceport Rattus Terminus Now Manned.
Loki [of the underbelly white stripes] and Tarvos [of the black hooded specklers]
Arty is dead (died in March). Mr Pickman looks at me with loathing now, as though bringing in two new "kids" is the last thing I need, or he needs. His beady black orbs still beam with love though, if animals love, and he leans into my fingers for attention at certain places along his neck and face, so maybe it isn't all imagined.
Not like the connections I -think- I see or feel with people.
If people were like animals I'd enjoy them more, but they aren't, which just makes me less hopeful and more distant to you.