Cat and Mouse
by Charlie
Britten
When Emily
spotted a mouse in the kitchen cupboard, she
called for Tigger. He hovered, shaking his hind
leg free when it adhered momentarily to a patch
of spilt treacle. Lowering his sharp triangular
face, he sniffed the brown ring where the soy
sauce bottle used to stand, some months ago
before Emily ran out and forgot to buy more.
His fur rose,
like a soft porcupine. His tail swished against
the cereal packets. He hissed.
Emily waited.
But
Tigger’s head retracted into his neck as he
scuttled out backwards, callus pads clattering on
the mdf. He turned to Emily, his whiskery
forehead clenched into a frown which seemed to
say, “I’m not staying in there with
THAT THING.”
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