Los sonidos de la noche.
Ploc… Ploc… Ploc
Ese sonido del agua sobre el fregadero fue lo que hizo despertar a Fabiola aquella noche.
Se levantó malhumorada, un pie con pantufla y el otro desnudo, refunfuñando contra su gato blanco que de seguro se había llevado la otra, camino por el pasillo sin encender la luz, obvio que conocía su casa y podía caminar en penumbras; llegó a la cocina y cerró bien esa canilla, peleaba con ella misma diciéndose que debía llamar a un gasfiter.
Volvió frotando sus ojos ya que tenía demasiado sueño, se metió en la cama y acomodo su cabeza en la almohada, se cobijo y cerró sus ojos para volver a dormir.
Ploc… Ploc… Ploc
Nuevamente esa gotera insistente la despertaba, volvió a bajar de la cama y llegó a la cocina, volvía a pelear internamente contra el gato por su pantufla perdida, llegó al fregadero y sujeto la canilla, pero estaba cerrada, no había ninguna gotera, pensó que había soñado escucharla y nuevamente regresó a su cama, era una noche bastante fría de otoño y el levantarse a cada cinco minutos le estaba molestando demasiado.
Nuevamente se acurrucó y cerró los ojos, pensaba en cosas bellas para dormir y hasta el enojo con su felino amigo se le había pasado, encontraba extraño que no estuviera en el pie de su cama ya que acostumbraba dormir ahí, eran compañeros de habitación y hoy por hoy aquel gato era su única compañía.
Ya casi conciliaba el sueño cuando el sonido regreso.
**Ploc… Ploc….Ploc **
Esto ya no era gracioso, se levantó y encendió la luz, iba iracunda, caminaba descalza en aquel frío piso, llegó a la cocina y todo seguía tal cual lo había dejado, regreso a su habitación enojada y desconcertada; pasó por el comedor y no se dio cuenta casi llegaba a su habitación cuando recién lo notó, volvió deprisa y el sonido seguía, **Ploc…. Ploc….Ploc ** goteaba la sangre del felino sobre la mesa de vidrio de su comedor, un charco de ella había manchado el piso y esa alfombra de pelo que tanto amaba estaba teñida de rojo.
El animal colgaba de la lámpara amarrado del cuello y su barriga abierta, por ahí deslizaba la sangre del pobre mínimo, Fabiola sujetaba su cabeza sin entender, lo veía con pavor, miró rápidamente la puerta y ventanas, estaban cerradas, no había señales que alertarán de intrusos, la pobre mujer seguía mirando a su mascota cuando una mano fría le tapó la boca y susurrando al oído le dijo es tu turno.
Fue la última frase que Fabiola escucho hasta que sonó el despertador y su pequeño gato lamía su cara para despetarla de aquel maltrecho sueño.
The sounds of the night.
Ploc ... Ploc ... Ploc
That sound of water over the sink was what made Fabiola wake up that night.
She got up sulkily, one foot in a slipper and the other bare, grumbling against her white cat who surely had taken the other one, walking down the hall without turning on the light, obviously she knew her house and could walk in half-light; She got to the kitchen and closed that tap well, she was fighting with herself, telling herself that she should call a gasfiter.
She returned rubbing his eyes since he was too sleepy, he got into bed and put his head on the pillow, took shelter and closed his eyes to go back to sleep.
Ploc ... Ploc ... Ploc Again that insistent leak woke her up, she got out of bed again and came to the kitchen, she started to fight internally against the cat for her lost slipper, she reached the sink and held the tap, but it was closed, there was no leak, she thought that he had dreamed of listening to her and returned to his bed again, it was a fairly cold autumn night and getting up every five minutes was bothering him too much.
Again she curled up and closed her eyes, she was thinking of beautiful things to sleep and even the anger with her feline friend had passed her, she found it strange that she was not at the foot of her bed since she used to sleep there, they were roommates and today for today that cat was his only company.
I was almost falling asleep when the sound returned.
Ploc… Ploc… .Ploc
This was no longer funny, she got up and turned on the light, she was angry, she walked barefoot on that cold floor, she came to the kitchen and everything was just as she had left it, she returned to her room angry and bewildered; He went through the dining room and didn't realize he was almost reaching his rooms when he first noticed it, he came back quickly and the sound continued, Ploc…. Ploc… .Ploc the cat's blood dripped on the glass table in her dining room, a puddle of hers had stained the floor and that pile carpet she loved so much was dyed red.
The animal hung from the lamp tied around its neck and its open belly, the poor poor's blood ran down there, Fabiola held her head without understanding, she looked at it with dread, she quickly looked at the door and windows, they were closed, there were no signs that would alert of intruders, the poor woman was still looking at her pet when a cold hand covered her mouth and whispering in her ear said it's your turn.
It was the last sentence Fabiola heard until the alarm clock rang and her little cat licked her face to woke up her for that battered dream.