I had a desert tortoise I brought up from California when I moved here in April 1974. His name was Phillip Morris after my smokes or simply Morris. He lived under the sofa and hibernated there in winter. He was fond of bare toes nestled in open-toed sandals. I used to wait until he was on the verge of chomping down to tell my friends. I’d be put in jail by the Sierra Club in 2014 for tampering with the desert now.