“How can a lump of wood go mad?” asked Robert.
“Sentient olive wood, from the Garden of Gethsemane. Very rare these days.” He gently kicked the floral ball, an almost sentimental look on his face. “Get better, old girl.”
“Pretty for us?” The ladies, or cats, were stood in the doorway. They darted to the ball, sniffing and purring.
“Not pretty for you at all,” Raven hissed at them. “Keep your distance.”
“Grumpy not man...”
“...doesn't know his...”
“...place. There is something...”
“...outside...”
“...you should see...”
“...not man.”
