Cat burglar

Nice lazy Sunday. I slipped in through Brian's cat flap well obviously it isn't for Brian or for that matter a cat. But a rather manky mutt by the name of Chancer (I wish he'd live up to his name and play on the motorway; alas...!)
Anyway I was under the privet hedge; dozing, when I was roused from my slumbers by the revving of Brian's car. The family were going out. Roasted lamb. Slightly pink; a few morsels remained in Jack the Russell's bowl. The servile dog usually has tinned food, which although tasty lacks the essential oils necessary for the health and beauty of one's coat. 'Servile dog'.... You servile dog! Or Sir Vile? Just dog?! Vile? All very apt..
 I popped upstairs. Sometimes the airing cupboard door is left unlatched, and it is the best of places; warm with freshly laundered towels and sheets the fragrance of the outdoors with none of the unpleasantness (wind, cold, damp, dogs, cars etc.) But not today. I settled down in second place on the bed shared by Brian and his wife, and by the smell of it Chancer the Vile. Odour de Mutt. I had just begun to feel totally relaxed and comfortable when I happened to notice that the wardrobe door, which normally remains firmly, shut, despite all my attempts to gain entry; was now ajar. I was torn: comfort vs. curiosity.
Curiosity or comfort? I nudged the door wider with my nose, and wider still with a rub of my round cheek. With all whiskers clear my body just followed suit. Nothing much on the ground floor: shoes and boots, I would check these out later for where Brian has been but right now the shelf above beckoned. I backed out from the enclosed space, checked out the height by standing on my hind paws and sprung. A landing fit for a 10/10 by any gymnast. Bliss I do believe this is cashmere. I massaged the cashmere with reverence, one paw up one paw down. I closed my eyes and swayed gently, rhythmically from side to side. Finally I gave up this pleasure and succumbed to the call of another. Catnap. Catnap on cashmere. I purred the tune ' Heaven. I'm in heaven...do do do do do, do do do do do dooooo..' zzzzz zzzzz.
 I woke, still light. House quiet. Smell of wool, smell of lamb, stink of.. Chancer! I had forgotten in that space between sleeping and waking quite where I was. Time I suppose to make a retreat. I stretched. First in the extended sitting position and then to the rear in the air front legs down claws extended -onto the lovely soft cashmere. It was definitely cashmere. Not that I wouldn't be able to tell from just looking and touching;
I have a sixth sense when it comes to quality. But in all my reverential caressings I had upturned the label 90% cashmere. Hand wash. I was just about to leave my closeted quarters when I spied a box. A cardboard box, the corner of which poked out from under all the other jumpers (acrylic judging by the static.) and placed far back. Now second to cashmere a box of cardboard is a joyous sensual thing. I nudged and pushed and pressed. The jumpers, neatly folded, tumbled and the box was now fully displayed. A shoe box. Clarks size 4/37. Flipping the lid revealed papers and cuttings from newspapers. Ephemera. But a black leather diary...