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    Covid Lockdown ( Day 9: The Pawshank Redemption )

    The hunger pains started early this morning. It had been at least three hours since last I ate, not including the packet of chocolate biscuits I had just eaten. I go to the fridge with dreams of ham and cheese sandwiches. I pull open the door and all I can see is the back of the fridge. I hadn’t realised just how filthy it had become. I look for a scrubber to begin cleaning, but think better of it. My wife will enjoy cleaning that, why take that away from her. I’m such a good and thoughtful husband. I try to give myself a pat on the back but I can’t reach. I’ve really got to start exercising. I wonder does Jane Fonda have any new videos out.

    The issue at hand still remains. There is no food in the fridge, and fridges don’t fill themselves no matter how hard I close my eyes and wish for it. I have to once again brave the mean streets and make my way to the supermarket. Only one person allowed at a time. Hopefully the cops don’t spot me. They have been pretty mean to me ever since my wife chased them down and spit in their faces. She does that sometimes. I’m used to it, but the police here tend to see that kind of thing as a sign of aggression.

    I go to grab my bag for life when I hear a gentle rat a tata on the door. I know that knock, I think to myself. “Oh no.” I’d completely forgotten about my previous days angry text to “Mister Snuggles”. Ominous music plays as I say his name out loud. I realize the window is open and it’s my neighbour Pedro playing his “Now That What I Call Ominous Music” album. I close the window and once again hear the sound of the door knocking followed by scratching sounds.

    “Frank, hide”, I yell out.

    I hear his door bolt unlock. A flock of sheep run past the kitchen door, followed shortly by Frank. I wait till the coast is clear before opening the door. Indeed, it was Mister Snuggles. His trademark miniature purple fedora placed neatly on his head. A large gold collar around his neck with diamond encrusted lettering that reads “Snuggles”. He was the one who ran the kitty litter about town and didn’t take kindly to others trying to muscle in on his territory.

    Behind him are his two heavies. Tom cats. One of them just got out of the cattery after doing a 10 stretch. 10 long miserable days. I had it on good authority he neutered a fellow inmate.

    “Look, Mister Snuggles. That message I sent you yesterday. It was a mistake. He’s not actually here”.

    I could tell he didn’t believe me. He gestured to his goons to search the house. They rushed pass me. One of them had a cat box. I’d like to say I tried to stop them, but that would be a lie. Truth be told, I was terrified. Rumours of the what Mister Snuggles did to those that disobeyed him were the stuff of nightmares. I hear my wife scream from the bedroom.

    “No, leave him. He’s done nothing to you.”

    I turn to see the two goons dragging Frank out by his tail. They open the cat box store and stuff him in like a cat being stuffed into a cat box. My wife tries to pull him back out, but they simply swat her away. These are two mean kitties. They drag the box and its content out the door passed Mister Snuggles. He sticks a twenty in my top pocket and leaves. I don’t know what the police will think if they see three cats carrying a cat box with another cat inside. I don’t know if I’ll ever see Frank again.

    Final Day Part 1:

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    Posted 10 days ago.

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