Michael
It's dark...
What woke me?
Somewhere down and beside me, the sound of whining. "Scruffy? You need to go out, boy?"
At this hour?
What the hell time is it?
I'm snug and comfortable, draped with a thick duvet. Charlotte, warm and fragrant, sleeps tucked in beside me. Through the curtains, it's pitch-black.
Scruffy whines again, this time scratching at the bed.
Wonder if he's eaten something he shouldn't?
Stretching an arm blindly out beyond the cosy comfort of the blankets, I pat across the side-table, hunting for the light switch. When I find it, as it turns out, it's not Scruffy's habit of eating every bit of rubbish he comes across that is at fault. The clock tells me it's half past seven and my rag-tag mongrel is making a perfectly reasonable request to be let out to rel
