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Between brain damage and memory loss and debilitating pain and my rustyness in dealing with others, I didn't have the patience to deal with a small child of any species. But Minx was special. Oh, not in that "everyone thinks their cat is special" way. No, she would sit and watch, her eyes carefully attentive, and learn. She learned how to communicate her needs and wishes through physical gestures and distinctly pitched mewls. She learned how to help me with my day, waking me up when I found it difficult and helping me to sleep when that was difficult as well. She helped me regain my focus when I lost it to things such as brain-damage-induced dementia episodes, and reminded me when it was time to eat.
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But, she wasn't just an ever-present shoulder to lean on. She was a curious, eager troublemaker, always looking for attention, always wanting to play games, go on walks, play fetch, and more. From hating my broken body, I came to appreciate that there were still physical things I could do, things that were meaningful in ways I hadn't considered before. I was given the ability to connect to a world which extend beyond just physical therapy and medical appointments, and found that struggling to regain self-sufficiency had become a far more manageable endeavor with the safe haven of stability to come home to that she provided. She is a blessing, and even now, I find myself lost when I'm too long away from her.
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He sighed once again, scrubbing his face with one grease-stained hand while studying the pouting child before him. Or at least, it was the safest thing to say. He glanced back at Mary. Dean winced along with John this time. He reached down over the back of the chair and lifted Dean up, turning the child before resting him onto his hip. Dean stared up at his daddy, his eyes red and puffy, nose still leaking and pout working overtime. Mary, her back to the men, let out a sharp hmmph, as if she had fully expected that declaration from her toddler. He quickly exited the kitchen, carrying Dean down the short hallway and into the living room. John shoved aside a teddy bear and some plastic cars on the couch to make room for himself and then took a seat.
Dean cuddled in his lap, one pudgy thumb finding its way into his mouth as he stared back at John with wide, bright eyes. John gave his son a long, calculated look.
Dean popped his thumb out of his mouth long enough to answer. Child logic working here, John. John gently pulled Dean back so he could look him in the eye. He reached back to rub his little denim-clad rear.