Mrs Postman Pat?

The black and white cat sat, outside, on a very harsh doormat. The milk he licked up had no cream in it whatsoever! Through the curtains he could see a glowing, rosy light. Oh! How the times had changed. He gripped the knife in his black paws and plotted.

Inside, Postman Pat sat on his favourite chair. Opposite him was Mrs Postman Pat. His heart fluttered as he thought of her name. She bustled over and put the tea on the lacy table mat. She kissed his cheek as she passed him his newspaper,
“Postman, my dear,” she sighed, “Do you know how much I love you?”
Hastily, Pat whipped out a box of chocolates and fed her one. She plopped herself onto his knee and ran her hand through his orange hair under his cap. Their lips met and he stroked her cheek gently. She leant against his warm chest. His uniform tickled her. He adjusted his glasses and cuddled her closely.

The glass shattered as the black and white cat leaped through the window. Curtains ripped and blood fountained as claws and knife dug into flesh. Miow!

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