Monsters and Poodles

'Your monster ate my poodle!'
I looked up. Mrs. Kapolski, my short, white-haired, eighty-three year old landlady was stood trembling at the doorway of my living room.
'That's what monsters do, Mrs. Kapolski,' I said patiently.
'They eat poodles?'
I nodded. Mrs. Kapolski looked confused and I couldn't honestly say if the cloudiness in her eyes was tears or cataracts.
'Oh,' she said, 'right you are then.' She walked away, slightly hesitantly. I felt momentarily guilty and sorry for her, but that was swept aside by my annoyance that my monster had eaten her poodle. I had thought it had been abnormally quiet in its room since I came in, now I knew it was waiting to be punished. Well, it could wait. The most effective punishments were, in my opinion, psychological anyway. Of course, if I went into its room to confront it and punish it, I might find out what else it had done while I was away, and I had learned to treasure my ignorance. Sometimes it is better to curse the darkness than light a candle; less dangerous too. Instead of a trembling pool of light that may serve only to show you how lost you really are, an ill-timed gas leak may leave you at the centre of a vast, expanding explosion of light and heat: a beacon to every monster around to come and enjoy your fresh, char-grilled flavour...