When it comes to writing a little fiction, I’m inclined to be spontaneous. A burst of words spews out and takes shape on the page. Later, I massage them into something worthy and usable. Some fit together and merge into longer texts, a short story, a chapter…. some stay little, have a life of their own and linger detached….. here is one.
“Vermin?” he furrows his brow at her.
“Mice. She seriously doesn’t like mice. No amount of putting down traps seems to have helped the situation.”
“We’re infested?” he says concerned.
“No. Not that bad. She doesn’t like mice.”
“Cats. We could get a cat.”
“You know furry thing with a tail.”
“Ha, bloody, ha.”
“Or better still a cute kitten.”
“They scratch and bite.”
This is an oblique reference to the bite marks on her bottom from the previous night.
“Are you wimping out?” she asks.
“I was thinking of the kid.”
He is wimping out, she decides.
“He would have to learn not pull its tail. Treat it with respect. No teasing.”
“No teasing?” He can’t resist that remark.
“Yes, there is only one teaser in our household.”
“I see. Post taken. Cats scratch the furniture and carpets.”
“It would have to be trained. Right up your street. You’re an excellent trainer.”
He smiles. He likes her compliment and she can feel his hands starting to move. In the right direction. She wriggles her bum appreciatively.
“Training cats. That’s how you see me?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Water pistols work well….”
“You want me to chase round the house after a cat with a water pistol? Do you really see me doing that?” he chides.
“Well, perhaps not. An outdoor only cat then.”
“A feral cat? Wild and untamed. Next thing we’ll be breeding them.”
“Get it neutered.”
“Chop it’s balls off so it can’t fuck? How unkind of you.”
“Not fond of a little C.B.T?” she can’t resist the comment.
“Oh I am, my girl, but perhaps you should substitute two different words.”
She pauses to think and goes pink at the implication.