This tale was written based on the following prompts
Deep Pockets stood at the edge of the harbour, his drawn brow making him resemble a pathetic bloodhound.
“They haven’t escaped … I’d know.”
The words echoed in the chill of the early morning, but his offsider knew better than to interject. It would be worthless; the mood was already sour.
For a moment the cry of the gulls was the only sound, then Deep Pockets stated, “Those damn mice are out here Kit, I’ll find them, if it’s the last thing I do. They stole my camembert”
Kit, the black and white moggy, miaowed in agreement. It was shoddy.