To her eternal credit, she eventually capitulated under his intensive lobbying and agreed to a trial.

Elated to at last be dealing with critters in an holistic, non-violent fashion, Feisty installed his own oil burner and waited for results. Sure enough, the mould began to recede, particularly in wet, hard-to-get-at places like the door tracks.

Though the switch from daylight saving caused several fatalities, the program proved a success. So much so that during one full moon, a baby slug appeared.

Feisty was amazed to find that his revulsion had turned to acceptance. Fon was markedly less enthusiastic and declined his invitation to name the new addition.

'How about Shamus?'

'I don't care.'

'Sly?'

'I don't care, Feisty.'

'Simon, then?'

'I really don't give a damn what you call it. I am not bonding with the slugs the way you obviously are.'

'Shane?'

'Yes; Shane. Fantastic! Shane the Sh*t-eating Slug. That's the one; let's run with it, shall we?'

Feisty regarded her narrowly. 'You're not just saying that? You really prefer Shane?'

Fon unmuted the TV and concentrated on a 'Toilet Duck' ad.

'We're the germy germs, under the rim…'

Feisty stared at the screen, and was struck with a sudden thought. 'I wonder if they really could be trained to clean toilets. He jumped up and ran an eclectic keyword search on Google, only to stump it for the first time ever.

'Trial and error it is then,' he declared excitedly.

END.