Getting a Pet

Well, it was not as if I really needed one. I didn’t have – or so I thought – the kind of lifestyle where a pet would be suitable. After all, with all the exotic night life of the city, my wide and cosmopolitan circle of friends, a full and satisfying career, the….

Then, I realised my days were spent mostly alone, staring at a computer screen where my latest opus was failing to arrive with all the alacrity of an arthritic snail on a work-to-rule and my evenings were spent either reading other people’s books to steal their ideas, or falling asleep in front of the TV. It was hardly the life of a best-selling author.

More accurately, it was the life of a barely-selling author. One who sells just enough to fool himself that he can put off having a proper life – like the rest of the population – because the big time is just around the corner. The fact that the corner seems to be going on forever without ever straightening out into the back straight down to the big time was – perversely – why I kept hanging on, hoping that soon that long slow bend would come to an end.

Anyway, a pet….

I realised that I did have the time… too much time… and, yes, I was lonely. I was hoping for a dog I could take on walks and meet people... well, meet women. I wanted something cute and lovely that would hint at an exciting life for me, or, failing that, a cat that I could engage in philosophical discussions late into the evening.

Instead, though, for some reason I could never fathom, I ended up with a cute, loveable fire-breathing baby dragon for a pet, one with a very unsettling habit of setting fire to the clothing of every woman I chance to meet when out walking it, which means I only ever seem to meet them the once.