After re-locating our rabbit back to its breeder, and ever since our goldfish turned black and learnt how to float, we've been pet-less.
I enjoyed not having to look after another being. Life was simpler. I didn't have a rabbit eating my brand new jeans. Or a goldfish needing its tank to be cleaned.
And then it got a bit sad, and I had a word in Matt's ear about the smalls needing a pet and the fact that by our smalls ages, I had about fifty bazillion pets, inadvertently killed a duck, dug up worms for my mum for Mother's Day, and so much more.
So I emailed to ask if our landlord would let us get a cat.
Let me be upfront.
We're cat people. We like dogs. We love cats. Well I do, anyway.
I waited over a month - no response. Playing hard to get.
So I emailed again. Finally a response. Negative. Apparently our landlord had a bad experience with a previous tenant in another abode. They had cats. In a carpeted apartment that came fully furnished. And it was trashed by a cat lady.
So no. No we could not have a cat. Not now, not never. Not even in ten minutes.
Problem is, our house is our own furniture and we have floorboards.
Real estate agents. You can switch on your brains now.
So for now, we have to make do with going out at night and catching the snails for the smalls. Yep, that is what's in that little plastic container that Tiny holds so excitedly.
We have pet snails.