Catscape by Mike Nicholson Page B

them on?” said Fergus.
    “Yes, maybe someone is gaining by the fact that they are going missing,” said Jessie walking over to the window as if she was looking for inspiration.
    “How do you mean?” said Murdo.
    “Could someone profit from their disappearance?” she continued.
    “Wait a minute, that’s the way we have to think — is there someone or something that would benefit from cats disappearing?” said Fergus.
    They all fell silent for a while and Jessie sat back down as if the moment for bright ideas had slipped by.
    “Well, I’m sure the many Cat Search Agencies out there are very busy,” said Murdo sarcastically. “Who on earth could profit from cats disappearing?”
    “Someone trying to sell other kinds of pet?” suggested Fergus.
    “That’s more like it,” said Jessie, “That’s the way we need to think.”
    “So we need to find a pet shop that specializes in anything other than cats,” said Murdo, being less than helpful.
    “It still doesn’t feel right,” said Jessie. “Maybe it’s not their disappearance that causes the profit. Maybe we need to think about where they are being taken, or what is happening to them when they get there.”
    “It’s too vague … too many what’s and where’s,” said Murdo, getting increasingly irritated with the fact that the discussionsseemed to be going nowhere.
    “Well, we can’t think of a good reason why someone just keeps cats away from the rest of the world, so there must be a ‘what happens.’ Something must be happening to those cats … oh my poor Jasper,” said Jessie, momentarily distracted at the thought of what might be happening to her cat.
    “But what could anyone be doing with dozens of cats?” asked Murdo, beginning to go red in the face with frustration. “Playing with a giant ball of wool?”
    “Are you going to come up with
any
useful ideas today?” asked Fergus. Murdo looked like he might begin to sulk.
    “Cats don’t do that much other than eat, sleep and play about a bit,” said Murdo defensively, “So what on earth can someone be doing with them that makes a profit?”
    “Okay then,” said Fergus deciding to act as a peacemaker before Murdo’s impatience got the better of him. “Let’s agree with Murdo. Whoever is taking the cats isn’t doing it just to play with them, and you can’t make much money out of a sleeping cat, so that just leaves eating.”
    “CAT FOOD!”
    The boys jumped as Jessie shot to her feet far quicker than anyone of her age should try to do. “Cat food!” she shouted again, looking at the boys with a wild glint in her eyes and not seeming to have suffered any ill effects from her sudden movement.
    “Jessie, have we ever told you that it’s a bad habit to shout out random words without explanation?” said Murdo, his pulse beginning to slow again after the shock of the shout.
    Jessie ignored the comment and began to pace with a slight limp around the room, her cardigan flapping as she went. “You see, you’ve cracked it. Murdo’s right — all cats do is eat, sleep and play about a bit. Fergus is right too. No one can make any money from sleeping and playing cats. So the only thing left is “eating.” What do cats eat? Cat food! It must be big businessjudging by the number of adverts on the telly.”
    “So what are you getting at?” said Murdo, liking Jessie’s train of thought so far, but not seeing quite what station it was about to arrive at.
    “I don’t know, I don’t know, but this feels right,” said Jessie sinking back into her armchair again, frustrated that they had hit another dead end. “Someone must know what kind of food cats like. Maybe that would help us move this along a bit.”
    “Wait a minute!” This time it was Fergus. He was sitting bolt upright on the settee with a fiery purpose in his eyes. The next second he leapt up, vaulted the coffee table and sat at the computer, clicking on the mouse.
    “Jessie is right, someone does know what kind of