Stop-out

No, not me (for once), but Her. She Who Controls The Can Opener. She left the house at 5pm on Tuesday afternoon, after giving me my supper (tuna Whiskas, hardly my favourite) and said She'd back by 11pm.

Well, I sat up until midnight, sprawled across my favourite yellow club armchair (the one I'm not supposed to use), but there was no sign of Her. I kept waiting to hear Her key in the door, but the house was deadly silent.

By 6am, I was restless, hungry and desperate to go out for some fresh air, exercise and a chance to chat up the fit young queens in the vicinity. I nipped upstairs to pounce on Her with my demands as I assumed She'd slunk in in the small hours.

The dirty stop-out. Her bed was clearly unslept in.

Gah! The hours ticked by and still I was alone, abandoned and starving. Was I doomed to be walled up here and left to die from lack of nourishment?

She finally reappeared at 3pm. 3pm! By then I was weak from not having eaten for almost a whole day. If I hadn't become so enfeebled, I would have flung myself at Her in fury. She did have the grace to tend my needs immediately, giving me masses of food, hugs and an open back door.

The weird thing was that after She had apologised profusely, She insisted that She'd been delayed as a result of crossing The Void and entering a parallel universe. Does She really think I'm stupid enough to believe She was kidnapped by aliens then rescued by a Timelord? I have watched Doctor Who with Her, after all.

There's something rum going on here, and I intend to uncover the truth...