There’s a Cozy in my pocket and I find comfort in that.
Odd? Yes. It is me, after all.
Nevertheless, lugging an active, growing manuscript around everywhere I go brings me contentment, a weird sense of the future being in my possession.
So, I will lean on my Cozy as I tote my furry, four-legged muse off to the vet for her yearly checkup. She’s 16 ¼ years old so my worry fiend is drooling.
And try not to be devoured by the fiend.