one of our cats (the one in the pic, where he sleeps on the laundry, as was his custom) got killed by falling snow and ice from the rooftop. now the farm is un-catted, cat-less, bereft of a noble hunter.
i was born in the past century. i tried the living fast, but i failed to die young. from all the choices of study before me, i chose linguistics and languages. i am a stranger here, on this earth, on my way to seek my eternal home.
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