“Now you’re in trouble,” says Bae, as her tortoiseshell cat, Frazer, curls up on your lap. “I can print up your timetable but you will never be able to leave that seat again. “Shame because it’s my favourite reading seat.”
”Is this where you work on your English Lit material?” you ask.
”No, I normally do that flopped in bed, but Frazer collapses on me there too.”
Bae hands you the print-out from the fax machine. (goto 70)