"Can you eat as you drive?" asks Isabelle when I'm halfway through my Fish Supper in a parking space. This irritates me, but we pull out and set off nonetheless, at a slightly too aggressive pace for driving in town at night, especially whilst eating chips.
"I'll have to get out if you don't slow down and spend the night in Dundee" warns Isabelle, the thought of more expense has the desired effect of moderating our progress.
We have to get back home 'tout de suite' in case Tigger's catheter, which is held in with stitches, has snagged on something in the kitchen and pulled his penis off...
Tigger isn't any more seriously damaged than he already was, in fact the paralysed back legs have a bit of twitching in them now.
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