We never notice the dead on our own doorsteps…
He was waiting for me when I got home. He’s not a great talker and neither am I. That’s another gift from our creator.
“New job,” I announced. “Cheating spouse.”
The Leatherman nodded.
We’ve been together for over twenty years now and I have never got round to giving him a name. He had one once. That was the name he had when he was somebody else; somebody living. Mostly I don’t use names with there being just me and him. Until we got the cat, that is.
Lucy, our cat, wandered into our lives one autumn evening. It was one of those so beloved by our author. You know the type, hissing rain, chilling wind, pool-filled roads waiting to catch unsuspecting pedestrians out with a thorough drenching. Lucy, we called her that as I thought that there was a nice little connection to Dracula, was not in the slightest…
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