As he crosses the living room he puts the jar on the windowsill.
And through the window he sees Blond Weed in the road, taking aim and then rushing towards the cat.
Ove opens the door exactly as she’s about to kick the animal in the head with all her strength.
The cat quickly dodges her needle-sharp heel and backs away towards Ove’s toolshed.
Mutt growls hysterically, saliva flying around its head as if it were a rabies-infected beast.
There’s fur in its jaws. This is the first time Ove can remember having seen Weed without her sunglasses.
Malevolence glitters in her green eyes. She pulls back, preparing for another kick, then catches sight of Ove and stops herself midflow.
Her lower lip is trembling with anger. “I’ll have that thing shot!” she hisses and points at the cat.
Very slowly Ove shakes his head without taking his eyes off her.
She swallows. Something about his expression, as if sculpted from a seam of rock, makes her murderous assurance falter.
“It’s a f-f-fucking street cat and... and it’s going to die! It scratched Prince!” she stammers.
Ove doesn’t say anything but his eyes turn black. And in the end even the dog backs away from him.
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