There were a line of little heads on the mat near the bed, just the heads. The damn cat had been at it again!
Sandra drew her toes up again and hid them under her comforter. It wasn’t a straight line. More of a curve. All those dead, bloodied little heads. Arranged in something of a semicircle in a kind of post-mortem worship of her bed.
And in came the cat. Black, sleek and proud. Smirking at his fine achievement. Tail held high. And that damned trilby perched on his head.
“I have slain your enemies, m’lady.”
Eugh. Gross. “I would have preferred them fully disposed of?” she squeaked. “I can’t get out of bed with those there.”
“All the better for me,” smirked the cat. He made to move in to the bed with her.
Sandra sighed. That ex who programmed her otherwise perfectly fine Augment kitten in a fit of revenge was going to pay. And pay dearly. “If I have to stay in bed, you don’t get new Kitty Nomnoms, today.”
The look of absolute dread on his face was priceless. And, in a matter of minutes, the heads were gone. Just sad little spots of blood where they had once rested.
Clear enough for an agoraphobic automisophobe to skip awkwardly past on her way to feed the cat. Followed by her usual three-hour shower before her nice, clean day of info-wrangling in the translation streams. And, for lunch, she could resume her complaint against Daniel.
Programming her cat to be a complete dudebro. What a bitch.