"Hey, hon!" I called. "Look what followed me home."
My wife came
out of the kitchen while I shook the werewolf off my ankle where it had
been gnawing on my Nikes. Try walking home from work with a
three-hundred pound lycanthrope fixated on your feet.
"Oh, dear," my wife said. "You're not going to keep it are you?"
course not! You think I want some infectious critter in my house. One
nibble and we'll end up baying at the moon ourselves. I'm dragging it
off to the pound. Anyway, I don't think it's fixed and I'm not going
through that again." I shuddered at the memory of the unspayed
and very pregnant unicorn that once followed me home. Bloody things
multiply worse than rabbits. At least there's a market for free
unicorns, but werewolves? I mean, they're cute when they're little ...
no!" my wife protested. "Not the pound. I'll just give it a quick flea
bath and feed it and maybe we can find somebody who wants a wolfman."
Well, that was three months ago and it wasn't a wolfman.
Anybody want to adopt some little werewolves? They're really cute.