I've done it a dozen times before, but this time I rigged up a tricorder with a sophisticated sonic radar to detect any breaches in the walls. I covered every inch of the place. That included crawling around inside every cupboard and under every piece of furniture. I wasn't entirely surprised to find that the room was quite secure.
I then spent another hour checking every vent, grill and access panel to see if they were loose. They weren't, so unless Beastie has a screwdriver stashed away somewhere, there is no way she can get out through any of those.
It was about that time that my imagination started to get the better of me. I was convinced that with no possible exits to be found, it could only mean that someone must be playing tricks on me.
Was someone coming to my room and letting her out? Where they transporting her out of there? Unless, of course, she wasn't a cat at all!
Maybe she was some weird alien species that was being transported in and out of my room, spying on us all: the Earhart and her crew. Or, maybe, she had been replaced by a morphing species and wasn't Beastie at all. Or maybe I just need a bit more sleep.
Yes. The imagination definitely runs away with you when you're tired but then, even though I knew it was silly, having got the idea fixed in my head, you guessed it, I had to check it out.
Of course, Rosie thought I was crazy and almost rolled on the floor with laughter as I explained my quandary, but he was a love and ran lots of tests on Beastie including an in-depth analysis of her synaptic pathways and brain rhythm to determine that, yep, you got it, she is just a cat! A normal, bog-standard feline ... although she does have quite a high IQ for a cat! Rosie therefore suggested that because she was such a smart cat, she was probably just outfoxing me!
Hmm. Not happy at that suggestion, so I returned to my quarters and cobbled together a cat collar with various bits from a communicator badge to track the little minx.
Ha! Let's see Beastie outsmart me now!
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