Are you real?

Part 1: The Holly House

62 and already staying at a senior's house...

Holly grumbles under her breath as she continues crocheting the 5th blanket for her granddaughter's 5th birthday.

Although Holly Meadow was a grumpy old heartless woman, she still put effort into assuring that her family has comfort and birthday presents. It was a tradition she has held for years for the sole selfish reason to make sure they don't stop paying her for her care and her kitty addiction.

The whole kitty addiction thing may be misleading. Holly was not addicted to pussy. Well, she was but not the type attached to a human being. She kept cats. Many. Kept them like trophies. Proud hairless cats shitting and pissing all over the care home and the only consequence she got was less pudding than the other guests. She didn't even have to clean it thanks to the all around care, and the other seniors loved the naked companions so the staff couldn't get rid of the kitties either.

What a blissful old petty lady.

Although Holly had about 3 children, she had never had a husband or was able to keep a man long enough for him to consider her his future. Instead, the children came from adoption homes and foster centres (she needed the extra money from the government to keep feeding her cats), and so the two girls and one boy were the only close family she had, along with their kids ofcourse. The two girls both had beautiful daughters with their husbands, but sadly the boy didn't have any children with his own husband because they couldn't get pregnant (she thinks one of them is infertile and yaps on about it constantly, although her higher education in science, biology was clearly never a strong point).
However, she was happy with the idea of not having a man. No having an extra weight. A freeloader. A dry texter. Someone shit at back massages unlike that one girl she met in her 20s. Oh Angelica. How she missed that name.

It was too bad Angelica and Holly had me in a mental hospital, and she ended up running off with a teenager in a caravan not late after they had first met. Oh poor sweet Angelica with her gorgeous eyes, that worked so hard and sent hand written letters.

Holly groans as she fucks up a stitch pattern and has to redo a whole row. She remembers when she 🧶 for Angelica. The sweater she made for Angelica's crusty white dog.

What a great best friend Angelica had been.
Never anything more. Never anything less.
Best friend.