Cirrus@Austlit

'Maria slid the toilet window across and pressed her aquiline nose to the flyscreen, searching the car park below uneasily. Nothing but the gleam-wobbling macadam and a few cars. 'Bickie!' she called in a sing-song voice. 'Bikkiiiie!' Usually, as soon as she called, she would see the cat's stripy form appear from behind a bin or emerge from a bush and come loping over the asphalt from afar. Then, after half a minute, he would burst into the flat, both needy and haughty, waving his tail with patrician entitlement. Like a dog, the way she could call and he would come. But not this time...' (Abstract)