The cat gives him the briefest of glances, clearly uninterested, then goes back to licking itself.
Ove waves his arms at it. The cat doesn’t budge an inch. “This is private land!” says Ove.
When the cat still fails to give him any sort of acknowledgment,
Ove loses his patience and, in a sweeping movement, kicks one of his clogs towards it.
Looking back, he couldn’t swear that it wasn’t intentional.
His wife would have been furious if she’d seen it, of course. It doesn’t make much difference anyway.
The clog flies in a smooth arc and passes a good yard and a half to the left of its intended target,
before bouncing softly against the side of the shed and landing in the snow.
The cat looks nonchalantly first at the clog, and then at Ove.
In the end it stands up, strolls around the corner of Ove’s shed, and disappears.
Ove walks through the snow in his socks to fetch the clog.
He glares at it, as if he feels it should be ashamed of itself for not having a better sense of aim.
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