Through the Roof

It was surprising how quickly they were on the roof.

It seems like one moment they were at the curb, then in the yard, then on the roof.

And why? She knew immediately. They were coming for her. She could hear them ripping the concrete roof tiles up, pounding with their hammers, tearing at the wood.

And she knew what would come next. She had played it out in her mind, every last, horrific, terrible detail. They would fall crashing through the ceiling, fall heavily upon her with all their weight, screaming, pounding her with their hammers, pounding nails into the center of her forehead. And she would run, under the bed, with the nails sticking out of her head, and they would drag her back out, and it would end that way, them over her, blood everywhere.

Bang, bang, bang, went the hammers. She jumped off the couch to the floor and threw up on the carpet.

Then the door opened, and her master entered, and said gently, “Oh, poor thing, it will be alright.  They would never hurt a little, soft, furry thing like you. They are just fixing the roof.”

And she relaxed — until they came again the next day with their hammers.


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