My house is a disaster, but it's really my own fault for that. That's what happens when you leave your pet's emotional pet alone.
He will make a mess, dirty your furniture and max out your credit cards on food he barely nibbles.
So he was not the reason for my foul mood.
Sure, Killian could have tamed his little bo-ty call better, but I didn't expect much from the beginning.
I just made a mental note to lock him up in a cage the next time I leave the house.
The real headache was the charismatic tumor that glued to my wife's heart under the name of Tom. He entered my house like a cheap detective and refused to leave.
I can't upset my wife by disposing of him without risking the tumor growing even deeper. But that doesn't mean I can't poke it.
Who knows?
Maybe it will pop right off if I apply enough pressure. So I am bringing the walking lump into my own laboratory with the hope that it will scare away on its own.
"Jesus, this hallway is long."
