Maka is persistent.
We have been struggling with, really suffering with, the unimaginable cold and discomfort of winter for what, four or five months now? A maddeningly, torturous hell.
Still, when I descend the stairs in the morning, Maka saunters over to the sliding glass doors hoping I will let her out on to the screened in porch. Her favorite place to be in the entire world.
I had to jolt her back to reality yet again this morning, and it pained me to do it, with these words:
"Sorry, Little One. It's fucking winter."
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