I didn’t think that what I did that night was that bad until she stood there in her dressing gown glaring at me so pointedly.
Automatically I checked for the culprit, you know the ankle bitters and he who insists he must be obeyed, but they hadn’t appeared yet, and the old mutt had been relegated to the great outdoors after the last slipper incident, so she must be looking at me.
Me? I quacked amazed.
“Harry, he’s at it again.” She hollered, glancing at the loose kitty litter flung across the lounge floor. “Isn’t it time for Duck a l’orange?”