Since George is now in heaven, Malcom the Neighbor Cat, is compelled to leave treats at my door, really yucky treats.
(His owner sighs with disgust as she walks up our stairs. Apparently she thinks Maggie Rose is the guilty dog, as she doesn't retrieve blood and guts, oh my.)
When I'm not paying attention, carrying in groceries and such, Malcom quietly strolls through our place, only his fluffy tail giving him away from the other side of my sofa.
He's also been know to sit on my door mat, singing the song of his people.
What the heck, Malcom?
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