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Blowing Bubbles

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Hand in hand, we walk to the store. We have nothing in particular to get at the store. We just like holding hands and walking to the store.

Along the way, the neighbor’s cat appears. It knows us from our many journeys to the store. We stop to pet it until it has had enough and leaves to do whatever cats do when they have had enough petting.

Elliana asks me, "Does the cat like me?"

"The cat loves you, dear," I tell her, "but not as much as I love you!"

We get to the store. Today she wants bubbles, so we get bubbles because that is the way it works between her and me. We get back to our home. She doesn’t live there, but I do, so it is her home also. We spend an hour or two taking turns blowing bubbles and popping bubbles until all the bubbles are gone.

"Papa, can we get some more bubbles," she asks?

"Of course we can, darling," I tell her. We set off again, hand in hand, to walk to the store.

She asks me, "Will we see the cat?"

"I don’t know, sweetheart," I tell her. "If we do, though, we will stop to pet it."

"I love the cat," she tells me, "but I love you more than the cat."

I wipe a tear from my cheek.

"Are you crying, Papa," she asks me?

"No," I tell her. "I just got some dust in my eye."

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