Drama

So I got back to Brighton today and all hell has broken loose. Tom seems to have completely lost any sense of what is appropriate, and has stolen a little dog from Queens Park. I think it is called a Bichon Frise, one of those little stumpy white ones with funny flat heads. I got back in the house and he's sitting there in his chair, holding the dog in front of him and chattering to it. In a reasonable, sober manner, he put the dog down on the floor, and offered me a cup of tea. There is a dog in my house. He claims he "rescued it from Queens Park yesterday". Now firstly we've talked about having a dog and we're not making any big decisions yet, and secondly it's not really on to go stealing people's pets. He seems totally unconcerned about it, although he did call in sick to work today in order to look after the dog and make it some clothes; "poor little thing, you'll get cold, won't you."