by John Riley
There are times my dear visitor, that I can’t help myself, imagining silly little scenarios and writing them out for the pages. So I take my leave as we draw a close to this month with a piece that painted a picture in my mind and had me spilling a goblet of the bulls blood all over a newly washed burial robe I happen to be wearing getting ready for bed.
A knitted onesie
Tina adores being with dead things visiting the National History Museum and on first name terms with Stephen the wildcat guide. She’s fixated now on inviting him home.
Stephen said if she wanted him to come on his day off, he’d have to be back for tea at five.
Tina’s obsessive about knitting wool wants a bigger project now. She needn’t worry, Stephen likes her collection of knitted Felis catus, he thinks they look great.
He didn’t want to say when the conversation went dead, but her house smells a bit. He thinks it might be cats gone feral ’cause he noticed reward posters on fences for missing ones.
What time do you have to get back? Five, he says suddenly recognising unmistakably a feline bone sticking out of a knitted Siamese.
Tina just grins as if she’s measuring him up. Stephen doesn’t want sex with her he thinks she smells.
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