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Weekly Contest #46
Ernest clacked away at his typewriter. Settled in, he started his day crafting the ongoing tale of Cecil Barrett. It's not a job if you do what you love, right? “What sort of trouble can we get into today, Cecil?” *** At the risk of burning his eggs, Cecil left the stove to answer the phone in the hallway. Chubs did as all cats must and scurried between Cecil’s pencil-thin legs as he reached for the receiver. “I’ll go soon enough you little bastard, stop tryna kill me.” Cecil cocked back his plaid moccasin but Chubs vanished before...
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