Wizened and grey Mr Forbes stood panting next to the rickety barn. It creaked in an irritated manner and startled old Mr Forbes leapt away from it. Overhead the stars twinkled oblivious.
Mr Forbes slowly made his way from the barn to the main road. Netheravon was unsettlingly quiet. There were no scuttlings or rustlings nor a solitary bark. However as he walked, Mr Forbes’ confidence grew, he knew he was near the end of his search. The end of months of tireless searching.
On the edge of Netheravon he found the house. It was distinct, it had the smell – the musty yet glorious smell he knew so well. The door was scarcely on its hinges and all was dark inside. Mustering his new found courage he pushed inside. Drawn to the odour he moved to the largest of the rooms, what was seemingly a lounge. The lounge was full of old books and boxes and in one corner a large shape groaned. Drooling and growling the colossal cat was seated in a ripped arm chair.
“Alan.” Breathed Mr Forbes.
“Cornelius! You old bastard, you shall never get it. Never.” Snarled Alan the cat, shifting his obscene weight in the groaning chair.
“Give me what is rightfully mine!” Roared Cornelius Forbes.
“Do I need to repeat myself?” Asked Alan menacingly, rising from the chair he staggered towards Cornelius until he loomed over the old man. Cornelius was no short man but beneath the seven foot feline hulk he felt small.
“I have come for what is mine, Alan. You cannot begrudge me that…” Shuddered Cornelius
“You were too old and too feeble. You lacked the inspiration and drive. I have that inspiration and drive. You wouldn’t believe the trades, Cornelius, the deals I have done.” Alan declared with a maniacal twinkle in his eyes. “Now, my withered old man, I, and I alone, hold the world’s most comprehensive stamp collection!” With this exclamation Alan swung his claws and Mr Forbes crumpled in front of him.
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