Free The Whiskerly Sisters by BB Occleshaw

she listened to her favourite band, Il Divo. Lost in her own wet world and idly fantasising about what she would do if she ever got any of the Italian trio alone, Charley failed to hear the subtle squeak of a patio door opening and the swish of a tail against glass. Seconds later, the gates of Hades swung open.
    As Charley’s vivid imagination was enjoying unbuttoning the shirt of the darkly attractive Sebastièn, next door’s three cats streaked soundlessly over the fence and into her shrubbery for a little late night defecation. As Charley imagined herself whispering something provocative in the Signorno’s ear and anticipated his lips moving to meet hers, next door’s dogs, free at last from the confinement of the house, began their frenzied barking. Moments later the drill began its whirring, toneless drone. Lights came on in the houses surrounding hers as neighbouring dogs, roused from their slumber, began a howling reprise and children, suddenly robbed of sleep, began to cry in protest. Amidst all the cacophony, the sensual vision that was the topless divo dissolved in an instant as Charley was cruelly catapulted back to reality. Startled from her reverie, she opened her eyes in time to see the curtains in next door’s back bedroom twitch and, despite the furore around her, Charley swore she could hear the sound of suppressed giggling from above. From the corner of her eye, she noticed that the black and white one had perched itself on the edge of her patio table and was delicately licking its paws, confident of its absolute right to be in her garden.
    The bastards. The absolute fucking bastards! They had set her up. They had set HER up and now they were laughing at her. Watching and laughing. How dare they? How fucking dare they? Who did they think they were? The arrogant, ignorant, sodding peasants.
    Fuming, Charley hauled herself ferociously out of the Jacuzzi, barely managing to control the strong urge to unceremoniously shove the intruding cat off its precarious perch. Not bothering with her robe, she strode angrily towards the house, the water streaming down from her naked body to soak the tiles of the patio beneath her feet. She stepped into the house, slammed the garden door behind her, locking it with an angry twist of her wrist and leaving a puddle of frothy water in her wake.
    “Enough already!” she fumed. This was too much. This was on purpose. This was untenable.”
    Charley was not easily provoked, but, once roused, she was a formidable opponent. It was time to change tactics. Not bothering to dress herself, and with aggressive, staccato movements, she brewed herself a pot of her favourite fresh ground Jamaican Blue, quickly grabbed a piece of paper and a pen from the bureau in the hall, scraped a chair back from the kitchen table and sat down. She began with six main headings:
    Who? What? When? Why? Where? Which?
    Late into the night, she sat and thought and wrote and planned, for once, oblivious to the assault on her ears coming through the walls. Amazingly, it faded into the background as her lists grew and her plans began to take shape.
    Whilst she still had not come up with any concrete answers by morning, the first brush strokes of a few potential new strategies were beginning to colour up in her mind. Satisfied at last, she rose from her seat to stretch. Cramp hit first, sending shards of pain up and down her leg muscles. Carefully, she stretched out her stiff limbs, shivering with cold. She looked down at her naked, white flesh and cursed herself for not putting on her robe. Yawning, she meandered down to the bathroom where she took a long, hot shower, towelling herself down briskly. She stood for a moment to watch the sun rise, then crawled under the duvet and snuggled down to sleep, smiling to herself.
    It was time to turn up the heat. It was time to fight fire with fire. It was time to take the battle to the enemy.

JAX
I
    W ell, she’d done it!! Okay not her exactly. To be precise, Izza