A flash fiction story by Brian Robinson.

The curtains open.

“Shit! I can’t remember if I’ve shut the bedroom door.

“I bet you haven’t. How many times have I told you to check the blessed latch? The dog will kill the cat if she gets out. He’s a greyhound, that’s how they’re wired, that’s what they do. You men never listen.”

“It’s too late now dear. We’re thirty miles from home and I’m definitely not going back. There’s a camera in the room. Get it up on your phone and we’ll check that everything is okay.”

“The dog’s heard something. His ears are pricked. He’s sat up, looking at the stairs. He’s seen something. The cat’s out. Bloody hell! He’s going to kill her! Oh my God!”

“He won’t kill her. It’s all bluster. Blimey! Did you see the way she scrambled up those curtains, like a mountain goat on steroids.”

“Yes, my new bloody curtains if you don’t mind. They’ll be in shreds.”

“Sorry dear, my mistake, I thought you were worried about the cat?”

“I can’t bear to watch this. Crikey! How did she manage to spring from the top of the curtains to the bookcase?”

“She’s a cat dear. That’s what they do.”

“She won’t be a cat for much longer. The dog’s going bloody mental.”

“He can’t get to her, not while she’s on the bookcase.”

“No, but he’s trashing the place in the meantime. Look at the mess he’s making.

Oh my God! The dogs keeled over. He’s collapsed. What’s wrong with him?”

“Looks like he’s had a heart attack or something. The excitement has all been too much.”

“This is your bloody fault. My dog is dead. My poor dog! I’ll never forgive you.”

“Try and stay calm dear.”

“The cat’s looking down at him. She knows something’s wrong. She wants to jump but she can’t. It’s too high. She’s looking over at the curtains. She’s going to jump. There she goes. She’s inching her way down backwards.

What’s she doing now? She’s meowing in his face. Now she’s paddling up and down on his chest. She knows he’s dead. Cats always know when someone’s dead or dying. They have a sixth sense you know.”

“It’s a pity she didn’t use her sixth sense and stay in the blasted bedroom.”

“I don’t believe it. The dog’s moving again. Look his head’s up. He’s staring at the cat. He’s confused.”

“What do you expect. You’d be confused if you’d just had a heart attack and woke up with a weird furry thing purring in your face.”

“She’s licking him and he doesn’t mind. Can you believe that?”

“Just remember dear, this newfound cat and dog harmony is all my fault.”

“Yes, but it could have been curtains for the cat.”

The curtain closes.

2 thoughts on “Curtains

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