"Want another piece of chicken? Come on, sit up--here you go. It's good, right? Now, go to your bed and lick the grease off your face. Go on, Muffin, scoot!"
The life of Lois Rawlins, a seventy-three-year-old widow, was devoted to her cats. The moment her swollen feet hit the floor, she tended to her plump babies, with massive amounts of food, endless conversations, and the constant task of letting them in and out. Lois was thrilled when nosy neighbors and her grandchildren stopped by to dote on the seven felines.
Today, her grandson, Ryan, promised to stop by and tend to the flowerbeds. Lois gathered her lunch dishes and placed them in the sink. Her arthritis, asthma, and obesity hindered the everyday duties, but she managed to move around like Montezuma's revenge to clean the place before company arrived. She stumbled on a cat's tail as she bent down to collect the dirty cat dishes from the floor.
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