MG about Chinese zodiacs and heaven

I’d read plenty of books with talking animals in them, but when I met my first one— a stray looking for heaven— I never imagined she’d be so rude. The cat came on Thursday, a week before Chinese New Year’s. I’d put my baby brother down for an afternoon nap, which he probably needed, but I was, nevertheless, thinking twice about.

Something you’ve got to know about me is that if I had to choose between Grandma’s rattling cough or her humming humidifier, I’d take her coughing because at least I’d know she was alive. Dad told me that if she goes to her room for a nap— even in the middle of the afternoon or the moment I get home from school— let her. She needs her rest. But as I leaned against her bedroom door, the urge to walk in and press my check against hers tugged at me like a dog on a leash.

I whispered “love you,” and pulled the door towards me, leaving a thin line of hall light to leak in. I twisted in my socked feet and entered mine and Benji’s room. We shared now that Grandma lived with us.

I stepped around soft blocks and a pile of unused diapers on my way to his crib. Benji lay on his back, sucking a pacifier, and holding Mr. Oink’s soggy foot in his fist. The plush pig lay on his belly; he had a stained bottom (probably chocolate) and a splitting spine. Grandma once tried to throw him out, but Dad and I blocked the trashcan with waving hands. Mr. Oink was the only toy that quieted his screaming after Mom died.