Singing Mary Poppins?!?

I should have known that this marriage was a lousy idea. It all started off wrong. A lonely woman in her late thirties, hungry to be somebody, quite literally begged me to become her spouse. She would have gone to the moon and back just to convince me as she knew that she would not stand a chance with a human: she had become an expert in rejection and failure in love.
I must say she had a rather decent wedding party: a rather extensive meadow for me alone, the promise of a plastered room of my own with running water and a bidet (a luxury for someone like me), a staggering WiFi system allowing me to be online in the furthest part of my rather swell personal grounds (it had a pond, some tiny rock hills and a number of small trees easy to climb) and the obligation to only meet her for social events as she was just keen to keep up appearances.

But then the masks fell off. She nagged incessantly to have walks or sit in the garden with milk-infested tea, forcefully introduced me to a seemingly endless number of her friends, annoying spinsters with a fetish for cuddle animals of one particular kind, sheep. Adding insult to injury, the pond was nothing more than a swamp with probably more bugs than in all of Florida. It turns out that she took me to the place of a befriended witch, who had a knack for ducks (and a pond full of them).
Worst of all though, I underestimated the hardship of living in the land of Englanders. Picture a country where slamming doors in one's face is a national tradition, where greeting is done by slapping each other on the face (ring inside, the only proper advantage of being married) and where your social status is based on your level of rudeness. As a culturally evolved animal, these are shocking moments, only to be forgotten with some imported booze, since local alcohol tasted like it came directly from the sewers.

Forgive me this vitriol. Some of it might be an exaggeration of sorts. Christine was sympathetic at times, able to find tasty grass for lunch and had hilarious moments which brought tears to my eyes. Some of her friends were simple yet friendly souls, who would stroke my hair or polish my horns whenever they paid a social call. Not all of the walks were bores as well: there were some moments when I felt Jane Austen's breath in my slim neck, taking notes for her next novel.

The reason for this angriness is related to the fact that less than a month after our 'marriage', I am terribly sick. The incompetent veterinarian diagnosed me with mononucleosis ( I had the blood results re-tested by an intelligent compatriot of mine), a disease I could only have inherited from her (since she is the only living creature who 'kissed' me on the cheeks). Feeling feverish, tired and thirsty all the time is not amusing, I can tell as of now. But don't despair: I am gathering all my germs, viruses and all other bacterial criminal I can locate in my body to strike back. She will be ill as if she paid a visit to Lucifer himself. But it is fully deserved!


Non-offensive picture of the day
A cloud above the sea, just transporting water to a place in dire need of it.