The glory of the pink house and garden across the way is quite lost on Jason, who gazes at all of it with dull hatred.

He is pulling back to slip inside when-- a thing-- registers in his peripheral vision, coming up to his leg-- he aims a kick at it out of pure, reflexive something unknown is entering my personal space.

Candy legs aren't good for kicking with. Jason misses the pretzel-cat and chips off a chunk of pepperment by barking his shin against the doorjamb.

"Bloody fuck. Get-- go away--"