Cat mischief

Max, a peaceable and slightly overweight tabby of two years and Daisy, conniving kitten of six and a half months. This their photoshot, kept for reference in case identification were needed by people in the community.

Just like all the cats at the house -and there had been a parade of them over the years- the animals were rescue creatures and came with a back story. In Max's case, he was just glad to be at home and recline; in the case of Daisy, prospects seemed mixed. She was bent on merry making and mischief and the slow-witted Max was to be her accomplice. She was what a vet had referred to as "a naughty tortie".

At night, she contrived a plan: they would make some subtle adjustments to the house. Max sat and took instructions while Daisy advised on drill bits and the size of rawlplugs needed. The refined old sepia photos on the sitting room wall were replaced by their dining mats, with pictures of fishbones on them. They placed dead mice on the end of the children's beds and a live shrew, bought in so delicately by Daisy, in the airing cupboard. A frog or two: dropped behind the radiator in the children's room. Cat biscuits dropped in the muesli. Some doors were removed from kitchen units and dragged into the garden. push and pull together. In the morning they would be dotted with slugs and woodlice. A lick of poster paint and a stubby children's brush -even so, not easy to manipulate without opposable thumbs: behold a mural for the landing. A kind of abstract painting of fish, with waved brushed in by Max's tail, as Daisy directed him up and down, up and down.

And leave no trace of your part in the crime, so a quick wash and brush up in next door's water butt. After, that is, a raid on the fridge - so easy to flick open with a slim paw if one were to sit on top and aim for the seal around the door edge. Ham; a piece of cheddar; a chew at Sunday's leg of lamb; tip out the milk and lick the floor. Cats cannot open fridges, you know: So, frame the children, surely naughty enough to have a midnight feast. Chuck a few yoghurts around and loosen the lid of the biscuit tin to make it convincing.

Now off to bed; sit prettily and wait for the morning. We have finished being nocturnal and want to rest. "Tomorrow", thought Daisy the conniving kitten, "I will teach Max to be a proper cat burglar."