I sniff it carefully. Imagine a very fat fly about the size of a dustbin. Imagine a ridged proboscis two or three metres long. Then imagine the buzz that it makes.

I sniff it very carefully. From the front and back  …………………..

From the sides ………………………………

But then I lose it.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!

It gets shut in the cupboard. She tries to calm me. But I’m not having any of it.

And then she has the nerve to be annoyed with me for twirling and snapping and barking for an hour and a half. Actually, I think she’s worried about me. Good.

“Surely,” she mutters irritably, “I must have hoovered since Isis came.”

Perhaps not.