Sophie and the social worker

My name is Sophie. Kind of strange for an old dog, but that's the one my mistress gave me. For I am getting old, just like her. When I happen to see myself in one of my mistress's mirrors, I scare myself. All I see is an odd looking big black dog with a tired -of -life look, wrinkles all over the face, actually the reason why I scare myself is that I look spooky, just like everything else here. How could it be otherwise? I guess my environment dyed on me. My mistress, who goes by the name Paulette, is an old French lady who is getting confused. She's been here for years, but now whatever she says is unintelligible for anybody but me: one word in French, one in English. One syllable in French, one in English. The social worker that comes to visit her doesn't get it and speaks to her as if she were retarded. A nice looking, polished, and disagreeably polite guy. He gets on my nerves, especially when he persistently asks Paulette if she wants to go to a retirement home. Bastard. Don't you get it? She doesn't want to hear about it, why do you keep asking her, you're the one who's retarded. I know what you're after, I heard it when you talked to her family before to leave, leaving your card "in case you changed your mind". She won't go, I tell you. I won't let you do that. Leave Paulette alone, here in the midst of her souvenirs, her statues, her odd lights, her authentic mummy sarcophagus, the masterpiece throning in a corner of the living-room, I told you it was spooky here. But that's home. Leave her alone.