Pity did not bring me closer to the pitiable. I did not like the dogs, but they were good enough to give me some inspiration. That evening I wrote about a tiger and a fox living in a manor house, with dark framed windows looking over a fountain and a wide lawn like many shrewd eyes. The tiger was not fierce but coy, the fox vain but not pretty. They complimented each other’s good looks and intelligence. They called themselves the most fortunate animals in the kingdom. They lived in harmony, eating from two porcelain bowls side by side, and sleeping under woolen blankets softer than their own
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