that in the end he began to hold them personally responsible for all that happened to her—and to the child.
And then she left him alone in a world where he no longer understood the language.
Later that night, once Ove and the cat have had their dinner and watched the TV for a while, he turns out the lamp in the living room and goes upstairs.
The cat follows watchfully at his heels, as if sensing that he’s going to do something it hasn’t been informed about.
It sits on the bedroom floor while Ove gets undressed and looks as if it’s trying to figure out a magic trick.
Ove goes to bed and lies still while the bloody cat, on Sonja’s side of the bed, takes more than an hour to go to sleep.
Obviously, he does not go to such lengths because of some lingering sense of obligation to the cat; he just doesn’t have the energy for an argument.
He can’t be expected to explain the concept of life and death to an animal that can’t even take care of its own fur.
When the cat finally rolls onto its back on Sonja’s pillow and starts snoring with an open mouth, Ove sneaks out of bed as light-footedly as he can.
Goes down into the living room, gets out the rifle from the hiding place behind the radiator.
He gets out four heavy-duty tarpaulins he’s fetched in from the toolshed and hidden in the broom cupboard so the cat doesn’t notice them.
Starts taping them up on the walls in the hall. Ove, after some consideration, has decided that this will probably be the best room for the deed,
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