His, as he looks at me: “Tell me she is not going home with us. Did you see? She doesn’t stop. She doesn’t sleep. She knows no fear. She will attack me when you least expect it and that will be the end of me and you will all cry at my funeral. Little black fluffball, sure! With devil’s eyes!”
And then it’s dinner time. Steaks, almost from the picture. He reminds us he is not willing to share the leftovers, not because he is “the only child” but because he is a beast and she is clearly old enough to eat meat. Who has the devil’s eyes now?
Here is a selection of eyes that I have to deal with. In other news, Rome is hot and on the brink of a new garbage crisis. The last one was around Christmas when it was cold. Imagine full, rotting garbage containers now.