Scaredy Cat*

“What are you doing?” I ask Mum from underneath my furry blanket.

“Just moving some photographs around,” Mum says.

“Why don’t you sit here with me and do the crossword?” I say.  “You’re always saying that you want to see me, and now I’m here you…”

“Finished the crossword,” Mum says.  “Anyway, you’re writing the blog: you don’t need me to sit with you.”

“I do,” I say.  “Don’t see why I should go through it alone.”

Dad clatters in from his office and collapses in his chair.   “Have you had your sleep?” He says.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I say.  

“You’d better have a bath,” Mum says.  “We’re leaving at twenty past six.”  We’re going to see my plastic surgeon.  Haven’t seen him for months.  Have missed him.

“Have to finish the blog first,” I say.  

Mum picks up National Geographic and starts reading it.  Dad scribbles on the paper: he must be doing the chess problem.

It’s pitch black outside.  

“Where’s the fluffy monster?” I say.

“He’s in your brother’s room, lying on top of a bag for some reason,” Mum says.

Attached photo is the fluffy monster having a sleep.  Look at those apricot paws.
Happy Thursday everyone!
*2002.  By Mark Billingham.  DI Tom Thorne crime novel.


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