Contributor: Benjamin F Jones
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I have never really been into pedigree felines but when I saw the Persian Violet advertised in the Evening Standard, I knew it had to be mine.
I took my cousin to the purchase; she is an expert on household pets and there are all sorts of horror stories about dangerous animals being botched together, re-sprayed and sold on.
We arrived at 57 Nutbush Road shortly after 7pm. I was carrying a cat-box and a wodge of money. The cat played in the uncut grass of the terraced house, opalescent and glittering in the sun; racing and pouncing through the heads of dandelions. As the owner gave me a brief service history my cousin checked the oil; apparently there is an old trick where treacle is put in to disguise rattles – the cat was clean and we took it for a walk around the block. Some of the tail-bearings seemed a little worn but the bodywork had been well looked after.
The street was peaceful when we returned. Far off I heard a petrol mower – the smell of cut grass drifted like gold in the air. My cousin gave me the nod and I knew I had a good deal.
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Benjamin F Jones is a writer working in South Wales. He loves pizza, photography and moist clay. When it rains he catches drops in his open mouth. He creates poetry, flash, absurdist snapshots, prose poetry and humorous fiction. Shuffled Fragments can be read at http://graphitebunny.wordpress.com/
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I have never really been into pedigree felines but when I saw the Persian Violet advertised in the Evening Standard, I knew it had to be mine.
I took my cousin to the purchase; she is an expert on household pets and there are all sorts of horror stories about dangerous animals being botched together, re-sprayed and sold on.
We arrived at 57 Nutbush Road shortly after 7pm. I was carrying a cat-box and a wodge of money. The cat played in the uncut grass of the terraced house, opalescent and glittering in the sun; racing and pouncing through the heads of dandelions. As the owner gave me a brief service history my cousin checked the oil; apparently there is an old trick where treacle is put in to disguise rattles – the cat was clean and we took it for a walk around the block. Some of the tail-bearings seemed a little worn but the bodywork had been well looked after.
The street was peaceful when we returned. Far off I heard a petrol mower – the smell of cut grass drifted like gold in the air. My cousin gave me the nod and I knew I had a good deal.
- - -
Benjamin F Jones is a writer working in South Wales. He loves pizza, photography and moist clay. When it rains he catches drops in his open mouth. He creates poetry, flash, absurdist snapshots, prose poetry and humorous fiction. Shuffled Fragments can be read at http://graphitebunny.wordpress.com/
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Author:
Benjamin F Jones
