If Mr. Mokey Robinson was still with us, he would drop the major chill pill on this thread. He showed up one day 13 years ago and lived umpteen lives for all the poor roadkill and shelter victims. He went home last fall before the freeze and I still can't think of him without getting broken up. Call me a baby if you want.
We call her Pinky because her true name would be impossible to tell. She grew up in the pocket of my bathrobe and still thinks that's home.
