|Charles Boyer telling Ingrid Bergman that the cat is inside.|
The husband said, "Yes, I saw him a few minutes ago at the back door. I did not let him out."
I then went looking for Lurch, who never misses breakfast. I looked in all his hiding places. I looked in spaces he could not possibly have squeezed into. I looked in the basement despite its locked door.
I asked the husband again, "Are you sure he is inside?"
"Definitely," was the reply.
Bracing myself for a dead cat, I searched every nook and cranny: Under the beds, behind the shower curtain, on the top shelf of the coat closet. Inside the oven, behind the fridge. It was getting boring. But then, for some reason I walked onto the screened porch and Lurch came running towards the house from the back woods with that, "It's about time, I'm starving!" expression.
The husband stood by his claim. Nobody else lives with us. That would leave me, and I know I didn't do it. Or did I?