The Cat Who Sang For The Birds*

“What’s the fluffy monster doing?” I ask Mum when I call to inform her that I’ve left the Office.

“He’s telling me that he wants his supper,” Mum says. Can hear the sound of her shaking some dry food into his bowl.

“Hello Mr Fluffy,” I say.

“Say hello to Tanya,” Mum says to him.  “No, sorry darling, he doesn’t understand about talking on the phone.”

“Do you think he has learning difficulties, or speech and language difficulties?” I say.

“He’s only a baby,” Mum says.

“No he’s not,” I say.  “He’s an adult. MadFatRunner’s cats all talk on the phone, and the younger boys aren’t much older than the fluffy monster.”

“Maybe he doesn’t have anything to say,” Mum says.

“He’d better not be out when I turn up,” I say.  The last time I visited my beloved fluffy monster, he was out the whole time and I didn’t even see him.  Life is cruel.

“He’s helping me make the dinner,” Mum says.  “He won’t be going out again this evening.  Oh: a terrible thing happened: someone beat Roger.”

“Oh no,” I say.  “Who dared to do that?”

“That Stan Wawrinka,” Mum says, sounding very upset.  “In straight sets.”

“Poor Roger.  That’s awful,” I say.

I’m looking forward to seeing my fluffy monster and to having a proper cooked meal, I think.

“What’s for supper?” I say.

“Vegetable curry,” Mum says.  “Your favourite.”

“Thank you, Mum,” I say.  As I approach my bus stop, I see that my bus is already there.  Excellent.

Attached photo is of some irises living near the parentals.

Happy Tuesday everyone!
*1998.  By Lilian Jackson Braun.  One in The Cat Who… Detective novel series.