Ooof. Hobkin woke me up at 7, most insistent that he was starving and if he didn’t get breakfast right now he would surely eat fosteronfilm‘s toes. While it was tempting to let my hubby go toe-less for the let-Eugie-sleep-in cause, I dragged myself up and fixed the skunk a snack. Did the ungrateful fuzzwit thank me? Feel inclined to snuggle after his meal? Nope. As soon as he finished eating he scampered away under his hutch where he is now happily snoozing. But could I get back to sleep? Of course not.
*grumble skunk stew for dinner grumble*
New Words: 250
This folk tale is just not gelling. I wonder if I should put it aside and try something else.