Last night someone left a planet in our living room, and I’m sorry to say this, but I suspect it was Santa Claus. Perhaps he was on his way home from his world tour, and this planet thing was left over because they intended recipients had moved house and he didn’t know what to do with it, so he dumped it in our place. It’s not very big – it must be one of those new fangled dwarf planets, but I don’t think it is Pluto…… but maybe… no, it couldn’t be Pluto – could Pluto really be that small?
One of my friends objected when I told her about the planet – she said, “that’s silly – how could you fit a whole planet it your living room – there wouldn’t be enough space.”
Having a planet in your living room is not as much fun as you might imagine. Have you ever tried to keep a planet as a pet? I don’t know what to feed it. It is prone to dark moods – this morning it was going into an eclipse. I’m just praying that it is properly house trained.
At the same time food in our kitchen has been mysteriously dissappearing. I’ll go out on a major foraging expedition to the supermarket, and stock the larder with victuals, and the next morning it’s all gone. I suspect wolves. Mr Hippie-who-lives-in-the-attic claims it’s the two young men haunting our house. It is true that they have been known to eat extraordinary quantities, and when questioned about it they look sheepish and mutter something about their bone structure still growing. At this rate they will soon have a bone structure sufficient to decorate the front entrance of the British Museum.
But even so, I’m not convinced they are the culprits. I locked the larder with an amazingly cunning device designed to thwart people with undeveloped bone structures. Only a large adult carnivorous mammal could have penetrated this inpenetrable defence. What is more, I found a photograph of a wolf with barred fangs, pinned to the fridge beneath a magnetic turtle, with the following slogan scrawled across it: “Puny humans. We wolves are the ones what done it, and we don’t care who knows it.” It seemed authentic, right down to the typical wolf like grammatical errors.
So far as I’m concerned, that settles it. I’m sure that there is a band of voracious wolves living in our basement, and if you don’t believe me, ask my psychologist. He should be easy to spot. He was last seen leaving his office wearing nothing but a Freudian slip.