He was at it again, living up to his pathetic name. Smirking to himself he finished off his business with his personal vendetta against the oriental rug in the hall, scratched at the floor and made his get away out the front door cat flap before Mother could catch him in the act.

Mr Tinkles sat licking himself clean in the middle of the front lawn, while he decided on a question which had been puzzling him all morning:
'Which tree shall i nap under?'
For a cat, it is very important business and a very difficult task. Choose the wrong tree and you could wind up dog fodder. Or just cranky after a not-so-satisfying sleep. And Mr Tinkles didn't feel like being cranky today.
The plum tree was his favourite spot at this time of year, but it was sometimes good to have a change. The lemon tree in the corner of the yard offered little shade, but was in a prime location for spying on the boisterous Scruffikins next door.If he could, Mr Tinkles would have died laughing the day he found out the big Alaskan Malamute, who always interrupted his morning business with feral barking (some dogs just have no class), was called 'Scruffikins'.

Before the internal ramblings of a cat could get too boring, something shiny caught Mr Tinkles eye. The annoying boy-human, Leif. Leif was always up to something, pottering around the house looking for something or rather, or running back to the intricate drawings that littered his room. Even though the boy often tripped over Mr Tinkles or didn't pay him much attention, Leif was the least worst of the family of humans (or as he liked to think, slaves) that he lived with. Being 13, Leif was old enough to know not to pull his tail and still young enough to not be a self-centered jock like Leif's older brother, Drew.

Mr Tinkles trotted up beside Leif and followed him back to his room to see what was so intriguingly shiny in Leif's box.

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