They are the only ones who always love me. I am the only one who always loves them.  Three fuzzy children with little tails and floppy ears, like one another. Three who were brought here but aren’t from here. Three soft little babies placed in our hands.  From our rooms, we can hear them whimper, but Lily just sleeps and doesn’t realize these noises.

Their love is unconditional. They send sweet kisses from all around. They begin young and they get old and give kisses with their soft tongues and nudge you with their wet noses and never stop their snuggles. This is how they love.

Let one not forget their reason for being, or they’d cry like a whistling willow tree in the wind, each limb around the other. Mine, Mine, Mine they say when I sleep. They love.

When I am too sad and too lost to keep going, when I am a little girl against such a big world, then it is I go to my three fuzzy children. When there is nothing left to go to in this home. Three who loved despite pitty. Three who love and do not forget to love. Three whose only reason is to be my family.