Boxes

Hey.

It’s me again. Dad finally let me do this again. I think he’s jealous that people liked my writing better than his. He’s kind of insecure that way. I don’t quite know why, because it’s not that people don’t like his stuff. He’s a decent writer, but compared to my writing?

Come on, Dad… of course people like my writing better. Of course your stuff seems kind of amateurish. I mean…that’s obvious.

So I want to tell you about one of my favorite things (besides food, duh). Boxes. Boxes are almost as awesome as I am. Dad gets them delivered to the house for me. That’s one way I know he loves me. Boxes are my love language. And food. I guess boxes of food would be Toot paradise.

This one has HUMAN food in it. It’s OK, but not like that meaty, juicy SHEBA food I get for lunch.

I’m not sure why Dad doesn’t get boxes for himself. He’s kind of weird. But I love him because he feeds me and buys me boxes.

That’s all I have to say. It is very important. You’re welcome.

Love,

Toot.

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