Martha Homsher stepped out onto her front porch and looked around. She was almost sure she had heard something. Perhaps it was Mr. Bootsy come home, at last.
It was almost a week since her precious kitty had failed to return home from a night on the town.
He was a bit of a carouser, so she had not been worried, at first.
She was certain he had found some special lady-cat who was turning his head for the moment, and he would soon return to Martha’s lap and her loving arms.
Every time she heard a sound from outside, the tiny, frail eighty-year-old would scurry to the door or the window to welcome home her furry companion.
Looking around her porch, she noticed there was something amiss about the array of jack-o-lanterns her grandson had lined up near the railing.
The largest appeared to have toppled over.
As she attempted to right it, she was amazed at how heavy it was, even hollowed out. She had a great deal of difficulty repositioning it. There seemed to be something inside.
Martha stepped into the house, turned on the porch light, and returned to get a better look at the carved pumpkin.
With a small gasp, she jerked back, her foot slipped in something slick on the porch floor, she tumbled into the railing, and came to rest beside the oversized jack-o-lantern with its double grimace.
The ambulance had driven off, carrying Mrs. Homsher, and the police were taping off the area around her porch, when a black cat with white paws turned up; hungry, tired and extremely satisfied with himself. Mr. Bootsy was ready for his food and a nice long nap. Where was the woman to let him in?
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