Flash Fiction: Cat

This week’s flash fic­tion must be in text form and quite brief, I’m afraid. The pod­cast takes a while to do and I’d like to con­cen­trate on the cur­rent nov­el. If you’re sub­scribed to the pod­cast, then (i) why not let me know? and (ii) don’t worry, the hiatus should be brief.

This week’s flash, called ‘Cat’, inspired by my adop­ted ger­bil:

The kit­chen sink has not been cleaned, though the dishes are regi­men­ted: drip­ping, the rank and file wait on a plastic slope. The bin is full. Newer items of rub­bish have been placed next to it with a curi­ous sense of the neat. A left shoe is on the doormat. It was not delivered. Toe-nail clip­pings sea­son the lid of the down­stairs loo. There is a sci­ence fic­tion magazine — Interzone — open on the low­est riser of the stairs. A cat, Mandy, stops on the Interzone to wash her face. She has not been fed but she has so far main­tained her indif­fer­ence. She can keep her­self neat too. There is a cool­ing body in the liv­ing room, lack­ing a left shoe. Mandy settles on the chest for a second night. She might see some­thing in the shad­ows as they stretch and darken. She might not.