The menace is out and about and has acquired Sophie as its target.
Linen sheets and woolen articles wave like banners on the clothesline. Shadows ripple over wilted brown grass in the breeze.
What a blessing that the clouds decided to take a day off. Air-drying the laundry seemed optimal. No heavy snow has arrived. That is surprising this time of year. The older women in the neighborhood whisper that it will be at its worst in January. So—why not take advantage?
Sophie bends, picking through the wicker basket. She flattens a blanket with a flick and folds it over her shoulder, checking the hem of her skirt.
Clothespins circle her waist. With two in hand, she pins the blanket to the line.
Content as she is with housework, she grew to like it in its repetitiveness. Outliers and anomalies in her routine were so rare that they rarely dwelt in her mind.
Yet, that does not mean they are absent altogether.
Against the now-waving blanket was an abnormally robust shadow. Not a meter tall, but that shade was practically at the same height as her kneecaps. Long ears prick up like horns, a demon in the wait.
Sophie’s hands recoil, stiffly in place. Her contentment twists to contemptment, her grimace baselessly exposed.
This whiskered delinquent, this pawed persecutor, had the gall to make his appearance. Surely, she thought, he was busier meowing up other trees and victims in the endless list this creature meticulously created.
A thin sheet between obscures one from the other. Oh, how she can envision him now with his apathetic face and beady brown eyes. Then there was his moose-brown, thick fur, pricking out towards the ends, mangy and matted. He never in a day in his life saw or used a brush. Or never had a bath, at that.
A thinking mind of a fiend like him shows when his tail swishes so harmlessly. Tick-tock. Like a pendulum swinging in a grandfather clock.
Why had he decided he should be here? Especially when she was drying white clothes? Do you know how obvious it would be if his fur were on them? Do you know how long it would take to remove every strand?
Easing weight into her left leg, Sophie finally moves. She teeters to the side, peering beyond the white veil. Squinted eyes finally greet him, the few existences in this world who could scandalize her so quickly.
Her marred palm rests on her hip as she delivers one clear warning, “Don’t.”
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