The Plastic Cat

                It comes down every Christmas.




Dad says it fell from Santa's sleigh during the great storm and I believed him, until that year Hissing Sid at the Black Bull told me he'd had won it in a game of Rummy.



I hate the plastic cat. I don't why why we still put it up. 








Dad says it reminds him of Mum because she fussed over it like it was a real cat. It sits on the mantelpiece and looks at me. He's never like me, because he knows what I did to Mum and why nobody ever found her body.





                                        


                                           (C) Ally Atherton 2016










Written for this week's 100 word challenge over at Thin Spiral Notebook. Hosted by Tara Roberts. Give it ago. It's a great way to meet other writers.












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Justice

I'm not going to find it rummaging through the top drawer in the kitchen, full of weeping batteries, silly string, short fuses and take away menus. Everybody has a drawer like that but it doesn't contain the thing I am looking for.

I'm not going to find it, either, in a convenience store and the postman isn't going come knocking on the door asking me to sign for it.




Only you can give it to me. But you're stuck inside my head. Like a small piece of chewing gum.






Stuck in Nineteen Eighty Four with your hands around my neck.







                                         (C) Ally Atherton 2016








Written for this week's prompt over at Thin Spiral Notebook, hosted by Tara.



Give it a go. It's fun and a great way to meet other writers.