Another peek into the memoirs of Sharples, as found here
The house I live in can only be described as old-fashioned. A wood-fuelled range for cooking and heating water instead of a microwave and a boiler, wooden beams and open fire places guarded by steel mesh in most of the rooms.
Oh we had electricity but even the lights were chandeliers and not the modern trend for sunken bright spotlights. Thus each room had its dark corners always hidden in the shadows. Perfect for the odd spot of hunting.
Not that there was much to hunt in the house, maybe the odd mouse, but more often spiders. My lady hates spiders and it is only right I protect her from these fearsome creatures.
So it happened, one night whilst my lady was sleeping in her boudoir I heard a rustling from the corner. I knew in an instant that it was one of these wicked eight-legs come to cause trouble. “Not on my watch!” I thought.
I arose from cosy bed and ventured into the darkness. My eyes adjusted quickly and I could see him preparing to attack. Should I just leap and splat this intruder into oblivion? Not a particularly interesting method of kill so instead I opted for the pounce and pull method.
In a swift move I held him down and pulled two legs clean off and watched in mild amusement as he ran round in circles. After a short while it was clear he was going no place rather rapidly so I pulled another leg off then playful batted him from one side to another as he circled faster and faster.
So it went on until I had had my fun, and a few minutes later I left his flattened remains a bloody spot on the carpet and returned to my bed assured in the knowledge my lady was once more safe and secure from intruders. And I, Sharples, remained her vigilant assassin.
© JG Farmer 2015