She loves me. She loves me not. I pick and drop pink petals and she chews them eagerly, so what’s that mean?
Meanwhile he… Well he’s brought a dead squirrel, not flowers, and no kind of head. Sadly, they say that’s pure devotion.
She loves me I know, and waits for whatever I’ll give, while he gives gifts with love. But I guess I should follow that brown-blood trail that was red and I might find the head, what’s left of it.
And if the dog finds it first she’ll probably eat it.
Kitten and puppy: They both love me.