A Worst Nightmare

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Leg outstretched, Tiff washed herself, scratchy tongue pulling each fibre of glamourous black fur clean, leaving a smell of fresh laundry. The common servant, who occasionally refered to herself as “Mother”, sometimes remarked that Tiff and her sister eat only fish, yet they smell of “nothing”. Well Missus, Tiff tutted to herself, if we bathed only once per day, as you do – foul heathen – we would probably emit quite the odour ourselves. But some of us have a little decorum.

Her perfect limb clean, in keeping with her other four and in appealing contrast to her cream-coloured chest and abdomen, Tiff turned her attention to regard her sister. Smaller, scrawnier, with an unsightly chunk missing from her left ear – terrible misunderstanding, that one – Co leered down from her position in front of the coloured box Mother liked to watch, her blue eyes ablaze in the quickly fading afternoon sun.

Co had made an awful embarassment of herself this afternoon when the girl came to visit - rolling over like a common tabby for a belly scratch.

How are the staff supposed to know how to behave? Tiff sighed, internally, If they are not taught?

Co’s blue eyes suddenly widened, a crack appearing in the air, as if the very atmosphere in which they sat had been set alight. Tiff and Co, as if they had rehearsed it, leapt into the air and were within two moments hidden securely in Mothers bed, underneath the pillowy goose down comforter.

A comforter indeed, thought Tiff, holding back a tiny sob, it brings little comfort to two beings who are ALONE in these horrendous circumstances. We will never make it through this time, never.

Poor little Co started to wail as the inevitable rumble ran through their spines and the thundering water outside began.

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