The silent cry - a dangerous hunt

Summary

Saint-Hilaire-du-Borgne? No, but seriously, Manon, haven’t you found a cooler place for a vacation?

 Well, what do you blame him for, this town?

 What do I blame him for? His name already! Le Borgne… No, but, frankly, do you think it’s a dream? What does this invite to relax?

Manon shrugs her shoulders.

 For what ? Do you still need to dream at your age? And then, we're not particularly looking for relaxation, as far as I know! Otherwise, we would have stayed in a B&B on the Côte d’Azur, not in Vendée. Oh, and stop complaining for a change!

Sulking, I take a beer out of the fridge, pour it slowly into a stemmed glass and sit on the sofa, feet on the coffee table. I know it annoys him, so I add more like the old macho guy who doesn't jerk off while his little wife prepares the evening meal. After all, we're in her apartment, as far as I know, not mine... It's up to her to do the work!

I swallow a large mouthful, click my tongue and let out a burp from behind the bundles which makes the cat in its basket look up. Manon gives me a dark look and I wear a big smile.

There’s nothing like a good beer to relax!

That’s it, she grumbles. I feel like I'm going to let you relax here alone and go to Vendée with Galipette.

The cat raises its head again when it hears its name, which in itself is rather suspicious, but what do you expect: I had to come across the only feline on this planet who responds to the call of its name!

Because yes, I claim it: this cat is mine. Not Manon’s. Not ours. Mine.

It was I who adopted him, from Gaston[1], in Aveyron.

One evening, when I had just sat down on my stool at the end of the bar, I heard a strange noise emanating from a box on the floor. Not really a meow. Something a little sharp, a little trembling. Like a cry for help.

What do you have in there? I asked Gaston.

 A cat.

A cat? For what?