The cat was sick in my doll’s house.
Not sick like she was lying in one of the miniature beds with a thermometer in her mouth and Mrs Cottontail (the rabbit hostess) serving her hot lemon and honey. No.
It was lunchtime when I noticed her creep out of the doll house’s windows, cautiously sideling out of sight. I peeped through the window myself and saw, to my dismay, the chairs toppled over and the cupboards and tiny oven and fridge lying on their side.
I sighed, oh what a bother it would be to carefully place the tiny plastic knives and forks back in their bowl. Poor Mrs Cottontail, I noticed, the perfect hostess had her tiny glass eyes quivering with fear. I imagined her politely asking my rude, interfering cat to please take a seat and have a biscuit and a cup of tea while joining her book club.
It was only until a few days later that I decided to clear up the mess and to my horror (I have always hoped that my writing is poetic, but the next sentence, I have to say, is certainly not poetic,) I saw the lovely green crotchet carpet that Asina had given me was covered with cat sick……
“That Cat! ” I said
