When it comes to her daily routine she is quiet predictably. If you can't find her simply look for the warmest and cosiest places. Actually, it's even easier; I just walk down the stairs pretty noisily and swiftly open the fridge. As I turn around she will be there mingling among my legs, making those squeaking noises only cats use to talk to human beings. However come night time there's no more squeaking or cosy lounging. Without a word of goodbye she disappears into the vast darkness of the garden and does not re-materialise until the next morning when I'm just about ready for a peaceful cup of coffee and some browsing through the newspaper. Obviously sometimes she brings a dead something giving me some idea what she'd been up. However most of the time she wears an innocent look on her face and refuses to talk about anything but her urgent appetite.

Now if only for legal matters I should be curious about her where- and whatabouts during the night. After all she could be up to all kinds of mischief, which I'd be held responsible for. Then again I also feel some kind paternal instinct – what if she needs my help? Who is going to get the dog of her back?

Well. One night I simply couldn't stand the ignorance any longer. Armed with a torch and some -45° Degree outdoor-gear I ventured out. Right after her.