GK Chesterton ‘The Donkey’ I have to go to bed early on Sunday because it’s the dreaded four am start on Monday, so Daniel and I dined modestly on cheese, salad and the remains of the alcohol. He had made efforts to trace the missing phone callers. I had made a note to buy some more brandy. And cherries, of course. No noise from below or above. The quiet was a little unsettling. I hoped that Meroe had turned them all into frogs. Toads, rather; frogs are quite cute, and endangered as well. Goss had finally calmed down and we had escorted her home to the soothing company of her cat, Tori, who had taken in the situation in one swift feline glance and demanded food and attention and hugs and had reinforced this by tangling around Goss’s racehorse ankles. I’m still not sure how such a small elegant creature can actually manage this—surely there isn’t enough cat to actually wind around ankles?—but she did it and Goss sat down by the fridge to feed Tori cream and recover.
