Anita’s furrowed face pulls itself into a surprised smile. She takes half a step out the door, as if she wants to say something more.
Maybe something about Sonja, how deeply she misses her best friend.
How she misses what they had, all four of them, when they first moved onto this street almost forty years ago.
How she even misses the way Rune and Ove used to argue. But Ove has already disappeared around the corner.
Back in his toolshed, Ove fetches the spare battery for the Saab and two large metal clips.
He lays out the sheet of corrugated iron across the paving stones between the shed and the house and carefully covers it with snow.
He stands next to the cat, evaluating his creation for a long time.
A perfect dog trap, hidden under snow, bursting with electricity, ready to bite. It seems a wholly proportionate revenge.
The next time Blond Weed passes by with that bloody mutt of hers and the latter gets the idea of peeing on Ove’s paving,
it’ll do so onto an electrified, conductive metal plate.
And then let’s see how amusing they find it, Ove thinks to himself.
The cat tilts its head and looks at the metal sheet. “Like a bolt of lightning up your urethra,” says Ove.
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