He was always pinching me and cuffing me, and on occasion he was not above biting me.

Often my mother interfered, and the way she made his fur fly was a joy to see.

But the result of all this was a beautiful and unending family quarrel, in which I was the bone of contention.
No, my home-life was not happy.

I smile to myself as I write the phrase.
Home-life! Home! I had no home in the modern sense of the term.

My home was an association, not a habitation.