I lean toward Clyde with a stage-whisper loud enough that Bash can hear. “He reminds me of Oscar the Grouch sometimes.” Then I turn back to face Bash, wanting to reassure him that I understand. “I love how honest you’re being with us about your expectations and what you need. Clear communication will make sharing the space easier for everyone.” Clyde nods solemnly. “Bash, we understand. This is your trash can, and we’re just living in it.”
