Here we go again. A hedgehog likes to know that his house is
his own, and that he’s not going to have to argue with other wildlife, that the
food and water are there as long as he runs around enough to find them, and
that life will be largely free from the stress that is so damaging to the
lustre of the spines and the dampness of the nose. The biped and his mate are
ok. They don’t eat my food and they go to sleep just when I want the place to
myself. The rabbit tried to get matey but he worked out who was boss long ago
and we have an agreement.
But I’d thought we’d seen the last of that lad in the photo
when his third or fourth avatar had a bit of owl trouble over the summer. I was
too sanguine. They’ve got a couple more of the things and they don’t understand
when they’re not welcome. They escape and come looking for you, try to share
your bed, and lie against you looking inanely cheerful. Damn nuisance.
I’m an insect animal, really. Cheese, nuts and chocolate are
fine, and the cat food they leave lying around is ok (even though they don’t
have a cat- funny that, now I think about it). Biting the heads off small
mammals isn’t my style. We are a proud and noble species, above such things. So
I’ll have to be patient, until they realise that my life is not enriched by
hamster gossip, or my human co-blogger finds a way to keep them in their cage.
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