Sherry Chandler » 2007 » August » 10
James Carlton Farraday was tired of being kidnapped.
He did not know who he had been kidnapped by, or where he had been kidnapped to, or what he had been kidnapped for.
At first, he had not minded, but now he was bored. He was tired of the same room—a little one way up high like a garret. His food was delivered on a tray slipped through an oblong that had been cut into the door. Probably he was in a tower, although there were no rats. There was a cat, though. It had determinedly squeezed through the opening in the door. It probably wanted to see what it was like, being kidnapped. The cat, a gray one with white paws, had curled up on the foot of the iron cot and gone to sleep. James Carlton shared his food with it.
The food was all right, but he would have preferred bread and water, at least for a couple of days. He didn’t think it was quite fitting that he be served Jell-O (or whatever they called it in England) out of a little tin mod with a rose design on top. He himself hated Jell-O, but the gray cat loved it and licked it all up.
— Martha Grimes, The Dirty Duck (Little, Brown, and Company, 1984)
This post was written by sherry
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