Familiarity (part 2)

The continuing adventures of Sebaster the cat and Johannah the raven. You can read Part 1 here. For Snowflake’s Challenge.

Sebaster looked at her, hard. “A place named after shoving something under the ground to rot? Oh yes, I can see this going well.”

“Perhaps it is pronounced differently,” Johannah reasoned, “In some exotic fashion, as magical places oft are. Perhaps Beeyew-Rye.

“Bee yew rye, my furry arse,” the cat replied. “Look, whatever the pisspool is called, and whether we go there or not, if nothing else we have to get out of the chuffing house.”

“Why?” Johannah fluffed her feathers to straighten them. “It looks cold and dismal outside.”

“Believe me, Jojo, I love the sun on my bollocks as much as anyone—”

“You do not have any. Natty G had them removed after you started being naughty with the cushions.”

“Shut the fuck up! Personal much?” Sebaster favoured her with a short hiss before continuing. “Look, bird-brain, even if we don’t go to Pisstropolis we’ve got to get outside because there’s no food left in the house. It doesn’t look like Natty G’s coming to give us more any time soon.”

“There is a putrefying rat corpse – well, half of one at least – behind the fridge. And I have found plenty of insects; earwigs and the like.”

“Bloody ew! I’m not eating any sodding insects, thank you very much. I need my tender, succulent chicken chunks cooked to perfection and served in firm, delicious jelly.” Sebaster stuck out his tongue, as if tasting the air. “Perhaps some tasty and nutritious liver yoghurt for pudding. No added sugar, no artificial colours, flavours or preservatives. Mmmm.”

The cat’s eyes glazed over and his tongue quivered. He really was hungry, Johannah could see, and perhaps he was right. She was getting a little tired of her current diet. It would be good to find some fresh carrion.

“Sebaster?” she said, but the cat was gazing into nothing, lost in his imagination. She had to admit, he looked extremely handsome. His flame-coloured fur beautifully accentuated his lithe and muscular lines. His pink tongue still stuck ridiculously out of his mouth. She sighed and fluttered back up to the window.

She pecked ineffectually at the catch, then regarded it with her bright eye. It needed to turn. She grasped the small metal nub in her beak and twisted her neck, but the catch resisted all attempts to shift it. Perhaps they would never escape. She gazed out at the misty world through the drops on the window. Perhaps they would starve to de—

A terrifying dark shape suddenly crashed into the glass before her, all teeth and fire, clearly a demon from hell. She threw herself backwards, struggling to control her flight, and crashed into a roof-beam in her desperation to flee the hellbeast.

About wombat37

A Yorkshireman in the green hills of Lancashire, UK Not a real wombat, obviously, or typing would become an issue. I do have short legs and a hairy nose, however. Oh, & a distinctive smell.

Posted on January 10, 2017, in Animals, fiction, Short story, story, Writings. Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

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