Pure happiness to me is a tiny Raisin Aioli interrupting my phone scrolling with a plethora of heavenly, needy and rather pathetic sounding mews, throwing her weight around on my open bust until she lands tippy toes first with her hind side tallest in the air- smelling like a light whisp of salmon oil and salty McDonalds French fries. And she’ll continue to cry when your fingertips caress the rigid wrinkles that contracted across her back, just at her thought of being touched at that exact spot. Her hip bones dancing side to side.
There’s no other love quite like love from Miss McGoo
The Human Healer’s Stories 