Me and Mr. McGregor

Alison has this notion, sorely tested of late, that I’m responsible enough to look after the house while she’s away. One small kitchen fire, a porch-roof collapse, and the sorrowful disarray on her too infrequent visits home haven’t been enough to convince her otherwise. But I’m going to have some ’splaining to do if I don’t deal with this:

I could easily catch the little monsters when they’re inside the garden like this (they dig under the gate), but what would I do then? They’re too cute, and I’m too softhearted, to swing ‘em against the wall, so I speak harshly to them and leave the gate open for a few minutes, letting them effect a panicked escape.

Speedy!