ne day, Trlk crawled on a shelf to watch me shave, whiffed the shaving lotion bottle, became excited and demanded I put a drop of it in front of him. He lapped it up, sank blissfully back on his tail and sighed.
"Wonnerful," he squeaked. "Shimply wonnerful." He hiccupped.
I let him sleep it off, but was always careful with the lotion after that.
Days stretched into weeks, my money was running low and the apartment superintendent was pressing me for payment of the month's rent. I kept telling him I'd pay as soon as the first checks came in.
But only rejection slips came. First one, then two, then half a dozen.
"They don't even read them!" Trlk wailed.
"Of course they read them," I said. I showed him the sheets. They were wrinkled from handling.
"The post office did that," he countered.