Talisman used to wonder this with a purr and a tail wag, but his Mama used to raise her paw, and twitch her whiskers in annoyance. Or was it a whiff of fear?
The answer was apparent this Tuesday morning. As the wife laid his bowl of warm milk beside him; the husband slurped his porridge, and Mama’s mouth formed a moue of fear as their son tickled Talisman’s arched back with a fond giggle, which no one heard.
The dead? Where do they reside? The answer, Talisman realized, with his golden fur standing on end was that they in fact stay quite close to home.