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Authors: Garry Kilworth
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anaconda; a kind of sugared muffin made in Bhutan... ’
She didn’t come of course. I went into the bathroom. A bar of soap lay half-eaten on the floor. Hell, when had I last fed her? I cleaned everything up then began a serious search of the four rooms. I couldn’t find her anywhere. Maybe she had managed to get out somehow? There was nothing for it but to go to bed and have another look in the morning. Maybe she would be out looking for food. I started to think how I would catch her. Put some meat in her cage? That sounded right.
In the middle of the night there was a terrible fight in the living-room . I heard crashing and banging, then a thin high-pitched scream which hurt my ears filled the apartment for several minutes. When I got up the courage I went through the door and switched on the light. I almost threw up. There was blood all over the carpet, halfway up the cream-coloured curtains I had fought with Krystina over, smeared down one wall, and smudged on the sofa. In the middle of the room was a pile of putrid-smelling, smoking innards, draped across a broken lamp. Right at my feet, in the doorway, was the severed head of a large rat.
‘Jesus Christ!’ I cried out loud. ‘I didn’t know we had any rats in here! How did rats get into a modern building?’
‘ Fact: rats are never farther than six yards away from a human, especially in a city .’
‘Thank you for that mind-boggling piece of information.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘Sheba!’ I yelled. ‘Come on out!’
Again I searched the apartment. Where the hell had she got to? Where could she be hiding? By the time I finished the kitchen, she had obviously been into the living-room again and eaten the rat’s entrails, because they were gone. I cleaned up the blood and hair, finding a bald tail like a dead worm behind the sofa. It took me quite a while.
Then I went out and bought some raw hamburgers and a humane mouse trap . I was going to catch that she-cat if it took me all day. I set the trap in the living-room , where the action had taken place. Then I went out. I hoped to run into Krystina and her boyfriend by accident. If he attacked me again I was going to sue him for assault.
When I came home the mouse trap was all bent and twisted. Sheba had taken it apart from within. In despair I thought about getting a rat trap , but I guessed it was too late. She wouldn’t go into another cage with sprung doors if I knew anything about wild creatures. I’d seen a programme about trapping animals. The trapper said you had to get the beast the first time, or you’d never see hide nor hair again.
Well, there was another way. Starve her out of her hiding place. There couldn’t be too many rats in the apartment, surely?
I got rid of all the food I had, intending to eat out every night until she crawled out weak and submissive, begging to go into her cage.
During the next week Sheba gnawed just about everything soft and pliable in the apartment. It was costing me a fortune, but I was determined not to give in. Once I had her again, I was going to send her to Krystina as a goodbye present. That would serve both the bastards right. My bonsai tiger was a greater escapologist than Houdini. She would certainly stuff those two all right.
Saturday evening I went to bed early. I had a thick blanket ready by the bed to throw over Sheba. I felt she had to come out soon. She must have been absolutely starving by then. Poor Panthera tigris . All she had to do was come to papa. I’d promised her that very morning that if she came out I’d go and buy her some food immediately.
At three o’clock in the morning I was lying peacefully, partly-asleep , the distant sound of a police siren in my ears. Suddenly a terrible pain went shooting up my shin bone . I sat bolt upright, instantly, and screamed in agony. Ripping back the sheets I stared at my leg in the half-light coming from the neon signs outside. There was nothing to be seen, but I could feel a
She didn’t come of course. I went into the bathroom. A bar of soap lay half-eaten on the floor. Hell, when had I last fed her? I cleaned everything up then began a serious search of the four rooms. I couldn’t find her anywhere. Maybe she had managed to get out somehow? There was nothing for it but to go to bed and have another look in the morning. Maybe she would be out looking for food. I started to think how I would catch her. Put some meat in her cage? That sounded right.
In the middle of the night there was a terrible fight in the living-room . I heard crashing and banging, then a thin high-pitched scream which hurt my ears filled the apartment for several minutes. When I got up the courage I went through the door and switched on the light. I almost threw up. There was blood all over the carpet, halfway up the cream-coloured curtains I had fought with Krystina over, smeared down one wall, and smudged on the sofa. In the middle of the room was a pile of putrid-smelling, smoking innards, draped across a broken lamp. Right at my feet, in the doorway, was the severed head of a large rat.
‘Jesus Christ!’ I cried out loud. ‘I didn’t know we had any rats in here! How did rats get into a modern building?’
‘ Fact: rats are never farther than six yards away from a human, especially in a city .’
‘Thank you for that mind-boggling piece of information.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘Sheba!’ I yelled. ‘Come on out!’
Again I searched the apartment. Where the hell had she got to? Where could she be hiding? By the time I finished the kitchen, she had obviously been into the living-room again and eaten the rat’s entrails, because they were gone. I cleaned up the blood and hair, finding a bald tail like a dead worm behind the sofa. It took me quite a while.
Then I went out and bought some raw hamburgers and a humane mouse trap . I was going to catch that she-cat if it took me all day. I set the trap in the living-room , where the action had taken place. Then I went out. I hoped to run into Krystina and her boyfriend by accident. If he attacked me again I was going to sue him for assault.
When I came home the mouse trap was all bent and twisted. Sheba had taken it apart from within. In despair I thought about getting a rat trap , but I guessed it was too late. She wouldn’t go into another cage with sprung doors if I knew anything about wild creatures. I’d seen a programme about trapping animals. The trapper said you had to get the beast the first time, or you’d never see hide nor hair again.
Well, there was another way. Starve her out of her hiding place. There couldn’t be too many rats in the apartment, surely?
I got rid of all the food I had, intending to eat out every night until she crawled out weak and submissive, begging to go into her cage.
During the next week Sheba gnawed just about everything soft and pliable in the apartment. It was costing me a fortune, but I was determined not to give in. Once I had her again, I was going to send her to Krystina as a goodbye present. That would serve both the bastards right. My bonsai tiger was a greater escapologist than Houdini. She would certainly stuff those two all right.
Saturday evening I went to bed early. I had a thick blanket ready by the bed to throw over Sheba. I felt she had to come out soon. She must have been absolutely starving by then. Poor Panthera tigris . All she had to do was come to papa. I’d promised her that very morning that if she came out I’d go and buy her some food immediately.
At three o’clock in the morning I was lying peacefully, partly-asleep , the distant sound of a police siren in my ears. Suddenly a terrible pain went shooting up my shin bone . I sat bolt upright, instantly, and screamed in agony. Ripping back the sheets I stared at my leg in the half-light coming from the neon signs outside. There was nothing to be seen, but I could feel a
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