Elsie is moulting. She doesn’t really look like she is and up till now she has innocently continued to spend the day time stretched out upon my big pillow bed guarding against crocodile invasion. But now my white bed linen is no longer white but brown and hairy and itchy and rubbish for sleeping on if you aren’t a dog. Tonight there are new sheets on the bed. Climbing into a freshly made bed is one of life’s greatest pleasures, so I suppose in Elsie’s world she could say she did me a favour, no crocodiles and fresh bedding.
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