Max and Daisy, cats at number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say they were perfectly normal cats, thank you very much. They were the last cats you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they didn't hold with such nonsense.

Max was the proud cat of the director of Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big beefy cat with hardly any neck although he did have a large amount of body fur. Daisy was thin and lean and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much time looking down on the neighbor's cats. Max and Daisy had a small kit called Rocky and in their opinion there was no finer kit anywhere.

Max and Daisy had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if somebody found out about Daisy's sister. Even though she was Daisy's sister they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Daisy pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing mate were as abnormal as it was possible to be. Max and Daisy shuddered to think what the neighbours cats would say if Daisy's sister and her mate arrived in the street. Max and Daisy knew that Daisy's sister had a small kit, too, but they had never seen him. This kit was another reason for keeping Daisy's sister away; they didn't want Rocky mixing with a kit like that.

When Max and Daisy woke up on the dull, grey Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Max mewed happily as he got ready for his morning stroll and Daisy gossiped away happily as she made a screaming Rocky eat his food. None of them noticed a large painted lady butterfly flutter past the window. At half past eight, Max licked Daisy on the cheek and tried to lick Rocky goodbye but he missed, because Rocky was now having a tantrum and throwing his food at the walls. 'Little tyke," chortled Max as he left the house via the cat flap. He started walking out of the number four's drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar - a cat reading a map. For a second Max didn't realize what he had seen- then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? He still approached the she-cat and asked her calmly, "Where you just reading a map?"

"No," the tabby she-cat stated plainly. As Max started walking the other way he glanced behind him and watched the cat. It was now reading the sign which he knew said Privet Drive - no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs. He knew that as a fact, since he had tried it himself. Max gave himself a little shake and put the strange, new cat out of his mind. As he walked on he thought of nothing else but were he would walk today.

But on the edge of town, his walk was driven out of his mind by something else. As he walked along his normal path he kept noticing there was some strange smelling cats around. Cats that smelled like the wild. Max couldn't bear cats who went into forests - the stupid things young cats did! He supposed there was some new park. He plodded along and his eyes fell on a huddle of these strange cats standing close by. They were mewing excitedly together. Max was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that cat had to be older than he was, and smelt like he had just killed a mouse! The nerve of him! But then it struck Max this was just some cats from a rescue centre - these cats were obviously just rescued from the wild… yes, that would be it. Max moved onwards, and a few minutes later, Max arrived at favourite resting spot, his mind on his relaxation.

Max always sat with his back to the park on his extremely high wall. If he hadn't, he may have found it harder to concentrate on relaxation that morning. He didn't see the butterflies swooping past in large groups, though twolegs and cats in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as butterfly after butterfly sped overhead. Most of them hadn't seen a butterfly even at daytime. Max, however, had a perfectly normal, butterfly-free morning. He hissed at five different cats. He cleaned himself from head to tail and hissed a bit more. He was in good mood until lunchtime, where he thought he'd stretch his legs and go home to eat.

He'd forgotten all about the strange smelling cats until he passed a group of them next to his house. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him feel uneasy. This lot were mewing excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collar. It was on his way back past them, food in his mouth, when he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"Crowpelt and Flameflower, that's right, that's what I heard -"

"- yes, their kit, Scarkit -"

Max stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the mewers as if wanting to say something to them, but thought better of it.

He dashed his way across the pavement to the wall he sat on, hissed at cats nearby not to disturb him, seized a cat and almost told him to send a message to number four, Privet Drive when he changed his mind. He put down the cat down and licked himself, thinking … no, he was being stupid. Crowpelt and Flameflower could be someone else. He was sure there were other cats called Crowpelt and Flameflower who had a kit called Scarkit. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure his nephew was called Scarkit. He'd never seen the kit. It might have been Shadowkit. Or Sunkit. There was no point in worrying Daisy, she always got so upset at the mention of her sister. He didn't blame her - if he'd had a sister like that … but all the same, those cats with strange scents…

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on relaxation that afternoon, when he left the wall at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked into someone just under the wall.

"Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old tom stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Max realized the tom had a smell of the wild about him. He didn't seem upset about being knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and mewed in a squeaky voice that made cats passing by stare: "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Kittypets like yourself should be celebrating this happy, happy day!"

And the old tom licked Max and walked off.

Max stood rooted to the spot. He'd been licked by a complete strange. He also thought he had been called a Kittypet, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his twoleg's car and set off home, hoping that he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.

As he walked into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw - and it didn't improve his mood - was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his owners garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same scent.

Max hissed loudly at the cat.

The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Who did this cat think it was? Max wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he walked through the cat flap. He was still determined not to mention anything to his mate.

Daisy had had a nice, normal day. She told him, over their dinner of bland food, all about the cat next door's problems with her kit and how Rocky had learnt how to mew 'Shan't'. Max had tried to act normally. When Rocky was fast asleep, he went into the living-room to get stroked by his owner, Mr Dursley. Mr Dursley was watching the evening news and Max couldn't help but overhear:

"And finally, insect-experts everywhere have reported that the nations butterflies have been behaving very unusually today. Although butterflies are normally seen on their own, their have been hundreds of sightings of these insects flying in every direction, in large packs, since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the butterflies have suddenly started flying in groups." The newsreader allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of butterflies, Jim?"

"Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the butterflies that are acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early - it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Max sat frozen, his owner stroking his head. Shooting stars all over Britain? Butterflies flying in large groups? Mysterious cats with strange scents all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about Flameflower and Crowpelt…

Max came into the sitting room. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er - Daisy, dear - you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"

As he expected, Daisy looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.

"No," she mewed sharply. "Why?"

"Funny stuff on the Twoleg's news," Max mumbled. "Butterflies… shooting stars… and there were a lot of funny-smelling cats in town today…"

"So?" snapped Daisy.

"Well, I just thought… maybe… it was something to do with… you know… her lot."

Daisy turned away from Max and started grooming herself. Max wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the names "Flameflower and Crowpelt." He decided he didn't dare. Instead he asked, as casually as he could, "Their kit - he'd be about Rocky's age now, wouldn't he?"

"I suppose so," mewed Daisy stiffly, not turning around.

"What's his name again? Shellkit, isn't it?"

"Scarkit. Nasty, uncommon name, if you ask me."

"Oh, yes," mewed Max, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went to go to sleep. While, Daisy was settling down to sleep, Max crept to the window and peered down into the front garden. The strange she-cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it was waiting for something.

Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with Flameflower and Crowpelt? If it did… if it got out that they were related to a pair of - well, he didn't think he could bear it.

Max and Daisy got ready to sleep. Daisy fell asleep quickly but Max lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if Flameflower and Crowpelt were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Daisy. Flameflower and Crowpelt knew very well what he and Daisy thought about them and their kind… He couldn't see how he and Daisy could get involved in anything that might be going on. He yawned and turned over. It couldn't affect them…

How very wrong he was.