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The burglar took two quick, long strides to Edith’s side of the bed and reached for a collar. “What’s he doing?!” a wide-eyed Edith asked Stick Cat in an angry whisper. She breathed fast, her shoulders were hunched a bit, and the fur on her back was up. “He’s stealing, Edith.” “My collars?! My daily collars?! My beautiful, colorful collars?!” “Yes.” “He’s stealing from me?!” “Yes.” “A cat?!” “That’s right.” “But I’m a good kitty.” “I know you are.” “I’m a great kitty!” “I know.” “I’m a fabulous, beautiful, and totally modest kitty!” “Mm-hmm.” “And Tuna Todd is stealing from me?” “I’m afraid so.” It took several seconds for Edith to consider and digest this information. As she did, the man began to pick her collars off the pegs one by one. He reached for the first one—Monday’s collar—with his greedy, grabby left hand. “Stick Cat,” Edith said, and looked him right in the eyes. “Yes?” “I don’t like Tuna Todd anymore.” Stick Cat used all his effort to suppress a smile. He knew this was a scary situation, but at this exact moment he was amused that it took something being stolen from Edith herself for her to finally understand the situation. “I’m sorry about your collars,” Stick Cat said. “And I’m sorry Tuna Todd didn’t turn out to be as nice as you thought.” “We should have figured it out earlier,” hissed Edith. “Umm,” Stick Cat said, and stopped. It seemed like he was contemplating the right words to use. “You’re right. If only I had been clever enough to figure out what he was doing.” “Don’t blame yourself, Stick Cat,” Edith said. “Thankfully, you have me here to help.
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