The cat was a terrifying tiger, a ferocious feline, a badass boss. He was not to be leered at. Mr Blobby was his name and domination was his game. He crept through the kitchen, tiptoed down the hall and positioned himself like a deadly assassin behind the bedroom door. He was waiting for that joke of a mouse to show her silly little face.
Mr Blobby licked his chops. Anticipation had become a game that never stopped.
The mouse was an athletic artist, a jailbird jester, a pesky prankster. Never underestimate the cunning capabilities, the devious designs of a tiny little mouse. Lilly was her name and silliness was her game. From the safety of a hole in the wall she peered. Mr Blobby was hidden, or so he thought. His big fat shadow revealed him.
Lilly rubbed her little paws together as she thought. A lesson in who’s really boss was now to be taught.
The canon was red, the gloves were off, the battle had begun. Lilly launched herself from the hole in the wall.
She glided beneath the fat cat’s legs, narrowly avoiding the snap of his jaw. They rocketed down the hall and straight through the kitchen. Lilly was about to take the daring game outside.
The garden was in sight. Hearts beating, bodies tensed, things were feeling tight.
The cat was closing in, preparing to pounce, victory was near. Suddenly, Lilly veered off course. Mr Blobby was confused, then BANG—he collided with the big glass door. He’d forgotten it was there. Lilly looked up at his motionless body. She gave a rich little laugh as she continued walking on. Suddenly, SNAP. She was so distracted she’d just walked into a trap.
Now how will we ever know who really owns the house, when it comes down to a silly game of cat and mouse?
Words by Eleanor Packer
Image by Tracey Davis