"Well, I'm not really into murder these days," said Titus, when we'd related the ghastly tale of how Geoffrey was incarcerated in the Old Asylum. Minus MY part in the matter, of course.
"Can't you make an exception? stretch a point given the circumstances? old chums and all that?" we pleaded.
Titus pursed his lips. "Hmmm. Well, I'll think about it. But there mustn't be any comeback, you know."
"No, of course not Titus! we won't breathe a word. And we'd be awfully grateful," I gushed eagerly.
"Awfully," Geoffrey echoed faintly. He's still not quite his usual self - and who can blame him? mind you, his feathers are growing back wonderfully thanks to Titus' mysterious ointment.
"If you could see your way clear to...well, bucking him off again? that would be wonderful," I suggested.
"I'm not sure about THAT," said Titus. "After all, he's psychopathic, not stupid. I can't see him agreeing to sit on my back after what happened last time." (see previous posts, for an account of what happened last time)
"No Titus. That's not what I had in mind at all. I was thinking more along the lines of sneaking up behind him, and giving a swift kick to, well, his behind, from behind? perhaps on a dark and stormy evening...along the cliffs... if you follow..."
"I DO, Tuppy! I DO! leave it to me. But say nothing to anyone! I don't want to have to go into hiding again."
"Consider our lips well and truly sealed, Titus..."
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