Today the house is our winter cave. We are woolly-socked, hiding under duvets, shutting out the unforgiving sky and scalping wind. This morning, stripping the hare down yet again so I could hose him off, change his sheets and frankly burn those pyjamas, I decided that the only way to keep him germ-free was to hibernate till we could get on a plane in a couple of weeks.
I know hares are meant to be skinny, but this is ridiculous. I am fighting down the urge to feed him lard.
(I have no such worries for the bear, whose wondrous thunderous thighs shake the floor when he bangs them down. He has shown no sign of catching anything, yet, but then he’s made of chub and fuzz, and germs tend to bounce off.)
So, the bear and hare and I will be watching Doctor Who and keeping down scrambled eggs until further notice. In here I can keep them both close, well-rested, amply supplied with books and jokes and chocolate. This is our winter kingdom, up here on the first and second floors, and I rule with a rod of disinfectant. Nemo is invited. Dear viruses, please note that you are not.