“Of course, when we got home, we found that Dagda had peed on my down comforter. He had also eaten part of Mom's maidenhair fern and barfed it up on the carpet. Then he had apparently worked himself into a frenzy sharpening his ting by amazingly effective claws on the armrest of my dad's favorite chair. Now he was asleep on a pillow, curled up like a fuzzy little snail. "God, he's so cute," I said, shaking my head.”

“He had curled himself up into a minature sphere in the farthest corner of the box, a fuzzy softball that would have fit eaisly into the palm of my hand.”

“This was the best Thanksgiving we’ve had since Mom died.”I pulled my head up to see his expression. He was smiling, but it was tinged with sadness.“I’m glad I was here to see it.”

“Do you think he's cute?"I rolled my eyes. "He's a god, Mom. Of course he's cute.”

“I was just about to get up when Dad rushed into the kitchen. He was in pajamas, which was totally bizarre. Dad never came down to breakfast until he was completely dressed. Of course, his pajamas even had a little pocket and handkerchief, so maybe he felt dressed.”

“He[Crystal's father] had found my height amusing, referring to me as his "little girl" at every opportunity even though I could see the bald patch on top of his head fringed by curls when we stood side by side.”