San Francisco, January 27 2015
Four days ago after writing I didn’t know what to do about Mister Moore, the latter woke up grumbling.
In the meantime I had already called 911, saying my name was Dory, the housekeeper.
It is funny to see how much this incident has affected him.
I heard him talking about letting me go outside, and saying that he would never let anyone taking me away from him.
Is this what we call love ?
I’m happy to believe so. He also said I was all he got left.
But what I don’t understand is « what » am I for him.
We don’t look alike, so I don’t think I’m his daughter and he is too young to be my Grand Dad.
Dory and I looked a bit alike, but I’m not sure we were related, but if we were not, and if I’m not related to Mister Moore, where are my parents ?
I’m back upstairs, so he kept his word, but I’m still not allowed to go to the window yet. I’m sure it will come.
He is changing. I can feel it.
I need to prepare the supper