Chapter One

Cats come in roughly three sizes – skinny, middling or fat. There is a fourth size – very fat.

But seldom do you see such a one as Lawrence Higgins. Lawrence was a cat of a fifth size – very, very fat indeed. He was black, and so big and heavy that his owner, Mrs Higgins of Rosevale, Forest Street, Morchester, could not lift him even an inch from the ground.

“Oh, Lawrence Higgins!” she would say (she had named the cat after her late husband, even though he had actually been quite small and thin).

“Oh, Lawrence Higgins! Why are you so fat? It isn’t as though I overfeed you. You only get one meal a day.”

And this was true. At around eight o’clock in the morning Lawrence would come into Rosevale through the cat flap, from wherever he’d been since the previous day, to receive his breakfast.

Then, when he had eaten the bowl of cat-meat that Mrs Higgins put before him, he would hoist his black bulk into an armchair and sleep till midday. Then out he would go again, where to Mrs Higgins never knew. She had become used to the fact that her cat only ever spent the mornings at Rosevale.

Five doors further down Forest Street, at Hillview, Mr and Mrs Norman also had a cat, a black cat, the fattest black cat you ever saw.

“Oh, Lawrence Norman!” Mrs Norman would say (they knew his name was Lawrence, they’d read it on a disc attached to his collar, that day, months ago now, when he had suddenly appeared on their window sill, mewing – at lunchtime, it was). “Oh, Lawrence Norman! Why are you so fat?”

‘It isn’t as though you overfeed him,” said Mr Norman.

“No,” said his wife. “He only gets one meal a day.”

And this was true. At lunchtime Mrs Norman would hear Lawrence mewing and let him in and give him a bowl of cat-meat.

Then, when he had eaten it, he would heave his black bulk on to the sofa and sleep till teatime. Then off he would go again, the Normans never knew where. They’d become accustomed to the fact that their cat only spent the afternoon at Hillview.