Short Story: Come-uppance

Short Story: Come-uppance

The people who live in the house next door to us once owned an ugly ginger tomcat.

Well, I have never liked cats; no one in my family has ever liked cats; in fact, we all absolutely and unequivocally detest and abhor cats - whatever their colour!

I was born in this house by the way; my brothers and sisters were all born here too. They left home when they grew older. They live in different houses now and I hardly ever see them anymore. I never knew my father either, mother said he was just a passing acquaintance of hers; she said she never saw him again after the night he made her pregnant.

Mother passed away a few months ago; she suffered horribly from some kind of stomach cancer and went right off her legs towards the end. My new dad buried her at the top of the garden when she died, and laid a row of pretty pebbles all round the outside of her grave, with a little wooden cross above where her head lay. I was distraught, and missed her terribly at first. I would often sit up and cry all night long - but I did get over her death eventually, and now I can hardly remember her at all. However, whenever I go up to the top of the garden and see her grave, I know there is a part of me lying there under the earth, and I feel I am sworn to protect the ground above where she lies. I do not know why I should think that way - but I just do.

Now, the ginger freak that lived next door, used to climb over the fence on to our side of the garden and dig up Dad’s vegetable patch just for the fun of it. On other days, the cheeky swine would jump up, dig his claws into the clean washing on our clothesline, and leave rips and dirty marks all down dad’s shirts. The worst thing he got up to however was to defecate on the ground above where my mother lay. I often saw him through the French windows, but before I could get through the door and catch him at it, he would leap onto the fence and just sit there grinning at me. Even though I shouted at him loudly, he would never move he would just lift a paw and sit licking and pruning himself, ignoring me as though I wasn’t there. I did collar him eventually though. Oh yes, I caught him at last and showed him why I was not to be trifled with.

It was one day when there had been a lot of overnight rain. I went into the garden to see to my usual daily chores, when I saw him, head down and using my mother’s grave as a lavatory again. Of course, I immediately saw red and rushed up the garden like a greyhound. The hated cat heard me coming and turned to scarper - but he was too late. The ground above where the grave lies is predominantly red clay, and red clay becomes very slippery when wet. The overnight deluge had done its job, the cat’s feet could not get a proper purchase and he slipped and slithered as he tried in vain to gain the safety of the fence. Consequently, I was upon him before he knew it.

I was angry; very, very angry, beside myself with anger in fact, and the cat finally felt the fullness of my pent up wrath. I grabbed him by the throat and started to tear him limb from limb, I almost ripped all the horrible ginger fur from his body I was so angry. He didn’t even have time to scream before I had ended his worthless, scheming life.

No more would I have to worry now about keeping the vile thing off our garden, and no more would the ugly brute sit on the fence and grin down at me thinking he was safe from my fury; but most important of all, no more would the hated beast defile my mother's grave.

I tossed the mangled body of the cat away from me at last, and then stopped to lick all its blood from my paws before sauntering back down the garden towards my nice warm kennel.