Emily keeping her visitor company.
It was furry and had a face. That's all Emily knew. Furry things with faces are toys, aren't they?
So there I was, making cups of tea while my neice told me how she hoped she'd done in her end-of-second-year university exams, when I happened to glance out of the window to see Emily wrestling with a grey furry thing. "Er, Catherine, isn't that your bag?"
Of course it was.
So we sprinted out of the house and into the garden. Sitting proudly on the lawn was Emily, merrily wagging her stumpy tail as she chewed a hole in the corner of Cat's Japanese monster bag. We ran one way, Emily ran the other, round and round the thorniest tree in the garden (as Cat's forehead can attest), saying stuff like, "Emily put it down!", "Emily, drop it!", "Emily, no!" True to the nature of a Jack Russell having a fine old game, she ignored this completely and continued running rings round the pair of us whilst leaving a trail of Cat's belongings across the grass.
Cat managed to stand on the bag's strap, and so was able to rescue her stuff. The hole's not too big, really.
"I did advise you to put it somewhere Emily-proof," I said, having apologised for the damage.
"I put it under my coat," said Cat. "I forgot I should have known better."
And so the furry funny-faced monster bag was put safely inside a glass case which sits on top of a cabinet. And Emily promptly sat on the nearby table, gazing longingly at the toy that wasn't, and howled her loss.
