More than anything else, Tanner wished for a snake. Venomous or not, didn’t matter. Maybe straight poison was the way to go. All he knew was the “humane” trap did anything but its job. The damned thing was still in the roof.
Scuttle, scuttle, thump. Possums had been bad enough. Tanner had seen his share of city vermin, but this was a new one. Possum…shifters. When he’d finally gained the courage to go in the roof, he’d been met with a strung out young man who lunged at him. Animal management had been less than helpful. Between them and the local police he’d felt like a tennis ball.
The scurrying sound let Tanner know the shifter was still intoxicated. After two months he had gotten an understanding of the thing’s routine. Wake up, leave, return plastered, shift, run around the roof until dawn. Almost the same as his previous housemate, and just as regular on the rent. His resentment might have softened, but there were only two days left. Two more days and the cops had the right to arrest the shifter. He was looking forward to a silent night.
190 Words
C.M. Wellsmore 