Football may be the winner but…
So, it’s 11.30 on Friday night and there’s a key in the front door. Great.
A little late dinner, perhaps get cosy on the couch before bed. All prepared to give it the big, “Welcome home, Buddy!” when the first of two size 10 boots come flying at my head!
Forget supper. I’m lucky to survive 45minutes of high feet and scissor tackles before getting chased outside into the cold Melbourne night. And the abuse! I’ve never been threatened with any of those things before.
Picking through the neighbour’s bin I get lucky. Leftover fish and chips and the back porch is warm and dry…it could be worse, I guess, but sometimes it sucks to be Kevin’s cat.
Pablo Cruise
