The kitchen is filled with the obnoxious stench of something unearthly and an ominous hush. The Deputy Prime Minister sits on high among the saucepans, surveying the scene before him with some ferocity. And it is indeed an odd scene, even in these strange times.
“Terry!” hisses Lucy. “Get down from there!”
Lucy has had Terry since he was a scruffy little kitten and for many years he has been both closest confident and mortal enemy. And it struck her that cats and Deputy Prime Ministers were strikingly similar in many ways, so she gave him the job. She was originally going to give it to Ian, but thought this was much funnier.
Terry refuses to move his elderly frame and promptly goes to sleep where he sits. Picking up a broom, Mumsie tuts and waves it encouragingly in his general direction.
“Excuse me, but is he alright?”
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