|
‘Get that misbegotten cat!’ yelled Cook. She lay on the floor gasping and flapping as she tried to raise herself up on the slippery boards. With an ungraceful heave, she turned to her belly and leveraged herself up to her knees.
Her hair had straggled out from her headband and she pushed it back with an authoritative motion – daring the curls to stray out of place again, almost. A figure whizzed by her, on the run, heading for where the cat and his prize were struggling to get out the window.
‘Grab the thief!’ she hollered again. And was rewarded as a hand clamped firmly about the puffy white tail.
|