As you can see, Nick has agreed to stay. After a load of back and forthing, and intense behind the scenes negotiation, we reached agreement.
We doubled his pay, he gets a bigger dressing room (ie, he gets to move out of the mens room), has a night off every month to go sample the delights of Zanzibar New Town, and now and then I have one of the locals scrubbed and sent to his tent.
Apparently that’s enough to keep him happy. That, and the chance to keep working with his hoard of Zanzibarian kitties.
Cats counted in Zanzibar
The planets are now back in alignment; the moon’s rotation around the earth has been restored. All the cats in Texas are purring. The falcon can once again hear the falconer and the centre might just hold.
There is hope, and even great purpose, in moving onward.
(All of this makes perfect sense at midnight after a 6-pack. Will see how it holds up in the a.m.)
Nevertheless, I’d keep the marriage counselor’s number on speed dial…
And keep that ice pick to yourself.
If you ever scare us like this again, young Nicholas,
I will be straight up the M6
to slap your legs
and send you to bed
without your supper!