Victoria Button and the Horologist
The cat sat twitching his pure white tail and looking rather pleased with himself on the porch of the house that sat at the end of Wicket Lane. His golden-green eyes were wide with mischief and at his paws sat a dead mouse. The cat stared at the red door lit by the afternoon sun waiting for it to open. When it did, a girl clad in a great man's overcoat stepped out, her black button boots clicking on the stone porch. She stooped down to examine the cat's prize. And rather than screaming in fright, like most little girls would do, she beamed at the cat. Her brown eyes alight with pride. “Well, there you are Mister! And what treasure have you plundered today? Ah... a great and mighty mouse,” Victoria exclaimed as she reached down scratching the cat just under his chin. The white feline purred in response to her praises. He had spent a quarter of an hour chasing this particular mouse across the backyard and through rather difficult hidey holes all for the sake of feeling Vi
