I live in a place where ancient lay-lines cross the well trodden route to KFC. That brings some ancient magic to the fore. Strange things happen here.
Fluffy daughter would like a cat. Mrs Long-suffering would like a cat. I would like a cat. They're strange indifferent creatures with their minds permanently at the edge of the jungle.
Mrs Long-suffering and I would like a dog, but they're a load of effort and responsibility.
Anyhow, back to the cat idea. There is a snag. A wee problemette.
When I was in my teens I had asthma. Quite badly. I had allergy test at a swanky London hospital (thanks to the NHS). They confirmed I was allergic to house dust and CATS.
My parents immediately went out and bought a very hairy Persian cat. Does anyone think they were trying to tell me something?
Mrs Long-suffering explained about Daddy not being able to live with cats because his breathing gets bad. Fluffy daughter nodded sagely. She said she'd still like a cat.
Friday morning Fluffy daughter explained that she could get a cat if daddy went away. She said I could go and live with my mum and dad, 'cos I love them. Mrs Long-suffering smiles quietly to herself. Fluffy daughter says "when you have a cat, you must take responsibility. Getting rid of Daddy is responsibility."
So, at some point soon I may be repl meoow meow meow *finds slipper to poo in*