Blanket Under the Bed

Isla found a blanket under her bed that was the colour of warm toast. It was soft as a kitten's ear, and it hummed a tiny hum.

"Mine," said Isla. She pulled it out and wrapped it round her shoulders. It was the softest blanket in the whole house, and she wanted it at bedtime, tucked up to her chin.

But the blanket was only half a blanket. One side was neat and fringy. The other side stopped in a ragged edge, as if someone had snipped it.

"Where is the rest?" said Isla.

She looked in the toy box. She looked behind the sofa. Under the sofa she found a sock and a very old biscuit, and no blanket.

"Hm," said Isla.

Her cat, Pudding, strolled in. Pudding was only there to find a sunny spot. He sat on the toast-coloured blanket and began to knead it with his paws.

"Pudding, get off. I need to find the other half."

Pudding did not get off. He purred. The blanket hummed back. Hum, purr, hum, purr.

Isla stopped. The hum was coming from somewhere else, too. A thin little hum, far away.

She tiptoed after it. Hum, hum. Down the hall. Into the bathroom. The sound came from the laundry basket.

Isla lifted the lid. Inside, tucked in a heap of towels, lay the other half of the blanket. It hummed and hummed.

"There you are!" said Isla.

She pulled it out. Whoosh! Out came a towel, then a shirt, then a sock with a hole, and they all flopped on her head.

Isla laughed so hard she sat down.

She held the two halves side by side. The ragged edges matched, bump to bump, like two puzzle pieces. When she pushed them together, they gave a small, happy snap.

Now the blanket was whole, wide enough for Isla and Pudding both.

That night she climbed into bed and pulled it up to her chin. Pudding curled against her feet. The blanket hummed its tiny hum, and Pudding purred along, hum, purr, hum, purr, until the room was quiet and warm.