VEL: The diary of a cat who thinks he’s a human who thinks he’s a cat, and who also happens to be a foodie
An un-relatable (but related) event – Part I
‘Done. You can both relax now,’ the purple-haired woman said. She was standing with her feet wide apart, hands in the pockets of her dress – another flow-ey thing, but red this time; on her face, an air of smug accomplishment.
‘Is it? You dropped him off?’ John Willingson’s voice was laced with disbelief.
The purple-haired woman gave him a look of disapproval. ‘Really, John, you are questioning my word on this?’
John Willingson cleared his throat nervously. ‘No, of course not! I believe you. You have dropped him off,’ he said. As on the first time Theresa, the red-haired woman, was standing very close to him and kept looking over her shoulder at the entrance, as if expecting it to open at any moment – even though it was bolted with an iron bar. It was apparent that the middle-aged man found her nerviness and closeness irritating because he kept moving just that little bit away each time she leaned into him.
The three were again in the living room of an apartment – a different one this time…as could be seen from the décor. Instead of the heavy gold-brocade curtains of the previous one, the curtains in this room were whispy and pink, with stripes of green down the sides. The pink curtain warred strongly with the rest of the room, which was done in dark wood paneling. The sofas were also done in dark fabrics, although their moody colour was upset by throw pillows in the same whispy pink as the curtains. The pink curtains were drawn back. With the bright light that streamed in through the wide-double windows it was easy to see the features of the three people.
The man known as John Willingson was dressed in white trousers and light blue shirt and looked to be in his late fifties, or early sixties. He was a dapper-looking guy of average height and a full head of black (speckled with gray) hair swept all the way back down to the nape of his neck. Other notable features were his eyes and lips: the former were deep-set and gray, and the later full and ruby red: an altogether beautifully put-together older man, was John Willingson.
There was a striking resemblance between him and the purple-haired woman. But while John’s appearance was refined with an old-world-like charm, the purple-haired woman’s heavy makeup, many rings and flow-ey dress gave her the appearance of an over-decorated cake.
The third person among the group, the red-haired woman clinging to John Willingson’s arm, looked to be half his age. She had a large bosom, and had dressed provocatively to reveal them. She was rather skinny, and the white stretch top and the clingy red skinny jeans she had on made her appear even thinner. She was also good-looking, but in a forced, plastic kind of way, and seemed possessed of a rather nervous disposition.
‘What if it turns,’ She said now, her fingers worrying the sleeve of John Willingson’s blue shirt.
‘Told you I would take care of it,’ purple-haired addressed her comment to John Willingson as if the woman, Therese, had not spoken.
‘You will continue to keep an eye on him, won’t you?’ John Willingson asked.
‘Yes, brother, most certainly I will,’ the other replied, again with the same measure of smugness in her voice as before.
‘What if it turns,’ the element of worry in Therese’s voice reached the other two eventually. They both turned to face her.
‘We could go to prison. We could all go to prison!’ Therese wailed