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Agent Mittens was a cat of refined tastes, which mostly involved napping on sunbeams and demanding tuna. He was also, by his own estimation, a detective of the highest caliber, though his only case so far had been "The Case of the Missing Sardines” Which was eventually found to have been eaten by his human, a kindly old woman named Mrs. Higgins, who thought him to be quite lazy.

One Tuesday morning, Mrs. Higgins, famous for her blueberry muffins, cried out, “Oh dear! My prize-winning, golden-crusted, blueberry-filled muffin! It’s gone!”

Agent Mittens, roused from a particularly important nap (he was dreaming of a giant salmon), opened one emerald eye. A mystery! His whiskers twitched. This was far more interesting than hairballs.

He began his investigation. First, he sniffed the crime scene: the kitchen counter. The faint scent of blueberry and baked goodness lingered. He deduced the muffin was not vaporized, but taken.

Next, he examined the floor. Tiny, crumbly trails led away from the counter, past the leg of the dining room table, and towards the living room. “Aha!” Agent Mittens thought, flexing his paws. “A cunning culprit indeed!”

He followed the trail. It led to under Mrs. Higgins’s favorite armchair. Agent Mittens, with a dramatic flair only a cat could master, peered into the shadowy depths. There, he saw it! Not the muffin, but a small, sparkly, toy mouse – Bartholomew, Mrs. Higgins’s other cat’s favorite plaything. But Bartholomew wasn’t usually under the armchair. And he wasn’t usually covered in blueberry crumbs.

“Intriguing,” Agent Mittens purred. He nudged Bartholomew with a paw. The toy mouse didn’t move. Agent Mittens tapped it again. Still nothing. He then noticed a small, barely visible hole in the wall, just behind the toy mouse. The crumb trail continued into the hole.

Agent Mittens, usually terrified of small spaces, felt the call of detective duty. He squeezed through the hole, his fur brushing against dusty plaster. He found himself in a narrow, dark passage. The muffin scent was stronger here.

He crawled forward, his whiskers guiding him. The passage opened into a small, cluttered space behind the bookshelf. And there, surrounded by a mountain of stolen treasures – a shiny button, a lost earring, a missing sock – sat Pip, the tiny, mischievous house mouse, happily nibbling on the glorious blueberry muffin.

Pip, startled, dropped the muffin, which rolled towards Agent Mittens. Pip squeaked, grabbed the shiny button, and darted back into the wall.

Agent Mittens looked at the muffin, then at the hole. He couldn’t possibly fit it back through. He let out a loud, triumphant MEOW!

Mrs. Higgins, hearing the unusual noise, investigated. She saw Agent Mittens under the armchair, proudly guarding the muffin. She gasped. “Agent Mittens! You found my muffin!” She peered under the chair, spotted the hole, and then saw the tiny, sparkling toy mouse. “And look! Bartholomew’s toy mouse was a clue!”

Mrs. Higgins scooped up Agent Mittens, giving him a rare cuddle. “You’re not lazy at all, are you, my clever detective?”

Agent Mittens, with the muffin now safely back on the counter (and a small, strategically placed piece accidentally falling to the floor for him), felt immensely proud. He hadn’t just found the muffin; he’d exposed a master criminal! His reputation as a detective was now undeniable. He spent the rest of the day napping in the sunbeam, dreaming of more muffin mysteries.