walls.’
‘No, sir.’
‘You’re missing something, Cheddar. That’s the problem. Something obvious. You’re not behaving like a detective.’
Inspector Cheddar said nothing.
The Chief Inspector of Bigsworth leaned forward menacingly over the desk. ‘I want this criminal captured .’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The Tofflys want this criminal captured.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The people of Littleton-on-Sea want this criminal captured.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And if you don’t arrest whoever it is soon, I’m taking you off the case and putting you back on traffic duty for the rest of your career. Do you understand?’
‘But, sir!’ Inspector Cheddar choked, ‘I don’t like …’
The Chief Inspector raised his hand to silence him. ‘Hard cheese, Cheddar,’ he yelled. ‘Now get out of here and go and do some proper policing.’
Atticus lay on the sofa waiting for Mrs Tucker and the children to get back from school. He was exhausted . It had been a busy week.
After the near disaster at the Pearsons’, things had gone remarkably smoothly. He’d burgled six other houses; two with open windows and four with cat flaps.
Cat flaps might sound easy, especially for a cat burglar, but the problem with them was that sometimes there were actually cats on the other side. Ifthat happened and the cat in question were a lady, Atticus would simply arrange to meet her somewhere and then slip back in when she went out. But if it were a tomcat, that was a different matter. Tomcats defended their territory. Atticus tried to avoid them. He never burgled a house with a dog or a tomcat in it. He touched his chewed ear with his paw and shivered. He didn’t want another fight.
This week, though, he’d been lucky. Of the seven houses he’d hit, only one had had a cat in residence: Mimi, a pretty Burmese. Atticus had invited her to meet up at the beach hut, then hidden in the bushes until he saw her go out. He sighed. There were some aspects of the job he didn’t like – letting down pretty girls like Mimi was one of them.
Atticus yawned loudly. He was glad he was having a night off. The magpies were having a meeting and he wasn’t invited. Atticus didn’t care. They could plot and plan all they liked. As long as he got his sardines , he didn’t want anything else to do with them. He yawned again. Seven burglaries in as many nights! He hoped Inspector Cheddar appreciated his efforts. Atticus had certainly given him plenty of crimes to investigate.
At that moment Michael and Callie rushed intothe room. Atticus rolled on to his back obligingly and dangled his paws in the air. Callie tickled his tummy. Michael rubbed his ears. Atticus purred like a tractor.
Mrs Tucker came in and pushed open the window to let in some fresh air. She regarded Atticus closely. ‘That animal’s getting fat!’ she announced.
Atticus was offended. It was true he’d been eating more sardines than he should – six a day from the magpies and whatever Mrs Tucker brought in her basket from the remains of Mr Tucker’s catch – and quite a lot of cat food as well. But FAT! That was just plain rude. Especially coming from Mrs Tucker who looked like she guzzled plenty of sardines herself when no one was looking.
‘No, he’s not,’ Callie said loyally. ‘Are you, Atticus?’
Atticus purred in agreement. At least someone was on his side.
‘Yes, he is!’ Mrs Tucker insisted. ‘Look at the size of his tummy. We should put him on a diet.’
Atticus’s face fell. Diets meant dusty pellets that looked like mummified rabbit poo. He’d once adopted a matador in Madrid who was obsessed with healthy eating. It had been a bad mistake. Atticus had lost half a kilo in a week.
‘Poor Atticus,’ Michael laughed. ‘Look at his face!’
‘He won’t be able to get in and out of that cat flap soon,’ Mrs Cheddar continued.
The cat flap had been installed, as Atticus predicted, soon after his arrival. Inspector Cheddar had got so cross about being
‘No, sir.’
‘You’re missing something, Cheddar. That’s the problem. Something obvious. You’re not behaving like a detective.’
Inspector Cheddar said nothing.
The Chief Inspector of Bigsworth leaned forward menacingly over the desk. ‘I want this criminal captured .’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The Tofflys want this criminal captured.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The people of Littleton-on-Sea want this criminal captured.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And if you don’t arrest whoever it is soon, I’m taking you off the case and putting you back on traffic duty for the rest of your career. Do you understand?’
‘But, sir!’ Inspector Cheddar choked, ‘I don’t like …’
The Chief Inspector raised his hand to silence him. ‘Hard cheese, Cheddar,’ he yelled. ‘Now get out of here and go and do some proper policing.’
Atticus lay on the sofa waiting for Mrs Tucker and the children to get back from school. He was exhausted . It had been a busy week.
After the near disaster at the Pearsons’, things had gone remarkably smoothly. He’d burgled six other houses; two with open windows and four with cat flaps.
Cat flaps might sound easy, especially for a cat burglar, but the problem with them was that sometimes there were actually cats on the other side. Ifthat happened and the cat in question were a lady, Atticus would simply arrange to meet her somewhere and then slip back in when she went out. But if it were a tomcat, that was a different matter. Tomcats defended their territory. Atticus tried to avoid them. He never burgled a house with a dog or a tomcat in it. He touched his chewed ear with his paw and shivered. He didn’t want another fight.
This week, though, he’d been lucky. Of the seven houses he’d hit, only one had had a cat in residence: Mimi, a pretty Burmese. Atticus had invited her to meet up at the beach hut, then hidden in the bushes until he saw her go out. He sighed. There were some aspects of the job he didn’t like – letting down pretty girls like Mimi was one of them.
Atticus yawned loudly. He was glad he was having a night off. The magpies were having a meeting and he wasn’t invited. Atticus didn’t care. They could plot and plan all they liked. As long as he got his sardines , he didn’t want anything else to do with them. He yawned again. Seven burglaries in as many nights! He hoped Inspector Cheddar appreciated his efforts. Atticus had certainly given him plenty of crimes to investigate.
At that moment Michael and Callie rushed intothe room. Atticus rolled on to his back obligingly and dangled his paws in the air. Callie tickled his tummy. Michael rubbed his ears. Atticus purred like a tractor.
Mrs Tucker came in and pushed open the window to let in some fresh air. She regarded Atticus closely. ‘That animal’s getting fat!’ she announced.
Atticus was offended. It was true he’d been eating more sardines than he should – six a day from the magpies and whatever Mrs Tucker brought in her basket from the remains of Mr Tucker’s catch – and quite a lot of cat food as well. But FAT! That was just plain rude. Especially coming from Mrs Tucker who looked like she guzzled plenty of sardines herself when no one was looking.
‘No, he’s not,’ Callie said loyally. ‘Are you, Atticus?’
Atticus purred in agreement. At least someone was on his side.
‘Yes, he is!’ Mrs Tucker insisted. ‘Look at the size of his tummy. We should put him on a diet.’
Atticus’s face fell. Diets meant dusty pellets that looked like mummified rabbit poo. He’d once adopted a matador in Madrid who was obsessed with healthy eating. It had been a bad mistake. Atticus had lost half a kilo in a week.
‘Poor Atticus,’ Michael laughed. ‘Look at his face!’
‘He won’t be able to get in and out of that cat flap soon,’ Mrs Cheddar continued.
The cat flap had been installed, as Atticus predicted, soon after his arrival. Inspector Cheddar had got so cross about being
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