“Quince, dear?”
Imogen beckoned the other woman with a gentle voice. Her stroodle, Annie, rested in her lap as Imogen stroked through her strawberry-pink fur, the imp unbothered by the hullabaloo around them. Imogen’s face crinkled up a bit as she watched Quince attempt to wrangle in a cribbit with her large hands.
Distantly, as Quince turned around with a, “Gotcha!...