Princess awoke with a start. Another nightmare. The silk blankets in her deluxe cat basket were slightly damp with sweat. She had not been sleeping well of late, and had even started taking naps at night to adjust for her lack of restful shut-eye during the day. It was probably just interference from the ascendant transition of Jupiter to Saturn - under her alter ego of Mystic Mog, Princess was aware of many potential forms of psychic disturbance - but her dreams had given her a deep sense of foreboding.
Princess glanced at the gold embossed Carriage clock on the mantelpiece. The night was at its armpit - things were getting smelly but had not yet come to a head. Time to go to work. Shaking off the fading memories, Mog left the house through the fake marble cat-flap in the kitchen and leapt nimbly onto the garden wall. Swansea stretched away before her. Like a pair of bad fitting Calvin Kleins, everything looked good but something just did not feel right. Trying to ignore the hair rising on her back, Mog set off into the night.
[NB. Read the Foreword if you have not yet read The Cabbages of Doom.]
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