That whiskery old hillbilly might own a ladder and hammer. He even has a few odd offcuts of wood knocking about, but he’s bone idle, except when it comes to gambling.
His missus scolds him rotten, “Ricky, when y’ gonna fix that bleeding ‘ole? Them squirrels are driving me nuts!”
And he yells back, “The only ‘ole needs fixing is that mouth of yours.”
I’m so grateful to him for letting me lodge in his attic; for providing such snug roof insulation as bedding for my offspring and yards of PVC wiring insulation for them to play tug of war.
Friday Fictioneers: 100 word stories
Photo Prompt: image © Roger Bultot