Who Ate the Cake?

When Dad came home on Friday evening, the chocolate cake he had left in the fridge was nowhere to be found. All that remained was an empty plate and a faint smear of chocolate on the kitchen floor, which he regarded with the grim expression of a detective arriving at a crime scene. He summoned his children, Ben and Lila, and folded his arms.

“Did either of you open the fridge?” he asked. “I did,” Ben said at once. “I took some milk.” “Did you see the cake?” “I did, but I didn’t touch it.” Dad turned to Lila. “And you? Where did you go after school?” “To Mia’s,” she replied. “Did you get home before Mum?” “No. She was already back.”

Dad took a pencil from behind his ear and began to make notes. “What time did Mum arrive? Who opened the door?” “Four o’clock,” said Ben, “and she opened it herself. Rocky shot straight into the kitchen.” The pencil stopped. “Did he, indeed? And what did he do in there?”

Ben studied the floor with great attention. “He sat by the table for a bit. Then Mum left the room.” Dad crouched down and lifted the edge of the tablecloth. There, curled up in the shadows, lay Rocky, the family dog, snoring contentedly, his nose coated in a sticky brown mask.

“Rocky,” Dad said gravely, “did you eat the cake?” The dog opened one eye, said nothing and thumped his tail once against the floor. It was, as confessions go, remarkably clear, and the whole family dissolved into laughter.