The stolen Sunday roast

Text 1: Biscuit, by Tom Callender

An original novel extract.

Dad carried the roast chicken in from the kitchen as if it were a crown on a cushion, and set it down on the end of the table while he went back for the gravy. That was his mistake. Biscuit had been lying under my chair all afternoon, pretending to be asleep. Now he shot out like a cork from a bottle. In one bound he was on Gran’s empty chair; in another his front paws were on the tablecloth. His jaws closed round a drumstick, and with a single jerk of his head the whole chicken slid off the plate. Then he was gone, a blur of brown fur through the back door, the bird bouncing in his mouth. When Dad came back with the gravy boat, there was nothing on the dish except a trail of grease and one sprig of parsley.

Give three words or phrases that show how quickly Biscuit moves.