I see the manure sellers as part of some lost and deeply English tradition, which is why I prefer my wife to deal with them
I
am in the kitchen watching the dog and the cat fight when the tortoise suddenly appears. Or to put it another way: I watched the dog and the cat fight for a while, until it became tiresome; the next time I looked up – possibly 15 minutes later – the tortoise was also there. That’s what I mean by suddenly. In real terms, the tortoise doesn’t do anything suddenly.
“Where have you been?” I say, even though I know the answer. I haven’t seen the tortoise in six weeks, but I’m certain he’s been butted up against the left rear leg of the sofa for that whole period.
“Are you trying to get in on this?” I say. That’s what it looks like. The tortoise is poised at the edge of the fray, head up, waiting to bite an unguarded appendage. For a moment the dog has the cat pinned to the floor, and the cat’s tail is waving slowly back and forth in front of the tortoise’s face. But he misses his chance: the cat rears up, sinks its claws into the dog’s neck and bites in the manner of a leopard trying to take down a wildebeest. The dog steps over the tortoise and drags the cat to the opposite corner of the room, where the fight continues.
