A droubble by Weefatfella
Willie's wife and new baby were due home from hospital in a couple of days. Cats and babies don't mix. Van Dyke was an old rascal of a cat and Willie had visions of the old feline smelling the milk and climbing into the cot with the baby. The Tom had to go.
He stuffed the cat into an old sack and tied the twisted top with string. On the way out the door, Willie slipped the sharp kindling axe under his arm. The cat squirmed noisily in the sack as Willie crossed the road and onto the waste ground.
Using the axe he dug a shallow hole. He felt the squirming bundle for the head and holding it by the neck he struck hard. Strangely the cat made no sound. He buried the wet bag and went home to his bed.
He was awakened by a strong urge to go downstairs to the kitchen. This he did. When he opened the kitchen door and looked inside, Van Dyke was sitting in his usual place on the windowsill. Willie walked into the kitchen; the cat jumped and scratched his face. That was the last time he ever saw Van Dyke.