"Either you or your furry little animal," said Denise. In reality, he said, "Qu'est-ce que je vais faire de mon petit chat" But I knew what he meant.
The cat had hated me from the start. Denise's bed was made up of two networks and two mattresses side by side. The creature, the size of a small panther, she used to burst from the central space as back from the depths of hell to scratch and bite me. Of course all this ferocity was reserved exclusively to me. Denise, who called the creature "mon bébé", "mon amour" or, with all deference to the French propensity to invade the animal the British territory, Guillaume, slept peacefully in spite of his appalling animal and insisted to give my wounds to my clumsiness. I stayed with it only for its exceptional escalope à la crème and its amazing erotic savoir-faire.
GOD IS GOOD Part II
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