The phone rang once! The phone rang twice! Wilfie’s tummy did an acrobatic tumble and his whole body collapsed into itself. He was deflated. Questions in his mind. Would he answer it? Could he answer it?
“Wilfred,” the dulcet tones of his beloved rang out in her telephone voice, “Wilfred, will you answer that? It could be Granny.”
Could be! He knew it was. Wilfred!! She never called him Wilfred, at least not when they were tumbling about in the big water bed or lathering each other up in the shower. Oh, Red loved the water, she could swim for ever. Whereas he loathed it. Waterlogged fur was not a pretty sight or smell for that matter.
Then it was “Oh Wilfie, what big teeth you have.”
“All the better to nip you with, my Dear.”
“Oh, Wilfie, what big hands you have.”
“All the better to paw you, my Love.”
He sighed heavily. All thoughts of unbridled passion fading like mist in a forest. Another night of humiliation. Another evening of forced hilarity.
“Sorry, Hon have to go out.”
“That’s twice in six months. You’re making a habit of this. Are you having an affair?”
“Ah, Red! As if. Love the hoodie of ya, you know!”
“Love you too, Furry. Hurry home. Just bought a new scarlet hood, Big Boy!”
Crap! Libido seriously heightened, Wilfie reluctantly left the promise of pornographic pleasures and proceeded to his fate.
He hadn’t meant to hurt Granny. But when someone produces a rifle from underneath her nightie, it’s self-defence really. Right! That weapon could have done serious damage to his chest, not to mention his male pride and glory a few inches below. Granny didn’t know, you see. Didn’t know Red and he were lovers. She would have shot him then and there if she had. He had never crossed the threshold of her house. He never dared. But that day he had needed to ask for Red’s hand In marriage. I mean she had to know sometime.
Turned out he hadn’t hurt her at all, only swallowed her whole. Red peered down his throat to see Granny waving and cursing like a lunatic. They pulled her out, wiped her down and stuck her back in bed. Wilfie had stomach ache for weeks after the ordeal. A ninety year old senior citizen is not the most palatable of cuisine.
“Get me outta here! That fucking wolf is gonna suffer. You mark my words.!”
And I am, suffering that is. Not marking her words. Well, that too, I suppose. At her beck and call when her friends in the nursing home wanted a wee show. Had to relive the whole sordid episode, only I was Granny, dressed in gaudy, flowery, gingham nightie and curly grey wig under a bright pink mob cap!! I swear I think one of her sickening caps is still in my tummy, trying to find a way out. Granny, of course was geared up as me, the only thing visible among the fur was her pinched, wrinkled, old face on which perched her bottle top spectacles. She roared and growled like a bear in heat, then proceeded to attempt to swallow me. Fuck, she has some jaw, opened impossibly wide,nearly got the top of my head in. But the fur made her sneeze so she shot me instead! Calm! Calm! I always have my lifejacket on! But the bruises! Have to explain them to Red. Told her she was a bit rough sexwise!
Oh the humiliation! Someday, yes, someday Granny, the tables will turn! One long breath in and you’re gone!