A cold, dark morning sometime between Christmas and New Year. The street is asleep, all but me and my wife who I have to drive to work. It’s been another excruciatingly cold night. The frost lies thick. It takes the better part of fifteen minutes to clear the windscreen of the car.
Pulling away, cursing the gloves that were left in the car overnight and the blower that just won’t heat up, we spy the true ruler of our street.
A full-coated, long-haired, snowy-white incarnation of villiany. Think James Bond, or Cats & Dogs. Surveying the morning with an air of total self-possession - total street-possession, even - he caught my eye.
“Yes,” I could sense him thinking. “Kneel before me, for every inch of this cold darkness is mine. Even you.”
I fear it may be so. Evil Cat™ lives in my street.