He’s worried.
Genuinely.
About what happens to an elderly hamster when his already fragile routine gets detonated.
Philip opens the cage and peers in.
“I’m sorry in advance,” he tells Heath. “You are entering a difficult chapter.”
The offer forms before I have fully sorted through whether it’s sensible.
Maybe because it isn’t.
Maybe because sensible has been in short supply since Friday night.
“I can take him.”
Philip stills.
Then turns slowly.
“What?”
I nod towards the cage.
“He can stay with me.”
Philip blinks.
“With you.”
“Yes.”
For a second he just stares at me.
“Mark,” he says, “I’m taking him to my sister’s this afternoon.”
“I know.”
He waits.
As if I’m about to grin and tell him I’m taking the piss.
I don’t.
I nod towards Heath.
“You said yourself, your nephews are five and seven.”
Philip exhales through his nose. “That is not exactly a point in their favour, I guess.”
“And he doesn’t exactly seem built for chaos,” I argue.
Philip glances at the cage.
At the beanie.
At the faint twitch of movement inside it.
