When my cat sleeps, he snoozes Inside the laundry basket, Or on top of a tree, Crammed inside a shelf, Where no-one can see. In empty shopping bags, And cartons made of cardboard, On piles of books and newspapers, And suitcases that are stored. Curled up under furniture, In places we’d never think to look. Or nestled behind a flower pot, In a hard to find nook. Since my cat sleeps for at least sixteen hours each day He must be bored of sleeping in the same old way!
There’s been a murder, a woman was killed, found in a bathtub, partially filled. A pair of policemen went into the house and questioned the poor woman’s spouse. He’d just come home from working all night and found her like that, a terrible sight. The younger policeman looked on with dismay. He’d never forget that terrible day. He saw the young woman from behind the door and empty milk cartons all over the floor, Scattered strawberries, slices of fruit, and spoonfuls of sugar and honey to boot. ”Who could have done this terrible thing?” His voice had a horrified, pitiful ring. ”Just look at the clues,” replied Sargeant Miller. ”It looks like the work of a cereal killer.” (Albert Van Hoogmoed)