She makes a gesture at him that he hasn’t seen before, although he can guess what it means.
Then she and her wretched little dog make off towards Anders’s house.
Ove turns off by his shed. Sees the wet splashes of piss on the paving by the corner of the flowerbed.
If he weren’t busy with more important things this afternoon he would have gone off to make a doormat of that mutt right away.
But he has other things to occupy him. He goes to his toolshed, gets out his hammer-action drill and his box of drill bits.
When he comes out again the cat is sitting there looking at him.
“You can clear off now,” says Ove. It doesn’t move. Ove shakes his head resignedly. “Hey! I’m not your friend.”
The cat stays where it is. Ove throws out his arms.
“Christ, you bloody cat, me backing you up when that stupid bag threw stones at you only means I dislike you”
“less than that weedy nutter across the street. And that’s not much of an achievement; you should be absolutely clear about that.”
The cat seems to give this some careful thought. Ove points at the footpath. “Clear off!”
Not at all concerned by this, the cat licks its bloodstained fur.
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