Pets on Parade (Prospect House 2) Read Online Free

units until he reached the fridge, where he turned, arched his back, tail up, and sprayed against the door, a steady stream of urine shooting up the side.
    ‘Just look at that,’ seethed Madam Mountjoy. ‘It’s so out of character. I reckon he’s been cursed. Possessed by another person.’
    A peeing Santa briefly flitted through my mind, and I silently rebuked myself for being juvenile. Yet again.
    Madam Mountjoy went on to explain that they had been having a battle recently with a certain Sybil Clutterbuck. ‘They’ being the Order of the Golden Dawn, a coven of white witches over in Chawton. It seemed this Sybil had been the High Priestess up until last month when, due to the discovery that she’d been fiddling her expenses – a new broom paid for out of club funds – they had cast runes to have her replaced. Only she had refused to step down. Apparently, club rules stated that casting runes for new priestesses could only be carried out on the fourth night following a new moon. In her case, the runes had been cast on the fifth night, so, according to Sybil, they were invalid. As Madam Mountjoy had been the one to forward the motion to have Sybil removed in the first place, it was she whom Sybil blamed.
    ‘And this is the result,’ said Madam Mountjoy, pointing at her cat.
    I couldn’t quite see the connection between an embittered witch and a spraying cat. In fact, to be honest, I couldn’t see it at all. A fact that Madam Mountjoy saw all too well, as she went on: ‘Antac’s been acting strange ever since. I’ve tried all sorts of things. Lunar scheduling … herbal remedies … and I am just going through some ancient mantras from my dictionary of spells. It’s all Sybil’s fault. She’s put a spell on him, you see.’
    At last, I did see. Sort of. I certainly could see the dangers of becoming embroiled in some sort of witch warfare. Drawn broomsticks at dawn. Cudgels in the coven. It was all getting a bit nonsensical. Everyone getting in a flap. The word ‘flap’ coincided with me glancing round the kitchen and observing that the back door had a cat flap in it.
    ‘Is that new, by any chance?’ I asked.
    ‘Well, actually, yes,’ replied Madam Mountjoy, nodding – an action which caused the silver broomsticks in her earlobes to swing violently.
    ‘And have you had any unwanted visitors?’ I wasn’t thinking spirit-wise – more flesh and blood. ‘You know … local cats.’
    ‘Now you come to mention it, I have seen a couple slip in. I soon shoo them out though.’
    ‘Well, there’s your answer then.’ I went on to elaborate. I felt pretty sure that Antac had been unnerved by the encroachment of strange cats on his territory. Nothing to do with being put under a spell by some demented old crone. The response to the invasion of his space was to mark out his territory by spraying.
    Having explained this to Madam Mountjoy, I then went through a plan of action to counter the behavioural pattern, with tips on how to clean the sprayed areas and prevent reoccurrence of spraying in those spots. When I’d finished, the look of relief that spread across Madam Mountjoy’s face suggested a whole cauldron of pee had been voided. Her lips puckered into a smile. Her blackened eyelashes fluttered in wild elation.
    ‘Oh, thank you, Mr Mitchell, thank you so much,’ she gushed, advancing towards me, her kaftan billowing open against her breasts, her lucky charms fully displayed. ‘You’ve raised my spirits enormously. Is there something I can do to raise yours? Massage your aura maybe?’
    ‘Er, no, I don’t think so,’ I spluttered, and beat a hasty retreat.
    When I got back to Prospect House, Beryl was agog to learn what had gone on. Her ‘You don’t say … goodness … did she really?’ peppered my account as her good eye stood out like an organ stop while the glass one rotated a full circle at every juicy detail.
    ‘You’ll have to watch out for her in the future,’ she warned, when