Chapter Thirteen
The figure froze. Myrtle froze. And then the figure took off running.
Myrtle hurried to the kitchen door, yelling, “Stop!” and gripping her pepper spray as if she’d never let go. She flung open the back door and hurried outside in time to see the dark figure running out her gate in the direction of the woods around the lake. She bellowed again, “Stop!” There was no way she could catch up with anyone moving that fast...and who was almost certainly decades younger than she was. But then the figure stumbled over a tree root and went down...and Myrtle started hurrying toward the intruder again.
A bit of movement near her legs made her jump and she looked down in time only to see an emaciated, dirty Pasha gazing up at her in terror with her fur raised. The running, the screa
