Golden Books

In reference to my earlier post about learning to read at age three, please note the cover of that heralded first book:

I just realized the gravity of this title to a young girl who was deathly allergic to cats. So not only did I learn to put a sentence together, I learned that God secretly hates me and delivered furry balls of evil to make me miserable. Really brings into question the whole all-knowing, all-powerful, all-good dilemma with divinity. Thanks, ma!