“Now, where’d those fuzzy slippers go?”
Frisky peered through the bannisters into the hall.
“They will not escape me this time. I hear them squishing on the floor of the kitchen.”
Cautiously descending the stairs… Frisky skulked toward the open doorway.
Using great stealth; back corner of the coat rack… behind the potted palm… swiftly crossing the hall… he hunkered at the casing of the kitchen door.
“Humming. A good sign. Distraction.”
Suddenly Frisky’s ears took a life of their own; sounds swelled into a succulent aroma.
Like a bullet to his bowl… “I get those blasted slippers later.”
Written for Flash Fiction for The Practical Practitioner- 2018: Week #11. Requirements: Create a flash fiction story using the picture prompt provided in 200 words or less.