Yeah, Dude,
 
This is Ping is He.
 
I haven't been writing much lately.  My he-hoomin's Mom has a
litter-mate, Uncle Bobby.  He's come to live with us in the apartment
downstairs.
 
He's very sick.  Very sick.  Puma and I smelled at the little crack under
the door that keeps the bad downstairs dog away from us that well...
Uncle Bobby isn't going to get better.  Hoomins say that "animals know
these things" and they are right.  Dude, we do.  Uncle Bobby isn't going
to get better.
 
Our hoomins smell very sad.  They don't play with us much, right now, but
we understand.  Hoomins have never learned all the important things about
living and dying that we brothers and sisters in fur know.  It's sad,
really.
 
I'd love to roll with you on the green carpet, and protect you from
birds.  (That's what those flying things are.)
 
Soon, things here will be better, and Uncle Bobby won't hurt anymore.
 
P. is He
[Posted in FML issue 5251]