A Narrow Squeak
One false move and it’s game over. I can’t even remember why I came into the kitchen in the first place. That happens to me a lot these days, I’m not as young as I used to be. Which is true for all of us of course.
Food, probably. Yes, that was it – I could smell something good. Now all I can smell is CAT. We’ve got a feud going, him and me. Some of my folks say that cats think we all look the same, but this one knows it’s me, definitely. We’ve had a number of long staring matches before and I know he won’t have forgotten that time I weed all over the carpet and he got in trouble.
My hearing must be going as well as my memory because he almost got me this time. I dashed into this wine rack thing and, thank god, he can’t seem to reach me here. But I’m old and I’m tired and he’s good at waiting. Plus my heart is hammering so much I think it might burst out of my chest.
Suddenly, just as I’m doing my breathing exercises and trying to ignore that he’s licking his lips, a pair of enormous arms swooshes past and picks him up. There’s a lot of cooing and calling him her darling…it’s not a mutual feeling if the look on his face is anything to go by. The giant carries him out of the room and shuts the door.
Phew. Now, what did I come in here for again?