The Curious Case Of... THE CRUMBS IN THE NIGHT

'Crumbs!' Thought Monkey. 'There are crumbs in my bed!'

But how did the crumbs get there?

Monkey was not a midnight snacker. He nibbled no nibbles nocturnal.

Thinking the what might give him some clue to the who, Monkey found his magnifying glass, and picked up a crumb to study it more closely.

He would have twirled his waxed moustache - if he had one.

He rubbed the crumb between his finger and thumb.

The crumb crumbled into even smaller crumblings.

It might have been cake.

Or it might have been a cookie.

Or maybe a cracker.

His pet tortoise, Forthright, had trundled out for his usual morning plod. Three laps around the large rock in his tortorium, then back to the hollow log for a breakfast of moss and yesterday's lettuce leaf.

'Did you make this mess?' Monkey asked him.

If Forthright had, he wasn't saying. But then, Forthright had never really been forthcoming. He was an introvert, preferring the quiet solitude of his shell where, Monkey imagined, he sipped chamomile tea and nutted over that day's cryptic crossword.

But Monkey wasn't crackers! He was certain the crumbs hadn't been there when he'd snuggled under the covers. And crumbs were something he would have noticed.

Somebody had been in his room. And not just in his room, but in his bed! And not just in his bed, but in his bed while he was in it!

But how? There wasn't enough room in the bottom drawer of the dresser for a Monkey plus one.

'Unless...' Monkey thought to himself. '...it was a small plus one.'

Monkey picked up another crumb and held it under his nose.

It didn't smell like much of anything.

He was just about to taste it when he had an idea.

'Wait a minute! What if they weren't crumbs? What if they were mouse poops?'

He looked at the crumb through his magnifying glass again.

No.

Not poop.

A mouse might have left it behind - but it hadn't come from a mouse behind.

It was definitely a crumb.

Monkey held the crumb out for Forthright to see. The tortoise paused in his constitutional to inspect it through the green-tinted glass with a quizzical expression. Like all tortoises, Forthright regarded the world around him with a look of both surprise and mild consternation.

Pondering the possibles, much the same way Forthright often meditated on the complexities of the universe, Monkey decided he could cross Henry off the list of suspects. Cats were fastidious creatures. Obsessive-compulsives. A cat would never have left crumbs.

He could forget about Gus the dog. Gus was a mixed breed; part rottweiler, part golden retriever, part garbage disposal. No crumb could ever hope to escape his keen nose and searching tongue.

'And anyway.' Monkey told his little amphibian amigo. 'Gus is too big to fit in my bed.'

'There must be an explanation.' Said Monkey.

But Forthright had wandered away. Perhaps to play the violin. Or to smoke a pipe.

Gus did not like bananas. He craved no Cavendish and relished no Red Jamaican. He peeled no plantains - period.

'So, why...' He wondered. '...was there a banana skin in his bed?'

'Did you leave this here?' He asked Monkey.

'Crumbs.' Was all Monkey would say.

'Who's Crumbs?' Asked Gus.

'Whose indeed!' Said Monkey.

Monkey thought the crumbs in his bed might have come from a crust of toasted sourdough, but couldn't say so with any real certainty.

'The question we should be asking is how.'

'How?'

'Prexactly.' Said Monkey. 'And why.'

'Why?'

'Why ask why? Because the why and the how will lead us to the who!'

'Go away.' Gus told him. 'You're making my brain hurt.'

'But I haven't examined the evidence!' Monkey protested, holding up his magnifying glass.

'Just go.' Said Gus. 'And take your banana skin with you.'

Henry the cat was shocked and disgusted to find what little was left of half an avocado in his basket.

'Avo-bloody-cado?'

Henry desired no dietary discipline. He much favoured flavour over fibre - always.

Fruit, in Henry's opinion, was one of the many things that was wrong with the world. Vegetables were another. Add legumes into the mix and you had an unholy trinity.

'Avo-bloody-cado!' He repeated himself. 'It doesn't even taste like anything!'

Monkey agreed. 'Soap without the rope.'

Even Gus wouldn't touch avocado.

'Where's all this rubbish coming from?' He asked.

Monkey had his suspicions, but bit his tongue.

He had to be sure.

In the kitchen, standing on a chair to reach the counter top, Monkey trowelled smashed avocado onto an inch thick slice of golden toasted sourdough. Over the forked green smudge he laid slabs of banana like roof tiles. And on top of that, Monkey poured maple syrup. Then he dusted it with an avalanche of icing-sugar, and tucked in a sprig of freshly picked mint.

Carefully setting the plate down next to Forthright's tank of green tinted glass, Monkey stood back - and waited.

It didn't take long for the tortoise to come out of his shell.

'Pour moi?' Asked Forthright. 'For me?'

'Bien sur.' Monkey replied. 'Of course.'

'Sortez-moi d'ici, s'il vous plait? Je ne peux pas atteindre.'

{'Lift me out, please. I can't reach it.'}

Monkey shook his head. 'If you want it, you'll have to come out and get it.'

Forthright looked vexed. 'Alors!'

{'And up yours, too, you hairy little $%&@!'}

But he disappeared inside the hollow log in his tortorium...

And when he came back out, he was swinging a grappling hook attached to a length of coiled rope.

'A-ha!' Thought Monkey. 'So that was how!'

He watched as Forthright scaled the vertical glass wall of his tortorium with all the skill of a mountaineer. Then, with a confident 'C'etait parti!'*, the triumphant tortoise abseiled down the other side.

*{'Here we go!'}

Monkey's marvelous creation was demolished in less than a minute.

Forthright belched.

Excused himself. 'Pardon.'

And wiped his mouth with a folded handkerchief he pulled from somewhere inside his shell.

He thanked Monkey with a nod. 'Merci beaucoup.'

'Don't you like lettuce?' Asked Monkey.

'Il est toujours mou. It's always limp.' Said Forthright. 'Et un gout de carton mouille.'

'Did you say it tastes like wet cardboard?'

For somebody who ate avocado, Monkey thought Forthright was being more than just a little fussy.

'But why in my bed?' Monkey asked him. 'Or with Gus in his bed? Or in Henry's basket?'

'Sortir est facile.' Forthright explained. 'Mais rentrer?'

So that was it. Monkey's little mate could climb out of the glass tank, but wasn't able to hoist his purloined booty back in.

'Et j'etais toujours seul. I am always alone.' Said Forthright. 'Je n'ai pas d'amis. I have no friends.'

Monkey knuckled a tear from his eye.

'You're not alone.' He told Forthright. 'I'm your friend.'

He picked Forthright up, and the two of them hugged.

'Pourquoi dois-je vivre dans une prison?'

{'Why must I live in that prison?'}

'You don't.' Said Monkey. 'Never again.'

He set Forthright down on the floor.

'Allez, mon ami. Go, my friend... You're free. Tu es libre!'

Finis

{The End}