Whose garden?
It sat there, arrogant, defiant, staring at me in that “What’re you going to do about it mate?” way. On a wooden bench. Our wooden bench!
Taunting me, like pigeons on the local roads, waiting until certain death before taking off and oh-so-narrowly missing oblivion. When I ran towards it, it shot off, but not far, still our garden, so it could taunt me again, just out of reach. This happened every day.
When the cat went missing for 4 weeks recently, I felt certain that the finger of suspicion was pointing my way! But it’s back! Dammit!
- Category: True Stories Told As Fiction
4 comments add one below
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Jamie Clapperton 6 months ago
If only cats could write drabbles I bet there would be some stories about his lost four weeks. :-)
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Neville Hunt 6 months ago
😁 I’m sure you’re right, Jamie. I’m rather glad they can’t write drabbles yet, because if our next door neighbour’s tabby got started, I wouldn’t come out of it at all well!😤
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Michael Cunliffe 5 months ago
I like cats but not the one that keeps pooping in the garden, and wasn't taught to dig in first! This drabble has an eerie relevance for me. Great stuff!
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Neville Hunt 5 months ago
Thanks Michael. I have never seen the point of cats; they give little and take liberties!
