Alice snatched Mr. Sporratt’s cat when he went inside his house to fetch the clippers to trim his prize rose bush.
She was surprised at herself.
She knew she hated Mr. Sporratt’s cat, the way it sat on the wall staring at her, flicking its tail from side to side. She felt in her bones it was a cat of pure malice.
But there had been no plan to snatch the cat, no premeditation.
The problem was, now that she had Mr. Sporratt’s cat, what was she to do with it?
And why was it not trying to escape? Why was it Continue reading