Bold and clustery

I had a cat once. He worked as an artist's mews.

Today was so damn cold, wet and blustery that Zosia and I decided to hibernate, only venturing forth from my bed to fetch food and liquid refreshment from the kitchen, and the occasional trip to the loo.

Around mid-afternoon, she woke up and told me a tale about her friend Elena back home.

Elena used to work as a psychiatric nurse in a mental hospital but left when she got beaten up by one of the patients.

Apparently, she confronted this bloke with a long history of aggressive behaviour. Powerfully built fucker he was. Anyway, the powerfully built fucker escaped from his room one night, beat up a couple of nurses and came down stairs in the nude to the reception area where Elena was working alone.

The patient politely asked her if he could be let out to go down the local bar for a swift drink.

Elena surreptitiously pressed the emergency button under her desk and played for time, waiting for back up from her colleagues whilst gently trying to persuade the powerfully built fucker that perhaps it wouldn’t be such a good idea to go to the bar.

It was late, she said. The bar had probably closed already and besides, she didn’t think they served naked customers.

The powerfully built fucker was having none of it, though.

He turned and walked calmly over to a fire extinguisher hanging on the wall, ripped it clean off its bracket and used it to batter his way through the hospital’s front doors.

Elena, shaken and slightly stirred, called to alert the police. The officer who took the call asked for a general description of the patient.

“Should be fairly easy to spot,” she said. “He’s heading into town down the main road without clothes on.”