Hetti tells a fun story very well.
He lived with me. No contract had been signed. I didn’t ask for a lodger. I had asked on multiple occasions for him to leave. When it became obvious he wouldn’t leave without a prompt, I packed a polythene bag full of sandwiches and threw it up the garden, where it smashed into my lame herbaceous border, then sat upon a particular bulbous perennial like a cancerous growth. Of course, once he noticed, he’d be off, clambering across the grass, slicing the bag open; his wet chops smeared with raspberry jam, his chest speckled with crumbs.
As the adventurous sort, he despised staying inside. My ideal day: a cheesy cop show on TV, a few cold beers in the fridge, a tub of chocolate chip in my lap seemed to incense him. Mostly monosyllabic, he preferred to beat his chest, jump about the place, smash his paws through anything he…
View original post 142 more words