Seriously, that's the title. Creative, ain't it? It came out of boredom, and the end is a bit shit because I rushed it. >>
A pair of beady little black eyes looked down from the bookshelf above the fireplace, watching. None of the guests knew they were there, but they were. Watching. The eyes saw what they needed to see and retreated behind the carved wooden lump that the owners of the house called a “bukend.” Even though there was no risk, the eyes would rather not being detected by anyone. He curled up and waited for the room to empty.
The owner of they eyes awoke hours later, to a room in twilight. The sun was just rising behind the house across the street and was filtering in through the curtains. The guests had all since departed and the room was silent. The eyes looked over the side of the shelf again, and saw that what was there last night was still there. He ate a little food stored from the previous day and grabbed the necessary tools to return back where he had come from.
Tiny paws worked what they needed to do, and laid a wooden ruler across the gap between this shelf and the next. He scurried across it quickly, and ducked behind the cheap ornamental figurine of a woman carrying a basket. There were no noises except for an electrical humming from behind the plaster of the walls. The small furry being darted across the shelf and halted before the gold plated ticking device that seemed to be a measurement of time. He peered over the edge to make sure that there’d be a soft landing and didn’t hesitate to barrel off the edge. He made a complete revolution in the air and landed onto the couch with a soft thump and a squeak. He sprang up and crouched for a moment, to see if there was any movement anywhere else in the house. There was the sound of a footstep somewhere upstairs, a door opening, the creak of a floor board, more foot steps. He remained crouched there until the house was silent again before gauging the drop from the couch to the floor. This was likely to be the tricky part. If there was no soft landing, it was likely to be a very dangerous fall. Luckily, a jacket had been left a little way in front of the couch and he was running across the carpet to the door in no time. From down here, Marco couldn’t see the plastic cage in which Jasper was trapped very well; just the coloured tubes that connected one part of it to another. As much as he wanted to try and do something now to free him, he had to go on by and leave it until later.
Through the open door and into the kitchen. With any luck, the cat would be either asleep or not have returned after her nightly prowling around the neighbourhood. She was asleep in the basket in the corner by the fridge. So far, so good. Marco had to tread lighter here, lest his claws make a very audible noise on the wooden flooring through the quiet house. There were a few moments when the cat stirred at the (what he thought very loud) sound of his claws clicking, but he managed to make it to the door undetected. The cat flap was too high for Marco to reach by himself and after a quick search, he confirmed that the step up that was supposed to have been arranged to help him escape was not in place. He looked a little further, to see if there was anything that could be used in its place, but there was nothing. He briefly considered moving the cat’s dish, but quickly decided against it. It would make too much noise. It seemed that he was trapped. That was just great luck. After risking his life getting in and gathering the information he needed, he’d end up taking it to his grave. Then the hamster noticed something by the recycling bin that just may be what he needed. The clicking of his claws on the flooring was probably louder than it had been before, and he was sure the cat was now half-awake because of it. But it didn’t matter; he’d found his freedom now. He dragged the pile of old magazines and newspapers over to the cat flap. The pile just rose above the bottom edge of it, which made it even harder for the cat to follow if she so chose. Up the papery pile, and out the flap, and at last, Marco was free.
A pair of beady little black eyes looked down from the bookshelf above the fireplace, watching. None of the guests knew they were there, but they were. Watching. The eyes saw what they needed to see and retreated behind the carved wooden lump that the owners of the house called a “bukend.” Even though there was no risk, the eyes would rather not being detected by anyone. He curled up and waited for the room to empty.
The owner of they eyes awoke hours later, to a room in twilight. The sun was just rising behind the house across the street and was filtering in through the curtains. The guests had all since departed and the room was silent. The eyes looked over the side of the shelf again, and saw that what was there last night was still there. He ate a little food stored from the previous day and grabbed the necessary tools to return back where he had come from.
Tiny paws worked what they needed to do, and laid a wooden ruler across the gap between this shelf and the next. He scurried across it quickly, and ducked behind the cheap ornamental figurine of a woman carrying a basket. There were no noises except for an electrical humming from behind the plaster of the walls. The small furry being darted across the shelf and halted before the gold plated ticking device that seemed to be a measurement of time. He peered over the edge to make sure that there’d be a soft landing and didn’t hesitate to barrel off the edge. He made a complete revolution in the air and landed onto the couch with a soft thump and a squeak. He sprang up and crouched for a moment, to see if there was any movement anywhere else in the house. There was the sound of a footstep somewhere upstairs, a door opening, the creak of a floor board, more foot steps. He remained crouched there until the house was silent again before gauging the drop from the couch to the floor. This was likely to be the tricky part. If there was no soft landing, it was likely to be a very dangerous fall. Luckily, a jacket had been left a little way in front of the couch and he was running across the carpet to the door in no time. From down here, Marco couldn’t see the plastic cage in which Jasper was trapped very well; just the coloured tubes that connected one part of it to another. As much as he wanted to try and do something now to free him, he had to go on by and leave it until later.
Through the open door and into the kitchen. With any luck, the cat would be either asleep or not have returned after her nightly prowling around the neighbourhood. She was asleep in the basket in the corner by the fridge. So far, so good. Marco had to tread lighter here, lest his claws make a very audible noise on the wooden flooring through the quiet house. There were a few moments when the cat stirred at the (what he thought very loud) sound of his claws clicking, but he managed to make it to the door undetected. The cat flap was too high for Marco to reach by himself and after a quick search, he confirmed that the step up that was supposed to have been arranged to help him escape was not in place. He looked a little further, to see if there was anything that could be used in its place, but there was nothing. He briefly considered moving the cat’s dish, but quickly decided against it. It would make too much noise. It seemed that he was trapped. That was just great luck. After risking his life getting in and gathering the information he needed, he’d end up taking it to his grave. Then the hamster noticed something by the recycling bin that just may be what he needed. The clicking of his claws on the flooring was probably louder than it had been before, and he was sure the cat was now half-awake because of it. But it didn’t matter; he’d found his freedom now. He dragged the pile of old magazines and newspapers over to the cat flap. The pile just rose above the bottom edge of it, which made it even harder for the cat to follow if she so chose. Up the papery pile, and out the flap, and at last, Marco was free.
