Bacon, Brake Pads, and Bedtime Monsters: Bruno’s Heatwave Chronicles

The British summer has arrived, and with it, the absolute undoing of poor Bruno.

The strategy is simple: survival. Currently, he has dissolved into a puddle beneath the dining room table, pancake-flat against the cool wooden floorboards. It is a calculated piece of real estate, of course. He is fully aware that this specific microclimate boasts a tragically high probability of rogue bacon scraps falling from the heavens. Classic Bruno move.

Frankly, can we blame him? The poor lad is tackling a heatwave whilst permanently trapped in two thick coats of fur, one of which is essentially a heavy-duty woolly jumper. Spectacularly over-dressed for the occasion.

Attempts at exercise have descended into utter farce. The evening walk lasted precisely half a block before he clamped the brakes on, anchoring his furry bulk to the pavement and refusing to budge. We tried again when it was pitch black, hoping for a cool breeze, only for him to stare into the abyss and declare, “Absolutely not, monsters out there.” Terrifying.

He has even abandoned the structural integrity of our bed, electing to sleep on the cold floor by the door like a discarded draught excluder. Yet, despite the heat, the existential dread, and the midnight monsters, some things remain sacred. Come 6:00 AM sharp, he will inevitably burst back into the bedroom, demanding his morning belly rubs with aggressive enthusiasm. Priorities, thankfully.