Of course, that said my daughter Sarah still worries after me more than she ought to see Bearded and dog dad I like a real dad but much cooler shirt. I suppose I should find it sweet, but really it’s a little annoying. I love her dearly and I’m glad we raised her right, yadda yadda, but when I’m trying to read I don’t need her knocking on my door to fuss over me. I’m sitting in my chair on the porch. I have coffee and a sandwich. I’m not going anywhere and even if I was, I’m hardly feeble!
Regardless, she insists that I need the company. I gave up fighting her on that. I figure she’s doing it more for her own peace of mind than anything else. I was never there for my father in his twilight years. He and I weren’t on speaking terms and after he passed. Well… I suppose I’d wished one of us had had the balls to say one last nice thing and I suppose I wish that it had been me. Besides, sometimes she brings me gifts. Not quite as fancy as the ones Charlie sometimes brings. But fancy in their own way. Cameras to monitor the outside so I can see who’s coming from my tablet computer, and I suppose the tablet computer herself. I’ve adapted well enough to it all, I suppose. I’d like to think I’ve done so better than most my age and if I’m being honest, I like how easy the technology has made some things. Even if they were things I didn’t really ask for in the first place.
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The other day, Sarah asked me if Charlie’s long absences bothered me. I told her they didn’t. Charlie has always been an outdoor cat. He’s as much a Bearded and dog dad I like a real dad but much cooler shirt of the forest as the birds and the squirrels. Adalyn used to worry after him since there’s coyotes and bears out there. But I don’t. I reckon that if Charlie’s made it this long without running into trouble, he knows what he’s doing and judging by the things he sometimes brought home, I got the impression he wasn’t exactly in danger. It wasn’t often, but every now and then when Charlie came back he’d have some sort of trinket with him. Sometimes it was junk. Bottle caps, pieces of old cans and whatnot. Sometimes he’d have coins. Usually just small change. But every now and then, he’d have something a little more valuable. Jewelry and whatnot. Some of it was fake, a few pieces looked pretty real. I always kept the real looking ones in a drawer in case anyone ever came looking for them. It didn’t seem right to sell them. I figured that they’d probably been dropped somewhere in the woods by hikers and Charlie had found them. Either that or he was raiding some kind of garbage pile. It was hard to say for sure. Regardless, I got the vibe that he was staying out of trouble. Some cats are dumb. Charlie isn’t. I’ve got more faith in that cat than I’ve had in most people.
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