A Missing Cage
Bertha was the class hamster. She was small, brown, and ate sunflower seeds with great seriousness. She lived in a cage on the windowsill at the back of the classroom.
When the children came in on Monday morning, Bertha's cage was empty. The cage door was open.
"Oh no," said Mr Halpern.
He had not opened the cage. The cage had a clip. The clip was off.
The children gathered round.
"Did somebody let her out?"
"Maybe she escaped."
"Maybe she's a clever hamster."
"Maybe she's a NINJA hamster."
Mr Halpern asked everyone to sit down. They did.
"This is what we are going to do," said Mr Halpern, who was a calm man. "Nobody panic. Nobody run. Hamsters hide when they're scared. We are going to look very, very quietly. Whoever finds her, raise a hand. Don't grab her — she'll get scared and bite. Just raise a hand."
The children nodded.
The room went very quiet. Twenty-three children looked very carefully at the floor.
A small grey nose poked out from under the radiator at the front of the room. Then a small whisker. Then, very cautiously, a small grey hamster.
It was not Bertha. Bertha was brown.
The room went silent in a different way.