Vladimir held the struggling, hot, soft Magenta in his arms. He mouth was watering, his lips wet, and his veins throbbing, when, suddenly, his nostrils flared.. that pungent odour - it couldn't be....




an entree! with one swipe he had Bertie and had stripped his furry belly skin clean. His face contorted as he bit frantically, again and again, into the bloody mess that was Bertie's belly, as Berties untamed screams ripped through the cool London night.

Magenta watched, a strange feeling flowing over her. That bloke's got no table manners, she thought, I can't go out with him. And she wandered back into the pub, just in time to take her place back on the leather armchair, squeezing in next to Chongo, who was looking much more relaxed and very pleased to have her back again.