To our valued residents, I write to you with a heavy heart. Last night, between the hours of 2 AM and 5 AM, the lid of the Royal Box vanished. It was a fine lid. It had served us well. It will be missed.
The Evidence
A thorough search of the house has revealed no lid. We found a feather, a hair tie, and a small piece of cheese, but not the lid. We have therefore concluded that the lid was taken, and we have named a suspect.
The Suspect
The suspect is Gary, a ginger cat who was last seen lying on a pile of laundry with a look of absolute innocence. When questioned, Gary declined to speak. When asked whether he was involved, he yawned. We consider this a confession.
Our Response
- A reward of one dried shrimp for the return of the lid
- A new lid of equal dignity, ordered from the delivery service
- An increase in night patrols, performed by the sleepy guard
- A public ceremony of mourning on Thursday, with snacks
A Reflection
A lid is more than a piece of cardboard. It is a promise of privacy, a roof over the head, and a symbol of all we hold dear. It is also an excellent surface for sitting on, when no one is watching.
A Plea
If you have seen the lid, or know its whereabouts, please step forward. You will not be punished. You will be offered a snack, a lengthy thank you, and possibly a small medal.
Yours in corrugation and in hope, His Grace, Duke Corrugato of Cardboard Royale.
Postscript
UPDATE: As we went to press, a faint rustling was heard under the sofa. The lid, it appears, was there all along, along with two socks, a bottle cap, and a very small spider. Gary has asked that all charges be dropped. They will not be dropped, but they will be reduced to a warning.
This letter is a work of satire.