‘Help! Save me!’
Pam mouthed words but no sound came. No rescuer either… Alone she battled a furry ball, a decidedly unfriendly one. Pam kicked mightily to remove its claws from her leg. Then another tabby appeared, and another, and another, contorted faces and flashing eyes. She was terrified. One word raged to her lips, ‘SCAT!’
Familiar arms enclosed her. ‘Pam, hey, you’re OK. Wake up.’
Oh, such a relief to be safe.
She murmured, ‘Oh, just a dream. Had it before.’ Stretching her arms, she smiled into Dan’s concerned face.
‘My leg feels as though it’s been attacked by Nathan Cleary. Didn’t know our bed had goal posts.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, sweet. Poor you. It seemed so real, so scary. Thanks for waking me.’
‘Wanna talk about it?’
‘Nup. I want cornflakes. And coffee.’
She bounced out of bed, ready to begin her routine.
That morning Pam had no inkling that her ordered life was about to change. That one jarring note, the fleeting nightmare, she assigned to the back of her mind. Practicality was her mantra.
Before long, fleeting hugs/kisses and ‘Love You’s’ were exchanged.
Taffy was there at the door to farewell her, awaiting customary head pats and tummy tickles. Pam’s glance at her watch assured her she was on track.
***
Later, as she sat at her desk computer, and examined her day’s schedule, she sighed.
‘Monitoring Raintree Street today. Anyone want to swap?’ she announced to the room. Idle chat ceased and heads dropped to busy work. Only one reply, drenched in sarcasm, ‘That’s where the Felix crone rules the roost, isn’t it? She’s one tough old bird. Enjoy your day, Pamela. Remember all the interesting bits to tell us.’
Pam grimaced and smiled as she exited.
***
Of the personality type who preferred dessert first, she decided to visit the homes that never created any problems for Council Animal Welfare officers. The residence at No. 24 was to be the main course, the source of the stench neighbours complained of. Pam was regaled with tales of the rudeness of Eunice Felix, her cruel actions and abuse towards totally innocent, well-groomed dogs with golden halos, her blaring hillbilly music, and rubbish-strewn footpath. No-one interviewed was willing to provide this particular neighbour with a positive character reference.
In her imagination, Pam pictured breezing through her visit, intent on handling with aplomb whatever arose.
Firstly, gain entrance.
Pam knocked and knocked. Called, ‘Mrs Felix. Council officer here as arranged. Mrs Felix.’ (Applying a non-threatening tone, practised during training.)
Silence. No music either.
More knocks. More calling.
Then footsteps.
Hinges squeaked. A face appeared. Not a welcoming face. Pam observed bulbous lips and whiskered chin.
She produced her ID, and extended her hand. ‘Good morning, Mrs Felix, I’m Pam.
Time was spent stalling, checking credentials–time to read every word five times, Pam recalled much later.
The door swung a fraction wider. A gesture indicated Pam could enter. Three cats were draped on lounge chairs. All looked in fair condition, and ignored the intruder taking in their details with a forensic eye. A fourth cat appeared and jumped into the ready arms of Mrs Felix. She mumbled something, but not to Pam, who decided to keep her usual spiel brief.
‘Madam, thanks for agreeing to let Council check your home and your animals. It’s a while since the last inspection and it is one of my teams’ duties to update the records annually.’
‘Your cats look very well cared for.’ (‘Mollify any ruffled feathers,’ she thought.)
Still not a word…
‘Is it all right for me to walk through your home?’
A nod, begrudging.
A peculiar feeling passed along Pam’s spine. Chin up, she advanced along the hall, darting her eyes towards each open door. En route, she spied an estimated six more felines, looking somewhat neglected. But a vet would need to confirm that.
The back door was shut–padlocked.
‘Please open this door, Mrs Felix. I’ll check your back area and be on my way.’
Pam had been warned that the backyard was enclosed by a high fence. Quests to locate the source of the stench had foiled the most determined neighbourhood snoop. The legalities of a drone had been mooted. Pam pondered this as she waited, wondering, ‘What’s next?’
Dawdling to a drawer and removing a key, the old woman glowered at Pam, muttering, ‘Be quick,’ as she unlocked the door.
Was she pushed? Did she trip? Pam recalled a cackle and the door slamming behind her.
She was spread-eagled in a stinking ooze of cats’ faeces and urine. Meows rose in ghastly chorus. Dozens of scrawny felines were creeping towards her, seeking food or sport, or both. Claws sank into her ankle.
Pam screamed and kicked, desperate. ‘Dan,’ she sobbed.
© Tropical Writers Inc 2025