A Cat

...cat. It sat there demurely, licking an outstretched leg.

"Hello," she crooned, in her best 'talking to a cat' voice. She moved slowly towards it, into the alley, getting down low and stretching out a hand slowly. The cat sniffed her tentatively, before licking her hand. The ruckus from the street sounded faint as she started to stroke the cat. It nuzzled its head into her hand and purred affectionately.

She crouched there a few moments, stroking the cat, scratching under its chin. Suddenly the cat bounced back and ran off quickly into the back of the alley. It rounded a dark corner and was out of sight. That was odd, thought Penelope. But stray cats are often skittish. Maybe one of her dangly earrings had jangled and frightened it. Ah well. It was about time she got back to her friends.

She stood, turned, and saw what made the cat run.

A huge wall of a man was standing behind her. He was six and a half feet tall, and almost as wide. Behind him in the distance she could see her friends on the street, laughing and oblivious.

"Wallet and phone. quickly please," He said. He seemed more bored than anything, as though this was as much hassle for him as it was for her. Something metallic glinted in his hand. Emma's throat felt dry. She hated confrontation. When she spoke, her voice squeaked awkwardly.

"I don't have them. My phone or my wallet. I left them at home."

"Turn out your pockets."

"This dress doesn't have any." She sounded earnest. Her eyes were fixed on that metallic glinting from her hand. She had to make him believe she really didn't have anything to steal. If he thinks I'm lying to him, who knows what he'll do.

"Look, see?" she patted her pocketless thighs. "Please I don't have any pockets, please." There was panic in her voice and a slight waver. She always teared up when under any stress, and now was no exception. Her vision was blurred by the tears, which only served to make that metallic glint all the more prominent.

"The dress then." Said the man, impatiently.

Emma was confused. "What about it?"

"Give it to me."

"Give you... my dress?" Emma felt queasy.

"Well, I have to have something. What, you think not having your phone and wallet with you means I walk away empty-handed? Not a chance. That dress looks expensive, and if it's the only thing you have on you then I'm taking it."

Emma searched her mind frantically for anything else she could give the man but came up blank. "I don't have a bra on," she said meekly, almost too quiet to hear.

"And who's fault is that? Come on, I don't have all day."

She hesitated a moment. She didn't know if she was shaking from fear or the cold. The man moved forward a threatening step, and she saw that the metallic glint was from a knife. That scared her enough to stop her hesitation.

With trembling hands, she slid the spaghetti straps off her shoulders. The Blue velvet dress fluttered smoothly to the ground. Emma quickly covered her big breasts with her hands. The man didn't seem so interested in them though. His eyes were on the dress, and as Emma stepped out of it, he wasted no time in scooping it up.

"Thank you," said the man. The curtesy felt like an insult as if to imply she had given up her dress as an act of gracious politeness. It was balled in one of his fists, his knife in the other.