I am sore (four) years old. Mamma is writing this sor (for) me, as
I can not write. I have a white kitty with a black nose; mamma will
tell you his long name (Don Tomosa Felini Blackernosa, or
Backernoisa, as little four-year-old always calls him). I sit on a
cushion at the table. This morning kitty sat on the same cushion by
me, but he did not take any of my breakfast. Kitty has his supper
on the soar (floor). Jack (our little Skye terrier) sleeps with
kitty on a carpet chair. Jack bit the baby kitten (sister to Don)
because she took his meat. Brother Bertie buried the little kitten.
The kitten's mamma got shot in her paw. She was so sick we gave the
baby kitty a little bottle with milk in it, and a little piece of
sponge in it, so kitty could drink; she put both her little sont
(front) paws on the bottle when she took the milk. It cried and ran
after mamma when it was hungry. I like "Toby Tyler."