Page 10 - and the man who loved cats
P. 10
The grating sound of the key in the lock was
beak upon bone. The opening of the door was a
crack of the old man's knees, a furious beat of
wing and the stale air sighed like lungs expelling a
last breath. An intrusion of blinding daylight
coincided with the sudden plunging of the
feathered predator.
"Wait," he said, not registering the mute
snarling yawn of the languishing cat, retrieving the
key from the lock and pushing the door inward.
The pattern of daylight dappled upon the carpet
as the door was swept aside. It had been
undisturbed for a number of days, shimmering
with the occasional breeze. Now it was replaced by
an askew square, its edges fudged by the fibres of
the carpet and the diffusion of uncertain light. The
light reached the skirting board that was gouged
by a cruel claw.
Fresh air invaded the stale, but the latter was
stubborn.
He turned to her and put out his arms; the
labelled key still in his hand.
"Oh, Chris." She smiled. "You're such a
romantic. But is it wise?"
"No, it's not. But I'm going to do it anyway."
Page 10
