It was lovely living in their very own home, but it did feel a bit empty. Abigail didn’t mind sleeping on a pile of cushions as it was warm and cosy under her blanket but she did miss her bed. They’d found a chair in the garden shed and pulled it out onto the path, but it was quite crowded when they all sat on it. At least they had some furniture in the kitchen. Swinging her paws too and fro Abigail sat on the table and looked at the fridge. It was full of food and she sighed happily. Licking the remains of a lemon cake from her whiskers she picked up her orange juice.
‘Be careful with that,’ warned Patrick, peering at his laptop, ‘don’t spill it.’
Abigail stuck her tongue out at him. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m looking for some things to buy.’
‘Like some beds?’ said Abigail excitedly, sliding over the table towards him. Her glass slid with her. ‘Ops!’
‘Have you got orange juice everywhere again!’ The polar climbed up onto the top of the screen and looked down worriedly.
‘No,’ said Abigail, mopping it up quickly with a piece of paper. She pushed it behind her and it fell off the table. ‘No, definitely not.’
Preston padded into the kitchen. There was a loud squelch. Picking up a paw he shook it gingerly. ‘Why is there a big bit of paper with orange juice all over it on the floor?’
Looking at her Patrick shook his head, ‘I’m just doing some shopping.’
‘I’d like a new laptop,’ said Preston, climbing up excitedly beside him, ‘they’ve got a new model out.’
It was almost lunch time and Abigail was very very bored. Tapping her claws on the table she sighed. Then sighed again. Both the polars had spent hours looking at the screen and talking about laptops. They all looked the same to her. Why on earth did they need another one?
‘Abigail,’ said Patrick, ‘it’s your turn to make the sandwiches, Preston and I will have sardine.’
‘Oh that makes a change,’ she muttered, rolling her eyes and climbing down from the table. ‘Grigs what do you want?’
Curled up on the chair, the tiger yawned. ‘Chocolate.. double layer….’
Rummaging in the fridge Abigail laid out slices of bread and reached up for the butter. It was very slippery in paws. ‘Grigs look out!’
Reaching out Abigail scraped the butter off of the tigers nose and spread it on the bread. There were a few pieces of fur in it but she was sure it would be fine. Opening a tin of sardines she tipped them out and pushed down hard. They were meant to be shopping for interesting things. She squashed the sandwich down some more. They were still looking at the screen. ‘You’ve already got a laptop but I haven’t got a bed,’ she said pointedly, ‘only cushions.’
‘Well you may as well come and look now whilst we have lunch,’ said Patrick taking the plate carefully from her and looking at it hard. ‘What have you done to this?’
‘Nothing,’ said Abigail, ‘they were very flat sardines.’ Climbing back up she sat down by the screen. Finally! And it was full of pictures of beds! They were very small though and leaning forward Abigail wrinkled her nose. They were tiny, how could she choose. Running her paw down the screen she paused and her eyes widened. She made the picture a bit bigger. Patrick choked on his sandwich and started to cough. They all stared in silence at the bed. Pink with pink net curtains and bits of gold, and cushions, lots of cushions. Abigail had never seen anything like it. ‘Is.. is that a bed?’
Preston shook his head. ‘You can’t have that one Abigail, that’s ridiculous. Look at it, it’s like a big pink meringue.’ He paused, ‘although you’d probably like that, sleeping in a big cake.’
Abigail trod on his toe. ‘Sorry,’ she said innocently, ‘I didn’t see your paw there.’
Patrick had stopped coughing and had his paws over his mouth. ‘Well,’ he squeaked, ‘it’s different. I’m not sure how we’d get it up the stairs.’
Sitting down Abigail sighed loudly, she really couldn’t decide, there were too many and they were too small. ‘Can’t we see the real beds before we choose, how do we know if they’re comfy.’ Peering at the screen again she shook her head. She didn’t really understand how a bed could be inside a laptop. ‘Where do they come from anyway?’
‘These are pictures of beds that are for sale in shops,’ said Patrick patiently, ‘there’s one near here. You chose from the pictures and then I buy it and someone delivers it here.
‘Well I don’t want to do that,’ said Abigail crossly, ‘It’s too hard. I want to see my bed first.’
Preston had finished his lunch and was neatly wiping small pieces of sardine from his mouth. He pulled out a bit of fur from his mouth and looked at it and then back at the plate. ‘Well you can’t, we’d have to go to the shop.’
Abigail shrugged. ‘We went to one before.’
‘Yes but you lived there and this one is much further away and very big, We’d have to get a bus.’ Preston turned to Patrick, ‘tell her we can’t get a bus.’
‘I got a train before when I saw the Queen.’
‘But that was an accident, you weren’t meant to get a train,’ said Preston.
‘And I got a train and a bus!’ said Grigs, his mouth still full of chocolate sandwich. ‘I was very fierce.’
Abigail clapped her paws together. ‘See, it’s easy. We’ll all go and see which beds we want. Tomorrow.’ She twirled around happily. ‘They might have that pink one!’ Closing the cover on the laptop with a snap she sighed. She was absolutely sure they could get it up the stairs… Definitely.