The boy is up to something. He usually yells and goes running for the lady who puts me back in the see-through box. She puts on yellow gloves first. That’s fine. I don’t want to touch her either.
But this time, I didn’t like the look in the boy’s eyes when he found me in the middle of the den. There was no Mom! Paco’s out again! Mom! Come get the iguana! Nothing. He just crept back out of the room quietly, and he’s been gone for too long.
Where’s the woman? Come to think of it, I haven’t heard her for a while, either. She’s probably off with the one who sleeps over sometimes. The turd. This is what the bigger boy, He Who Feeds Me, calls him under his breath sometimes. He Who Feeds Me was here earlier with the little one, but then the thing in his pocket beeped and chattered and he left without locking my box.