I woke up today to the sound of an animal's cries. So immediately, I ran downstairs to discover two microscopically tiny, young-eyed, and entirely squashable puppies. Apparently, a boy discovered them on the street, picked them up, and brought them to our house (my uncle is well known for his love for animals and the animal shelter he opened several years ago).
My grandmother warned me against becoming too close to them, since the likelihood of them remaining with us was small (we already have a young dog my uncle rescued, plus two stray cats, who happen to be pregnant, that we feed). But too late, after spending six hours with these tiny dogs, I am undeniably in love with everything they do (which includes biting my feet, hands, dress, shoes) and as soon as they started whining for me to pick them up and cuddled up to fall asleep on top of my feet, I knew they had become attached to me, too. Dreading the departure.