Select drop cap for first letter of story. But an odor of arrested decay has replaced the smells of my childhood. The house of my youth is decorated with death.
Stuffed creatures fill the rooms.
We stand entranced, almost touching. Mom and I are going to London to see him. Liverwurst on rye. Mom puts the sandwich and a glass of milk on the dining room table. Then I see the cat I grew up with is the centerpiece.