Sunday, 22 November 2015
Harley ate something that disagreed with him.
Despite lugging around a bell louder than that which deafened Quasimodo, Harley has been out hunting.
Three mornings ago I awoke to find three rats, each as large as my little murderer, all neatly laid out by the back door.
On Friday there was another - or a part of it. The rest was outside the front door where he'd barfed it up, and ever since Harley has been unhappy. Not as unhappy, I'll wager, as the unfortunate rodents but definitely not his usual self.
He's still refusing to eat, preferring to sleep and mooch about the house, glaring at me as it if was all my fault. The closest thing I ever get to eating rats are the kebabs I sometimes foolishly buy at the local shop when I'm too hungry to know better.