David is Exhausted

Me: Dave is fast asleep under the kitchen table. Darling Big Brave Beautiful Boy.

Nell: Don’t worry, Harriet is watching over him.

Me: Yesterday’s afternoon tea was exhausting.

Nell: Those Maine Coons weren’t even wearing hats.

Me: They’re Minimalists, Nell. Anyway, berets are hats.

Nell: Not in my book.

Me: Are you writing one too?

Nell: Yes, with you. Remember?

Me: Did you see the Maine Coons’ faces when the Whippets Institute Big Band started playing and the llamas leap out in lycra?

Nell: No, I was too busy helping the Welsh Corgi Choir on stage.

Me: Why?

Nell: Their dresses were a little on the tight side. Satin can be most unforgiving.

Me: The Cat’s Mother actually gasped when the flamingos surrounded them.

Nell: A flamboyance can be startling if you’re not expecting it.

Me: Especially armed to the beak.

Nell: Count Bingo insisted.

Me: The Maine Coons tried to get Dave to sit next to them at tea. They even grabbed his tail coat.

Nell: I know but David was having none of it.

Me: He responded magnificently.

Nell: I agree.

Me: He took off his top hat, bowed and said ‘Ladies, I’m afraid I must decline. I shall be sitting at the other end of the table next to my dear friend The Cat.’

Nell: Fortunately he’d rehearsed the correct response with Rupert earlier. He was going to say ‘Off the cloth, moth’.

Me: They didn’t eat much apart from clotted cream.

Nell: I was relieved when Poppy took it away.

Me: She said, ‘No scone, no cream. And use a spoon next time.’

Nell: Quite right.

Me: At least Lionel kept a low profile.

Nell: I didn’t notice. Stop grinning and help Poppy with the potatoes. Sunday roast won’t cook itself you know.

Me: Yes. Sorry.

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