I have always prided myself on being a good tenant. I always behave and do as I’m told for my landlord, who respects me deeply and who hopes to eventually see me do well and succeed in life. This is why he trusts me completely. If I offered to cook dinner for him then that offer is taken up without a second thought, for I am well-versed in such culinary arts and always provide my gracious landlord with a delicious meal. I am a good tenant.

If he were to find out what I had done, however, then he would be angry. He would not call me a good tenant anymore. I would be a very, very bad tenant. It would break his heart and throw him into despair, and I cannot allow that. He has done too much for me to allow me to bring him such heartache. Then how, pray tell, can I solve this dilemma? The answer, my friends, is simple; I dispose of the only proof that I am a bad tenant.

I must make sure it is all gone, gone, gone completely; indeed, I must. My landlord always favoured my Bolognese pasta dishes and so as I prepare these, I send him out on quiet walks by himself. He is more than happy to oblige, for he is completely aware that I will do as I am told and that no ills shall befall the flat whilst I am in charge – because I am a good tenant.

And he eats the dishes, and he praises me; oh, how he does praise me! It is so delectable and delicious, a dish fit for royalty! I smile and protest that his praise is too much. He thanks me for the meal, asking for another course should there be any food left over; and so the cycle goes, and I am destroying the proof that I am a bad tenant and empowering my rank of good tenant further still. It makes my gracious landlord happy, and so I too am happy with him.

And as long as he doesn’t look under the floorboards in my room, I will hopefully be able to remain as his good tenant.