The sofa was red, though this didn’t matter. Of the other three, another was also red, and the remaining pair were blue. Big bright bold shades. There’d have been a meeting and someone would have passed round a catalogue and a vote would have been taken. Unless there was an underlying protocol which overrode democracy—a corporate livery, a company style. This didn’t matter either. All that mattered was that she was curled up on the world’s reddest sofa, whose tall back was the only thing shielding her from—

crackle

“Yo.”

crackle

“Sweet, man, yeah, maybe a mouse. You know I put them traps down? The humane ones? Catch and release, right?”

The planet shifted, and if she hadn’t already put a hand to her mouth, wasn’t already biting down on her outstretched index finger, she’d have screamed.

He had turned and was leaning against her sofa. The back of his head had swum into her ken, a shaved and cratered moon.

“I’ll release it I catch it all right. Release it from the window. Twenny-five floors, see if the little fucker lands on its feet.”

crackle

“So yeah. Kettle on. See you in ten.”

She could not breathe. She could not move. She could swear she could feel his heat.

Could smell the odour of smoked cigarettes.

The sofa moved again, crawled half an inch across the floor, and seemed to vibrate at the same time—what was he doing, was he toying with her?

Catch and release.

This was what cats did, they played with their food.

And then her heart flipped as he let out a huge sigh:

“. . . Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh . . .”

When Maggie realised what he was doing, that he was using the sofa’s high back as a scratching post, she had to bite down on her finger again, this time to keep hysteria in. A big burly man, and he was giving it a real jiggle, reaching those places his own hands never could. It must feel so great, it must feel so grand, but oh God, what if he came round to push the sofa back into place when he was done? There she’d be, curled up like his special treat, and all he’d have to do was reach out and pluck her.

It didn’t happen. The sofa stopped moving as he finished his scratch and then he was gone, back the way he’d come. She lay there while he, presumably, checked the nearest offices, their glass frontages making it unnecessary for him to step inside, and then she was hearing the lobby door open and close, after which there was only silence.

Five minutes later, maybe less, the lights went out.

Harvey, you should have been there.

She wanted to make herself happy, to turn this into an anecdote.