The cat sat with a nonchalant expression in the middle of the footpath that ran between the houses.
It had half a tail and only one ear. Patches of fur were missing here and there as if someone had pulled it out in handfuls.
Not a very impressive feline. Ove stomped forward. The cat stood up. Ove stopped.
They stood there measuring up to each other for a few moments, like two potential troublemakers in a small-town bar.
Ove considered throwing one of his clogs at it. The cat looked as if it regretted not bringing its own clogs to lob back.
“Scram!” Ove bellowed, so abruptly that the cat jumped back.
It briefly scrutinized the fifty-nine-year-old man and his clogs, then turned and lolloped off.
Ove could have sworn it rolled its eyes before clearing out.
Pest, he thought, glancing at his watch. Two minutes to six.
Time to get going or the bloody cat would have succeeded in delaying the entire inspection.
Fine state of affairs that would be. He began marching along the footpath between the houses.
He stopped by the traffic sign informing motorists that they were prohibited from entering the residential area.
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