Please critique this story!

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Hey, guys!
I wrote this very short story a while back and just looked at it again. Could you give me some constructive criticism? Pretty please?? Thanks!

The day I arrive, Mother stuffs me in the dark closet to wait. She places me inside a cardboard box, filled with the other toys. There is a necklace, a set of paints, two china dolls, little blue shoes, a baby doll, and a hand mirror.
In the days that pass, I discover that the hand mirror has a moving picture inside of it: an animal with two floppy ears and a round, black nose. The animal looks back at me from within the mirror. I turn my head this way and that. The animal does the same.
One of the dolls sits next to me. Her long-lashed eyes are blue glass and there are dimples on her face, which is wreathed with red curls. She smiles at me. I gaze back into the hand mirror. The doll is inside it! I look from her to the mirror several times before realization hits me. The mirror shows you yourself.
I am the floppy-eared animal. My plush body is the color of butter, with a black spot on my back and a long pointed tail. My eyes are brown and my paws are large and soft.
I admire myself in the hand mirror. I will make a nice present, I say to myself. The Little One will be happy when it sees me.
The top of the box is lifted off and Mother sticks her hand inside. She pulls out the blue shoes and the paints and the china dolls and the baby doll and the hand mirror. I lie motionless as Mother lifts me out with her warm, smooth hands.
I watch as she wraps the other presents in pink and white tissue paper. When it’s my turn, Mother puts me in another smaller box. I can hear the paper crinkle as she folds it around the outside of the box.
Suddenly, I am lifted into the air and carried. I cannot see where, but there are sounds of laughter and clinking of dishes.
I hear Mother say, “Time for presents!”
This is it, I think excitedly, soon the Little One will open my box and see me for the first time.
There is a sound of ripping tissue paper as the other presents are opened. Someone picks up my box and shakes it. Then, the paper is torn away and the box is broken open.
The Little One’s eyes widen in delight when she sees me. “Pubby,” she whispers, and gently takes me out of the box. Her hands are small and plump. She presses me tightly against her chest and giggles.
“Do you like the puppy?” Mother asks, stroking the Little One’s golden hair.
The Little One doesn’t answer but squeezes me tighter than ever.

* * *
I sit on the Little One’s bed and anticipate her return. Every day the yellow bus comes and takes her away. But at night, it brings her home and we spend many hours together.
Today the bus is later than usual. The Little One comes running into her room and scoops me off the bed.
“I missed you, Pubby.” She crushes me in a hug.
Then she takes me downstairs and pulls on her little blue shoes. Holding me by one paw, she trots outside to the swing. She sets me on it and pushes me high into the air.
All of the presents have a turn on the swing. The blue-eyed doll whose name is Lily is there and so is her sister, Patsy.
The little hand mirror that first showed me my reflection cracked and was thrown out long ago. The set of paints that the Little One received as a present are used up.
My paws are brown now from dirt. The black button nose on the tip of my snout is hanging on by a few threads, my tail is bent, my floppy ears are frayed and limp, but I am happy.

* * *
I sleep peacefully in the toy bin with the others. Mother has taken many of them away. Patsy is gone. So is the baby doll. Lily sleeps beside me. She is mostly bald, but her glass eyes are bright and warm.
I no longer wait for the Little One on her bed, but in the bin where she tossed me many years ago. She is gone for much longer now, and when she returns, she sits at the desk in her room and writes furiously on pieces of paper. Her face doesn’t have smudges of dirt on it anymore, but she rubs pink powder on her cheeks and smears the contents of a golden tube on her lips.
One day the Little One bounds up the stairs. She pulls dresses, shirts, and pants from the closet and throws them into a pile on the floor. Then, she drags a big case into the room. She crams the clothes inside it and zips the case shut. The Little One empties her belongings from a drawer in the desk and stuffs them inside a smaller pack. Then she leaves the room.
The week passes swiftly by. The Little One tosses and turns in her bed at night. Mother came upstairs and took things from the room. She took pictures off of the walls and packed them away. Now the Little One’s room is bare and empty. Only her bed, a dresser, boxes, and the bin in which I lie remain.
The last day arrives. I listen expectantly for the footsteps of the Little One. They come slowly up the stairs. Mother and the Little One enter the room. Mother comes to our bin and lifts Lily out. She turns the once beautiful doll over, examining her. Then she tosses Lily into a black bag.
The Little One does not protest. She empties the bin of other old toys. She catches sight of me and tilts her head to one side as if recalling a distant memory. She mouths the word Pubby, smiling a little.
Then she turns away.
An hour later, I hear the old gray van pull out of the driveway. I listen to it leave and watch it in my mind. It passes the old swing-set, where the Little One played with her presents. The car leaves behind the little ditch where she once fell and scraped her knee, and wiped her tears away with my soft paws.
I want to shout to her to stop and come back, tell her she’s forgotten me. But, instead, I listen to the sounds of the van becoming fainter in the distance.
Perhaps, I think, perhaps, she will remember. Someday.
Time is passing swiftly now and I miss the days when the Little One used to hold me on her lap and cradle me in her arms.
I lie on my side, hoping for the day when she returns. No one has come for me in many years.
But still, I wait.
THE END