The ghost of Ben Franklin appeared above

in calligraphy. It had no stamps or addresses on it, which was confusing because it was in the rest of my mail my brother had picked up on his way to my apartment. After I read it,

I said to my brother "why did you pick this up on your WAY to my apartment? I only wanted the mail that had actually been posted to my apartment! It's probably a felony or somethin

along those lines, a misdemeanor, or what have you." My brother rifled through the stolen mail, tossing the items asunder. "Whatever. Hey, this looks cool." He held out a purple

part of his body that was so unmentionable that my brother couldn't even laugh. I looked at it. I stared at it. I fixated on it. The stolen mail paled in comparison to this.

As a result, Mrs M Spooner didn't receive the invitation to her niece's wedding leading her to leave all her money to her cat, Tootsie. She died and her cat bought herself a replic

ant which closely resembled her now deceased owner, Mrs Spooner. The niece, newly married, nearly fainted when she first saw Tootsie the cat being petted by the robotic hands

of her grandfather. "NO!" She shrieked. She flew her herself hard against the wall in an attempt to regain Tootsie's attention, but he only was only interested in her old grandpa.

This was life in the post everything world...and it took getting used to. Her grandpa felt it too. It was their karma to have Tootsie reborn as a labradoodle puppy. Life was rather

quotidian after that, doing the necessaries, listening to the news and discussing the entertainment of the day, feeding Tootsie snacks when she played with her alphabet blocks.