Wednesday, October 26, 2016


I woke up to Emma jumping off the bed.  Too tired to take her out, I mumbled, "Not now," as she pulled at the covers. I peered at the blurry clock.  Still four hours of sleep left.

She began sniffing around the room like a bloodhound.

"Go to sleep!"

As she settled on the floor, I reached down to rustle her fur. My hand landed on cold, clamy skin. That's strange, I thought, already halfway asleep.

She started breathing asthmatically; short crackly breaths.


She barked her response from the hallway.

I froze as something tugged at the covers.

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