You’ll see by the length that it’s getting easier. Better? You be the judge, but at least I’m getting practice and sticking to it so far. Enjoy the tail and hope my American readers had a great Thanksgiving.
As she walked into the kitchen it moved. Cassandra stopped dead and wiped her eyes. Her sugar levels must be out from yesterday’s over-indulgence, because they were playing tricks on her.
The turkey carcass rocked on her grandmother’s antique fine white china serving platter. She took a step backwards, grabbing the door frame to steady herself. One foot in, but her body turned ready to hightail it down the passage to wake the rest of the family.
Who had forgotten to put these leftovers in the fridge? There was only a skeleton of meat remaining on the bones considering the huge bird they had started feasting on, but her grandparents abhorred waste. Someone was going to be in trouble.
She tried to think if it was going to be her considering it was Alex, her insatiable boyfriend who was still eating at 11 when the old folks went to bed. She couldn’t remember. Her brain was foggy from the eggnog. They had been testing a new recipe for Christmas and someone was a little heavy handed with the sherry. But she hadn’t complained, only her head that was now flashing bright lights of objection this morning. Oh scrap that, it was only the sun.
She could smell the rich coffee that she wanted, no needed to brew, but gave a side-eye to the moving uneaten meat.
The neck lunged forward making scratching and clawing noises. Then it raised itself up. Cassandra yelped and jumped back against the passage wall. Like a trapped leftover Halloween spirit the roasted meal began thrashing.
Before she could move her feet it gave a whimpering… meow. Wait a minute… a meow? Cassandra turned back to the ghost, taking in the soft furry underbelly. She began to laugh until tears were rolling down her face and then rushed to help.
It was a symbol of trick-or-treat season, but not other worldly. A cute pitch-black witch’s kitten enjoying its own Thanksgiving dinner had gotten stuck. Pawprints from the open window gave away its entry point. She wondered if she could keep it. A black cat called ghost – perfect.
by Debbie Gravett © 2020.11.27
Image by Kadres from Pixabay