At fifty Hopkins learned the cello. He had always been a drummer, never leaving the small town where he had been born. But he had moved three times in a year, each time to a smaller flat, and the impracticality of his kit combined with the onset of arthritis made up his mind for him.
He progressed rapidly, and soon mastered Munch’s concerto in D minor. But every evening his neighbour complained, asking if he were strangling a cat. Only when the insomnia returned to him did he begin to hear purring from within the spruce case in the hallway.
spitintheyeofthesun 
So he has a real cat lurking as well as not playing music his neighbor appreciated?
Oh, no! Great ending. Poor kitty….
Hahahahaha! Dry … very dry wit. LOVE it! Great job!
It appears from the photo that you’re a bass player. So it was the cat making the noise, right? The neighbor should be glad he didn’t take up the tuba! Ron
funny ^^ i hope though that he didn’t assume his neighbor was talkin bout his music ^^
Everybody’s a critic.
nice twist!
Dear Ted,
More like Munchhausen’s Concerto in D. A lovely story with a surprise for us all.
Aloha,
Doug
Wonder how the cat would have been with the drums… Great twist.
I feel I’m missing something in this story, but I don’t know what it is. Ah, the joys of growing old and poor.
Love cats and always wanted to play the cello.
Mine: http://kindredspirit23.wordpress.com/2013/01/13/cliches-friday-fictioneers-late/
Scott
such a great last line. I’m still smiling.
nice twist at the end there. well done. i’m curious about this line: “He had always been a drummer, never leaving the small town where he had been born.” this suggests there’s a connection between drumming and never leaving the small town. is there a connection?
Thanks again everyone. Rich, in small towns there are only ever one or two competent rock drummers. They are are in at least ten or fifteen bands at the same time. Why would he leave?