Mrs Thistlewick had been enjoying a particularly pleasant sleep.
She had retired shortly after ten o’clock, having first made herself a cup of hot milk and checked that all seven cats were safely indoors.
She was dreaming about an enormous harvest of magical pumpkins when the dreadful commotion began.
“Whatever is that infernal racket?” she muttered.
She sat upright in bed.
The cats were howling.
Something was moving in the garden.
And somebody appeared to be shouting about unfairness.
Mrs Thistlewick climbed out of bed, put on her thick woollen dressing gown and pushed her feet into her old brown carpet slippers.
They were comfortable, well-worn things, with thick rubber soles that made a soft slapping sound against the floorboards.
She tied her dressing-gown cord tightly.
Then she took a candle from the bedside table.
“Sebastian!” she called through the window. “What is the meaning of this disgraceful behaviour?”
The cats continued their terrible chorus.
Mrs Thistlewick frowned.
“Well, I shall soon put a stop to that!”
She descended the narrow staircase, crossed the dark kitchen and opened the back door.
A cold wind swept into the house.
“Now then!” she called sharply. “What is going on out here?”
The cats fell silent.
And there, standing beneath the apple tree in his blue-striped pyjamas, was Peter Collins.
Mrs Thistlewick stared.
Peter stared back.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then the old lady drew herself up to her full height.
“PETER COLLINS!”
Peter nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Good evening, Mrs Thistlewick.”
“GOOD EVENING?”
She looked at the moon.
She looked at the cats.
Then she looked at Peter.
“It is the middle of the night, young man!”
“Yes, madam.”
“And you are standing in my private garden!”
“Yes, madam.”
“In your pyjamas!”
Peter looked down at himself.
“Yes, madam.”
Mrs Thistlewick folded her arms.
“Have you completely taken leave of your senses?”
Peter opened his mouth.
“Well, you see—”
“Not another word!”
She pointed towards the house.
“Inside. Immediately!”
“But, Mrs Thistlewick—”
“I said inside!”
She took Peter firmly by the arm and marched him towards the kitchen door.
The seven black cats followed in a neat procession.
And behind them, the garden gate swung slowly shut.
Although nobody had touched it.
