Pusillanimously pursuing Mr P

Remember my quest (yes, that I set myself - not by Gandalf the Grey - but that doesn't make it any less worthy or less deserving of a movie or three) to find out who or what Mr P was?

Some of you thought he might be a rat or a cat, or perhaps even a particularly frugal human with a fondness for geraniums but today I decided to find out.

Sort of. So that the residents of Mr P's house could see that I did not come bearing weapons, ill will or religious reading matter, I dragged Sapphire and Milly along for pictorial and moral support. Sapphire stood at their gate rolling her eyes and trying to juggle her backpack, viola case and Milly's tautly stretched lead as I ventured up their steps with a 'here's one I've prepared earlier' friendly smile and knocked on the door.

Wait a second ---- why was their screen door open? Surely that was a bit of a gift for any light-fingered locals seeking some loot?

Then I heard it - Ba-whooompa, Ba-whoooompa, Ba-whoooompa, BANG!

Some huge beast dwelling inside had detected my presence, smelled that I'd taste somewhere between a sweet-soaked chicken and a box of Lindt balls and had come crashing eagerly inside, up the hallway and smacked straight into the back of the front door which shook. On the other side of the door I was glad of being clad in dark-blue jeans that hid most fear stains as flecks of paint on the door were dislodged by the angry animal's charges and dropped onto the doormat which, I noted queasily, was once a firmly-woven, thick, naval decking style job now chewed to tassley smithereens. Not the most encouraging welcome.

Grrrrrrr - snort - Grrrrrrrr. This wasn't helping either. "Hello," my voice croaked, "Is anybody home with you, er, buddy?"

Grrrrrrr - snort - Grrrrrrrr. "Um, Sapph?" I turned and called out in my fake cheery voice that never convinces her. Or me. "I'll, er just pop my business card and this little note into their letter box here and hope that whatever mutant mammoth is in there manages to stay in there, before we run for our lives at my count of three, OK?"

The door growled again and pulsated again, with more flakes of paint littering what remained of the door mat.

"One two three GO!"