The Mystery of the Disappearing Cat*

“Did he follow you into your bedroom?” Mum says.  The fluffy monster was in the house but now he has disappeared, leaving nothing but a thick coating of orange fur all over my black top.

“I was just in there for a few seconds,” I say.  “Not long enough for a huge person to squeeze themselves out of the window or…”

“Well he’s not in any of his hiding places,” Mum says, striding around the house, looking concerned.  “He must have got out of your window.”

“I don’t see how he could have done,” I say.  “I just went in there, picked something up, closed the door behind me.  He didn’t follow me.”

Mum does a circuit of the house, checking all his favourite spots: the back of the parental wardrobe; my brother’s bed; under the piano.  

“You must have lost him,” Mum says, glaring at me.

“I didn’t!” I say.  “If a huge person had barged into my bedroom, galloped in front of me, landed on the windowsill and squeezed out of that tiny gap of open window, I would have noticed and…”

“Oh, there you are, you silly boy,” Mum says, looking down the back of the sofa.

So the fluffy monster is safe, well and asleep.  Panic over.

This beautiful creature was parked near my gym today.

Happy Thursday everyone!
*1944.  By Enid Blyton.  

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