“Missus Brogham?”

“It’s pronounced Broom. B-R-O-U-G-H-M, but it’s pronounced Broom.”

“Oh, yes. I see. Missus Broom then?”

“Indeed Constable. How can I help you?”

“I’m afraid, Missus Broom, that your neighbors, the Withies, have filed a complaint against you.”

“Odd lot, them.”

“Hurumph. Well you see, er, that is precisely what they are saying about you.”

“Odd? Me? In what way?”

“It seems, er, I do say this is awkward. Let me just say it and be done with it. They believe you to be a witch.”

“And what may I ask has led them to believe that?”

“Their cat.”

“Their cat?”

“Yes, it seems their cat alleges..”

“You have spoken to their cat?”

“Yes, er, in fact I have. He told me just this morning he isn’t a cat at all, but rather he is, er, was your husband, Clarence.”

“So then, Constable, the Withies cat talks, to you no less, and I am the one that is a witch?” Missus Broughm retorted sarcastically as she stole a glance over the Constable’s shoulder and winked at the Withies cat, er, Clarence.

Written for Crimson’s Creative Challenge #33