Mum tends to adopt every waif that turns up at our hearth: the jackal with the wonky leg; the abandoned caracal kitten; my father.
Dad’s not much better. He can’t walk far, so he stays around and nurses every single seedling of wheat. He saves the best seeds each year. Such a sentimentalist.
Now it’s time for us to migrate, but the jackal won’t follow us, we’ve had the biggest crop I’ve ever seen, and I’ve never seen so few rats as this year. Would it be so bad if we stayed?
Consider this a friendly, local pub. Make yourself at home, bring your friends, have a good time! Meet new people, have a laugh, enjoy the ambience, and the Oxford commas.