Frowning at her friend, Regina said, “Tillie, what’s wrong? For several weeks now you’ve been more lethargic and surly than that silly cat.”
Ms. Pickles gave a defiant lift of her head and step-hopped over to rub against Tillie’s shin.
“Damnable feline,” Regina said. “I still can’t believe I let you talk me into keeping that filthy flea bag.”
“She’s a sweet kitty.” Tillie gave the cat an affectionate scratch. “The only one with sand in her knickers around here is you.”
“Quit avoiding the question. Since Annabelle’s been here you’ve been sleeping more and more, and your skin is the color of oatmeal. And if you get sick, I’ll be stuck with my useless cousin and that idiotic fur ball for companionship.”