‘There’s a rat in my bedroom,’ I inform Calvin. ‘It’s cross-eyed.’ ‘You mean Gnawbones?’ My jaw drops. ‘You’ve named it?’ Calvin smiles. ‘Yeah. Well, Paul did anyway.’ ‘Gnawbones the cross-eyed rat,’ I say, trying to place the concept into a world that makes any kind of sense. ‘Yep. He’s been feeding it cheese.’ ‘No wonder it’s cross-eyed then. That cheddar is about ten minutes away from becoming a sentient life form itself.’ ‘It’s only been in the fridge since Christmas.’ ‘Christmas two years ago, Calvin.’ ‘Fair enough,’ he says a bit dismissively.
