My wife and I have cats, so when in June last year I saw something scuttling across the duvet, I thought: “Bad luck, buddy – I know just what to do with you.” The size, the speed, the glinting carapace – they were unmistakable. In one swift and practised manoeuvre, I crushed it and flicked it out the window. Then I dug out the flea treatment. No sweat.
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