She seems to be hanging around the bin of kitty litter at the pet store, waiting for someone to talk to, or maybe I just have one of those faces that make people feel like opening up.
"So he's a dwarf," she says, showing me a picture of an enormous, resigned-looking tabby with stubby legs in a Santa Claus costume, "which means that he can't clean himself."
She tabs through the pictures on her phone, continuing, "He really looks like Garfield, only handsomer, don't you think?"
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