The Unhappiest Day of Her Life

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This had never happened to Feef before.

There was nothing to do, I supposed, but to keep on looking. Emily was crying, and Roger, age eleven, was hopeful, but without conviction. He tried to reassure her, anyay, good kid that he is. “Don’t worry Em, we’ll find her.” Even less optimistic, my wife murmured, “We don’t even know how long she’s been missing. She could have gone just about anywhere.” 

“Not the basement," reasoned Rog, “because the door is closed, and the poor little thing couldn't have opened it to go down there.” 

I’m the hard-hearted one in the family, but I didn’t let on that I never bonded with Fifi. I went on with the search, looking in the most improbable places, to amuse myself. The house is big, so nobody noticed my insensitivity. 

Suddenly, I knew the hunt was over. I couldn’t miss the Cheshire smile under Bootsy’s whiskers when I spotted the yellow feather near her pillow, as she contentedly walked away from it.