I pull out Not-Tag’s stuffing. Carefully I fill her with my paintings, hiding them so Mack won’t sell them. She’s large, bigger than Bob, but I still have to crumple a few of them.
Bob tries to settle on her for a nap. “You’ve killed her,” he complains.
“I had to,” I say.
“I miss your stomach,” Bob admits. “It’s so … spacious.”
When Julia arrives, she notices that I’ve used up my paints and paper. “Wow.” Julia shakes her head. “You are one serious artist, Ivan.”