I’ve spent the last three weeks in hospital after our pet
hedgehog, seeking warmth, crept into my bed and nearly stabbed me to
death.
I awoke to find my bed sheets covered in blood. It was
disturbingly reminiscent of a scene out of the Godfather, except they
didn’t have a grinning pet hedgehog in the Godfather.
Obviously
Bertie (the hedgehog) didn’t mean to try and murder me; he’s such a
nice-natured fellow. But I decided to have him plucked as a precaution.
Sadly
a bald, miserable hedgehog is not a particularly endearing pet, so he’s
been banished to the shed. I’ll have to think of other ways to serve
the cheese and pineapple at the Christmas party now.
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