The Spy in the Alley

The first Word

It began with Wilfred the cat, though my sister Madge insists she started it by leaving the back door open. Wilfred wouldn't have been able to get out otherwise, she says.
       That's Madge for you. She has to be the center of any story. I guess it's because she's pretty, with her burnished red hair, lupine-blue eyes and smooth, porcelain skin. It would be hard not to believe you were the center of attention, looking like that.
        "My hair is copper colored," says Madge, miffed. She's peering over my shoulder at the computer screen, where I'm writing this.
         Well, she's part of the story, I'll give her that. And, by letting Wilfred go, she set things off: the discovery of bucktoothed spy and the mysterious thefts, not to mention the high-speed chase's. (Okay, so the chase's we're on foot. They were still high-speed.)
         But I still think it was Wilfred who actually started it. Madge may be pretty, but I'm pretty stubborn.
         Now Madge is insisting that, since I can't get the color of her hair right, there are parts of the story she had better check over. Oh, all right, Madge. I will certainly listen to any critiques you have to make ( though not, ahem, necessarily pay attention to them).
          Let's see, we'll call this file The Spy in the Ally.
          "How melodramatic," scoffs Madge. "And that's not how you spell "alley"
           Anyway, this is how it began.