Fixing a Problem

My gopher was going crazy. He knocked over my kitchen table, pooped in the hallway, and then tore into my new leather sofa. I couldn’t believe it. I’d raised Klempt the gopher since I found him as a baby lost in field. Till today he’s always been the picture of complacency.

I tackled Klempt. He tried to escape. I wouldn’t let him go. Finally he stopped fighting.

I said, “Klempt, what the hell’s going on?”

Klempt said, “I’m so sorry, Brooks. I feel terrible because you have been so nice to me. I mean, I can’t believe that you are so generous with the 500 channel cable stations. And you gave me a queen-sized bed with 1000 count green cotton sheets. And I’ll never forget my birthday party with the clown and grass-stuffed birthday cake. But I’m going nuts. My nature is live underground in paw-dug tunnels.”

I said, “I’m sorry, Klempt. I should have known better.”

Klempt said, “That’s alright. You didn’t know.”

I said, “…Would you like to live under my back yard?”

Klempt said, “Really?”

I said, “Yes, that would make me happy.”

Klempt said, “Me too!”

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