THE HILL He stumbled clodded earth suckled feet in sodden ground, staggered the cobbled path to the churchyard. Steel drawn, a cloak of leaves he dragged in clay, down to the stile, dight primed for the fray. Safe inside, or so he thought, no haven here—Nothingness and dread, reborn to a godless field. And the church cat, sat on Reverend Loxley’s grave—
CAT I’d just as soon warm my balls by a burning church as by the gates of Hell. I’m not complaining—the churchyard’s fair enough to catch a rat or two.
CAT & THE HILL Easy prey!
CAT To maul the weak, hunt the tame, just for fun I’ll take the lame. That old bastard Loxley said, “God will provide” but wasn’t there to do the hunting down.
CAT & THE HILL At least he had a hellfire God—Keen to smite, quick to pounce, black and white and eye-for-eye! At least he had a hellfire God—Keen to smite, quick to pounce, black and white and eye-for-eye!