What a silly woman you are!’ Margaret thought as she lay marinating in the damp, soggy mush of grass cuttings and leaves mixed with various prunings that she and her husband, Philip, had methodically removed from their garden last year.
It was very unlikely she would have found Matilda here anyway, she considered. But, having exhausted all the usual avenues in the last five days, she was resorting to desperate measures. Neighbours had been dutifully pestered, notices posted and calls to the local police, fire brigade and refuse-collection services had revealed nothing of her missing cat.
Every box, drawer and dusty cupboard in the house had been turned over. Three times. And, as anxiety increased to madness, Margaret had even investigated the oven, microwave and washing machine for signs of recent inhabitation.
She was not ready to die yet
It was the gloom of futility that had driven Margaret back into the garden to scour bushes and the trusty old shed where Matilda had been discovered in the past. But not this time.
Cats go to
