"Sherry, Sherry, are you going to be long?" But reply was there none. "I don't know how much longer I can keep this up..."
   Tony Topped, the Express headline proclaimed. Death In The Sun, said the Mail. Sizzling Mandy, page 3, said the Sun. PM DAED, said The Grauniad. Murdoch slams BBC, said the Mirror, again. Tories should take over, said the Telegraph. Prime Minister sudden Spain death investigation committee called for as Brown-Gordon waits expectantly, was the Indy headline. Shares up 20%, said the FT.
   The Deputy Prime Minister was dismayed, not so much about losing a Prime Minister, but about the will. Last Will and Testament - all to wife. That meant under European constitutional rolling commissioner for wills, legacies and regulation of the dead's ruling (Leftovertin Islands incumbent) E621/1922666/3a2yJ0b, Sherry was solely responsible for all her husband's affairs and was now Prime Minister. To make it worse, the death certificate couldn't be queried, an impeccable witness, the Prime Minister of the day himself had signed it. Brown-Gordon fumed: his ambition thwarted.
   "First off," said the new Prime Minister, "We'll re-nationalise all the bus companies, then buy out all those PFI hospitals and scrap beacon trusts and foundations, then we'll see how much is in the kitty for the railways. And cancel those new aircraft carriers, they'll have to make do with tugs and rafts."
   Uproar in the cabinet. Three crony ministers resigned on the spot.
   New Labour swings left, was the headline in the Times. Murdoch slams Labour, said the Mirror. Sizzling Sherry, page 3, said the Sun. Middle England's Right-Wing New Labour Conservatives Play Down Reversal Of Political Policy, was the Indy headline. Overnight the PM's approval rating shot up, at least in the UK.

   "Darn it Rumacre, the Brits have gone commie! Told you we should've bombed them."
   "But then you'd never find the WMMDs."
   "Darned election! Tricksy WMMDs! Damned commies!"
   "Now that gives me an idea."
   "Election or commies?"
   "Lets plant a decoy WMMD in the Nesstown Jungle and get our agent cat to find it."

   "Oh my God!" There it was, unmistakable in glowing, flickering, occasionally colour-tinged white on glassy dark grey. "I was right, something hit me in the jungle, a revelation; he saw the trace jump wildly and vaguely remembered that feeling of awe as he'd discovered it, much more than just a WMMD." The only trouble was the exact nature wasn't certain from this analysis; more computer time would be needed and maybe some adjustments as well. But he knew it was a secret of monumental importance, one that if revealed only to the right people would make him very rich, and it also seemed as if it had happened at the highest point of the forest, in the very heart of the Dung Jungle. There was only one solution, he had to find someone to finance a new secret expedition; Fielth. After all Fitzy had broken him out of jail, why not return the compliment. He'd steal a helicopter... no hijack it: he couldn't fly.

   "Crikey, it's no moggie!"
   Head keeper hardly believed his eyes as US embassy representative 'Charleine Dutromper,' more accurately known as Agent Cheryl, revealed the caged beast on the back of a rented pick-up. "We had to search hard to find one."
   "Where on Earth..."
   "Almost under your noses; Cheshire of course!"
   "Knock me down with a whisker! Who'd have believed it; an actual Cheshire Cat."
   "It doesn't behave like a typical cat, which is, most likely, why people haven't recognised them before."
   The odd orange animal scratched the wooden cage with its front claws and took a mouthful of pelleted grass nuts.
   "Yes... I can believe that."
   "Meeeowbaa-ah, cough, cough!" What's wrong with asparagus tips, it thought to itself. Me, a highly trained top operative... economy class, ugh!