porkyandthemob

Down in the depths of his inner soul he was nothing but a devil. Never did he wish to work for the good of mankind, nor for his nanny. He would let her walk freely across streets without aid and he felt no one should have to rescues poor Squeakers, her orange and white cat, from trees. Stupid cat, it was his own fault. And her heartache over the matter? What heartache? What sadness? Wrinkled and shrunken with age was her appearance; wouldn’t her heart appear the same? It barely thumped, keeping her sluggish and unhurried blood pumping through her tiny, frail frame. Dim witted, the both of them.