“He comes in most nights.” I sighed and slurped the Albanian merlot. “Sometimes he looks as if he’s been in a fight.”
“Really? Is he injured?” Charlene ran an idle finger round the rim of her glass.
“He won’t submit to a thorough examination. He runs off the minute I let go of him. I do love him but he’s been getting worse.” I drank some more wine. My mouth puckered with tannin.
Charlene patted my hand. She was used to my moaning about Jasper, so poured herself another glass. Ken would be pleased; it had been a bad buy.
“What does Ken think?” she asked.
“You know Ken. Anything for an easy life. He suggested we lock him in at night. But he’s not the one who is disturbed by Jasper trying to get out.”
“Mimi stays in every night since I got her that heated blanket. Expensive but a godsend. I have trouble getting her out of bed now,” said Charlene.
I shook my head. “Jasper’s never been like Mimi. Be honest, he won’t even stay in the same room as you.”
Charlene nodded. “Mimi will go to anyone, a bit of a slut really. Sometimes I wish she’d be more like Jasper.”
“No, you don’t,” I pushed my glass aside. “You’ve never had to deal with the vomit, the blood…” I shuddered at the memories of other bodily fluids.
“Then get him a litter tray and keep him indoors,” said Charlene, ever the voice of reason.
Where would I put a litter tray? There was no way I could fit one in the downstairs loo. And I couldn’t contemplate it in the kitchen or living room. I had no choice. The heated blanket it was.
Ken wouldn’t be happy. It meant one more case of internet merlot.
© Liz Berg