Today Frank belted in from the garden, as part of a game he had devised, carrying poo between the toes of one paw. He grinned widely.
How long will it take them, he pondered, bouncing off the new sofa and me in a tour of his territory... how long, how long, how long?
About half an hour.
I can smell poo love, can you? I asked Jess.
Not really. What's that on your collar?
Um, you've got poo on your collar.
So began a nasal comb of the entire ground floor, in search of the remnants.
Apart from me, and a smear on the throw, the rest of the poo had been left in quantities big enough to smell but not see.
Frank followed me around, licking my ear. Warmer, warmer, hot, hot, really hot, cold, he whispered. This is more fun than I hoped.
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