The Flying Rat

Patrick Callaghan

My youngest sister's cat was called Jerome (NOT Jeremy), looked like a pure black Siamese and was, purely and simply, a killing machine. One Saturday afternoon Mother, as usual, was working in the kitchen when Jerome brought her a 'present'; a sparrow. Without wishing to cause a trauma by rejecting this display of unsuspected affection the bird was, nonetheless, consigned to the fiery heart of the Raeburn.

A few minutes later, the proud feline laid a robin at the feet of a 'Marigold'-gloved Mother. The discomposited (if this isn't a real word, it should be) atoms of the robin followed those of the sparrow, up the chimney to the 'great nest in the sky'. Jerome was rewarded with a tap on the nose; Mother's yellow card. ... (continues)