Nell: I wish David wouldn’t sit there with that bone hanging out of his mouth. He looks like a reprobate.
Me: It’s his gangster look and I think he is adorable.
Nell: You would. What did you think of tea yesterday?
Me: The scones were delicious as always and those mini quiches were inspired.
Nell: I meant that French rook Tour de France.
Me: He certainly charmed the socks off everyone.
Nell: Yes. I was rather glad to see Mutley was wearing his socks as well as a beret. There is still a decided chill in the air.
Me: I’m not sure he quite believed our disguises.
Nell: No. We came across as eccentric, though, which is equally good and Harriet was perfect as Mademoiselle Écarlate.
Me: I even forgot it was Harriet under that veil.
Nell: She did well. The Cat doesn’t like him, of course.
Me: Why not?
Nell: Cats and rooks don’t mix. It’s a well known fact.
Me: The Cat gets on well with Malcolm and Susan.
Nell: Malcolm is a shy flamingo and Susan is a quiet seagull. The Cat appreciates good manners.
Me: Tour has good manners. It’s probably a bit jealous of Dave’s new friendship with him.
Nell: If you want jealous just look at Gladys. Pirouetting into Tour was not an accident you know. It took a lot of skill and planning.
Me: She is not a happy bunny.
Nell: She is not a bunny at all. She is a black Pomeranian. What are you talking about?
Me: Well, I liked him.
Nell: I’m reserving judgement. A smiling dog can still bite.
Me: He is a rook, Nell.
Nell: Exactly. A Dalmatian never changes its spots.
Me: You mean a leopard.
Nell: No, I don’t. Do keep up.
Me: Oh. I see. Sorry.
