November 24th, 1972
Aunt Cat leaves with Bill and Anita; she to get her hair done, they to sightsee.
The door slams behind Aunt Cat. Panic slashes across the poodle dog Gypsie’s face. Alone. Aunt Cat has left her alone. Whimpering she dashes about the room. Groaning– trembling. She is sitting beside me now weeping. After a fashion. I console her by speaking gently. Her fear– but not her grief is diminished only slightly. Although sensitive to the authenticity of her agony– I am only slightly moved.
Can a sentient Godhead be any more genuinely concerned with the wailing of his human creatures?