The seventies was a tough decade for a lot of people and my family was no exception. When you've watched your parents scrimp and save to buy a gorgeous, brown-striped three piece suite only to realise it's going to be a pretty bare Christmas on account of having nothing left there's only one thing that a considerate eldest son can do.
And so it was that I moonlighted; school kid by day, patrolman by night. I kept the job a secret until such time as I could present my family with a tree and at least one of every possible type of decoration known to man at that time.
I'd like to say that everyone was happy that year but in truth Tigger never forgave me – he was a proud cat and had considered it his responsibility to provide for the family; it really wasn't his fault that there simply wasn't much money to be made in the scrap mice industry after 1973 – and he refused to join in the otherwise uplifting December celebrations.
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