There are only a few hours left till take off, and I guess it is safe to say that I am feeling strangely sentimental. All of a sudden, I don’t think I can sleep in a place where tricycles don’t pass every two and a half seconds. And suddenly my dog Zorro, who irritates me with his strange dog-smells and his salivating mouth and his incessant growling, is transformed to a docile soft-pawed puppy.
We will in expectant probability get a cat in France soon. We shall name him Euclid. More from France, when all the stress of leaving is through.
