Elizabeth Wrenn - Second Chance

I set to dust-mopping, Heloise set to sniffing. I watched her make her way over to the bookcase, trying to wedge herself in the space between it and the wall, but I knew it was too narrow, even for her sinewy little body. I slid the dust mop under my grandmother’s antique desk and pulled out a small wad of fur and dust. I had to admit, however, it appeared to be mostly Hairy’s fur. I got down on my hands and knees for a second pass.

My excavations were interrupted by a screeching meow, followed by Hairy streaking through the living room, hair on end and hotly pursued by a euphoric Heloise. Hairy’s ears were flattened against the back of his head, his tail straight out behind him. Heloise’s ears couldn’t have been any more forward, her tail high.

‘Stop!’ I yelled, crawling bravely into their path, dust mop extended. Hairy, maintaining impressive speed, turned at the dust mop and dashed under the love seat. Heloise had to make a last-minute adjustment and came up short, her paws again slipping out from under her on the wood floor. She slid on her side, with enough momentum to upend the standing lamp. I lunged for it but was too late. The resulting crash sent Heloise scrambling in the other direction, but once she hit the throw rug, she made no progress whatsoever, as it merely bunched up under her. Finally, she jumped off the mound of rug and resumed her tear after the cat, who stupidly shot out from the relative safety under the love seat. The white and tan blurs then careened into the sunroom, with me bringing up the rear, yelling and shaking my dust mop.

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