You know what it’s like. You overindulge and feel really ill as a result. You promise yourself that this is positively the very last time you are ever going to make yourself feel that way and then… you do it again. In my case, it’s not alcohol, it’s swallowing chews before they are fully digested. Oh the discomfort I’ve caused myself. The grass I’ve eaten. The clearing up our Mistress has had to do. Now the worst of it is that she won’t let me have any more chews until I can prove beyond reasonable doubt that a) I have recovered and b) I can be trusted to behave responsibly and remember to chew it thoroughly. Now, whilst I’m still feeling a little unwell, I’m craving my next chew as though it were the first whiskey of the day. I’m a lost cause.
Alfie had a good day yesterday. Firstly, his Christmas jumper arrived in time to be worn, which pleased our Mistress. Better still it was too small for him, which pleased Alfie. Last I saw our Mistress was trying to shoehorn Wilma into it. She had tried Shadow but she pretended her legs weren’t flexible enough anymore, which is rubbish but it was a good ruse. Anyway, as if that hadn’t made Alfie happy enough the doorbell rang in the afternoon and it was a delivery just for him. Hendrix has sent him a ball that makes lots of animal noises so he can find it easily. It’s way cool. I want to play with it, but our Mistress has said it’s Alfie’s special ball and we need to let him play with it. I guess he’ll share it with Wilma. He always shares with her. I suppose I just need to see if she likes the jumper. Thankfully it’s too small for me so I won’t have the indignity of having to wear it. Those things are more for girls anyway.
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