Before I start today’s post, I wanted to thank everyone who took the time to read my last weekly challenge response, Dream Chaser. In the community vote, that piece tied for third place! I’m excited because it was so much my younger son, Pickles. Thank you!
This week, I’m back to Darlene’s Story. Since it’s been an extra week between segments, here’s where the story left off: the FBI agents had taken Darlene’s nosy 82-year-old neighbor, Myrtle, away for questioning in the death of Darlene’s husband and the disappearance of Darlene’s father. Before Myrtle left, she asked Darlene to feed her cats. So, here, Darlene embarks on the task of feeding the cats.
Darlene watched the Lincoln drive away with Myrtle in the backseat. She glanced at her bare feet, then at Myrtle’s front door.
She gulped. Guess I’d better feed her cats…
Darlene’s sudden perspiration could be attributed to the 105 degree temperature, but her heart palpitations signaled the real culprit: fear. One of her earliest memories involved cats. She’d been playing in the food bin and her mom’s three cats circled her legs like sharks around a row boat. Next thing she knew, Lightning, the black cat, attacked her leg and she had to get five stitches. Ever since then, Darlene hadn’t met a feline she trusted.
She took a deep breath and trudged up Myrtle’s walk. At the door, her slick palm rested on the knob. I can do this, she told herself. With a deep breath, she flung the door open, expecting cat stench to assault her senses. She was surprised when that didn’t happen. Darlene noticed the waist-high stacks of newspapers along the walls. “What is it with elderly and newspapers?” she muttered.
Cat food. She had no clue where Myrtle kept the cat food, but figured the kitchen would be logical. She rummaged through the cabinets, first low, then high but couldn’t find the cat food. Darlene put her hands on her hips and scanned the floor. Funny. I don’t see food or water dishes.
“What are you doing in here?”
Darlene let out a startled yelp and turned to the sound of the sharp voice. Dottie Anderson. “Hello, Mrs. Anderson.” She smiled so she wouldn’t appear flustered- or worse: guilty.
“Well?” Dottie folded her arms across her chest.
“Myrtle asked me to feed her cats.”
The old woman smirked. “Really? She doesn’t have cats.”
Darlene spotted an unopened bag of Meow Mix on the counter, partially obscured by a potted plant. “Ah, this must be it,” she said, then grabbed the bag.
“That’s not yours!”
“Good day, Mrs. Anderson.” Darlene squeezed by before she could protest.
APPEAR: to have an outward aspect: seem. <appears happy enough>
If you want to read other responses, or try the challenge yourself, click on the tricycle picture to view Trifecta’s site. Happy writing (and reading!)
This continuation of Darlene’s Story is still in Darlene’s point of view. Click here for Darlene’s Story page if you want to read the entire piece. Thanks for stopping by!