Bronzy’s Vigil

 The box appeared on the doorstep just before Christmas. Joe was puzzled; he hadn’t ordered anything and it was ages since they’d received a parcel.

‘What is it Joe?’ Brenda asked.

‘Let’s open it and see.’

He took the box to the dining room, ripped off the tape, lifted the flaps, removed the bubble-wrap and delved into the tightly packed straw. He pulled out a very fine statuette of a cat, eighteen inches high, fixed to a marble base.

‘Whoever sent it, Joe? It looks expensive.’

‘It’s bronze, Bren.’

Joe examined the box labels; his address was correct; the sender’s address read: Christmas Lottery, Reindeer Park, ME2 U4X.  

‘That’s not a postcode.’ Brenda exclaimed, ‘Perhaps there’s an address inside.’

Joe found a card under the straw; there was no address, just a rhyme.

   Don’t sell, don’t tell, remember well.
                                Put me on a window ledge

   Where I can see over the hedge.

   Honour this pledge.

‘That’s odd. I may enter many lotteries but I didn’t enter this one.’

‘We can’t send it back, Joe; we don’t know who sent it. Better do as it says, put it on the front windersill. But what we’re to say when the neighbours asks how we got it, dear knows.’

 ‘As it’s bronze, I shall call it Bronzy.’ Joe declared.

They put Bronzy on the downstairs windowsill but the hedge was too high; he could see over the hedge from the bedroom however, and there he sat for fifteen years.

* * * * *

Jake drove his father home from prison for a celebration lunch; also present were three of Bert’s gang. After a toast to freedom, Bert asked Jake.

‘Is our Retirement Fund safe?’

‘It was when I drove past last month, but I hear the husband’s just died.’

‘Then we must cash in the fund smartish.’

 ‘If there’s any breaking and entering to do, count me in, Boss.’ Clem said, ‘I’ve kept my skills honed.’

‘They’ll be needed, Clem. Dave, how about transport?’

‘I’ve a clean licence and a fast car, both at your disposal, Boss.’

Jim spoke last: ‘I’ve talked to Stavros; he says prices for important artefacts are sky high; it’s been missing long enough that he can approach his special contacts. Our Fund is about to mature with impressive rewards.’

The reclamation of Bronzy went without a hitch; a midnight rescue by Clem ended his boring vigil, for few people ever visited that remote seaside estate.

In the turmoil of the funeral, Brenda didn’t notice Bronzy was missing for a week. His mysterious disappearance only reflected his mysterious appearance, so she concluded he’d joined his master in the next world and didn’t report the loss.

The bronze statuette of Bastet, the ancient Egyptian cat-god stolen from a Berlin Museum, raised two million dollars in the murky market of dodgy artefacts –representing a generous retirement package for Bert and his cohorts.

This story is by Frances Edington ©