Friday, January 02, 2009
Felicia burst through the kitchen door, quite literally, sending splinters of pine boarding all over the room. She darted into the hall, changing form in mid stride and was two-legged before she reached the top of the stairs.
Harold was taken by surprise, staring at the ruins of his door in sheer horror. His attention was diverted by a middle aged couple in walking boots and anoraks, each of them clutching a silver topped cane.
“Excuse me,” said the woman. “I think we frightened your dog. I’ve never seen a Shepherd try to go through a cat flap before.”
Harold got up and opened what was left of the door. The pane of glass in the top half slid out and cracked. “It was your sticks,” he said. “She doesn’t like sticks.” He frowned. “What are you doing here, anyway. This is private property.”
“I know,” said the woman. “We saw the signs, but my husband here has twisted his ankle and since this is such a lovely old house we thought we’d come here for help.”
Harold nodded. “That’s a lame excuse,” he said.