Author: Susan Anthony

Gertrude found him at the Terminal Bar and Grill. Broom by his side, sitting at the bar, where customers got their orders straight from the latest donkey serving that night.

Terence motioned to her. She shuffled over. He nodded to the server and got a couple of beers. The donkey forced the caps off between its hooves, beer gushing out, then slamming them down on the counter.

‘Cheers,’ said Terence, placing a bundle of wicker on the bar. Gertrude nodded an acknowledgement; if he wouldn’t pay child support, the least he could do was buy beer. On the other side of the bar, two giraffes were in a heated conversation about whose neck was the longest. Gertrude sighed, she hated this bar, it was a zoo. Terence noticed, cocked his head towards a booth recently emptied by a posse of orangutans wearing capes, clearly ready for a night out.

Terence set the beers down.

‘I want to come back,’ he said, sheepishly.

‘To what?’ snapped Gertrude. ‘Last time you burnt the place down, remember? You were drunk, the wicker was flowing, you and your buddies gambling over human futurescapes, and boom, that feline rodent you call a friend, pushed his hot breath into my favourite couch and incinerated the house.’

‘Matthew,’ said Terence, ‘and it was an accident. They were really sorry.’

‘Not sorry enough.’

‘Didn’t you get the new house they sent?’ asked Terence, concerned.

‘Oh yea, fuckin’ hilarious. A large boot, complete with nine-inch diameter laces, four bedrooms, even a garage. Every car in the neighbourhood drives past the house. It’s not even Halloween. Do you know how many people visit the clairvoyant who lives in a shoe? None. They all think I have too many children as it is. Some days, I just don’t know what to do!’ and she sank her face into her hands. Terence reached over.

Gertrude’s head flew up and she pushed him off her shoulder.

‘Don’t touch me.’

Terence backed away, ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean, look, I’m sorry about the shoe. I didn’t know, I’ll get it fixed. A human house, drapes, carpets, fitted kitchen, whatever you want. It will be like Witch Interiors.’

Gertrude humphed, but she did love the magazine.

‘Can I come home?’ He stared at her, tears forming just above his whiskers, ginger fur standing on end. He hadn’t been groomed in a while.

Gertrude humphed again, ‘Get in.’ extending her large purse towards him. Terence jumped into the bag, only red ears visible. With a purr, his broom disappeared inside the bag.

Gertrude shoved her head inside the purse, ‘But this is it, I swear to the devil, this is the last time. Your last chance. Last. Clear?’

‘Clear,’ said Terence.

Gertrude clicked her heels and they were outside a very large piece of footwear, with Terence on his cell phone.

‘Matthew, fix it right now. Don’t wake the kids or my mother-in-law. Now, Matthew.’

To Gertrude’s immense satisfaction, although she would never let Terence know, the shoe transformed into a sprawling bungalow. She could already see that she liked the drapes; through a window, an elegant chandelier, with one drawback, her mother was attached to it by the ear lobes.

Terence saw what she saw, ‘I can fix that,’ and he waved his tail, his mother-in-law settling gently to the ground, sporting a lovely pair of diamond earrings.

Page seventeen, the November issue.

‘I still hate you,’ said Gertrude.

‘I know,’ said Terence, ‘Let’s go inside. I am bursting for tinned tuna casserole.’ And he placed his tail in her hand and they strolled inside.