Chapter 2 The Quiet Disappearance of Bonito

It was a morning like any other.

The sky in London was foggy as usual.

Mr. Evans, who lived on Christchurch Road, opened his shop at seven in the morning as usual.

The shop run by Mr. Evans was a very common restaurant in England, the kind that only sold fried fish and chips.

Although it was not a well-known old shop, Evans's shop was also well-known in this area near Christchurch Road. Office workers who had no time to cook often came here to solve their food and clothing problems.

Unlike most fish and chip shops, Evans did not use cod as the main material for fried fish, but chose the larger bonito ingeniously.

And the reason why Mr. Evans chose bonito...

Of course, it was because bonito was cheaper!

As for the taste... The fried fish he sold was cheap and large in quantity. Is the taste important? Anyway, it was almost the same after frying.

Besides, it is not that Mr. Evans is self-deprecating. With the tongues of most of his compatriots, it is indeed not an easy task to distinguish the difference between bonito and cod.

After opening the door of the store, Mr. Evans hummed a tune whose original tune he could not recognize, and went to the kitchen to start processing the ingredients.

Although he chose cheaper bonito as the raw material, Mr. Evans still had his own insistence - all the fish used were fresh live fish.

The bonito in the kitchen was just pulled from Old Wright, and they were still alive and kicking.

Reaching out a bonito, Evans skillfully threw it on the chopping board. The bonito that was still struggling fainted instantly, and then was quickly disassembled by Evans with a kitchen knife and neatly stacked on a plate beside it.

After processing a dozen bonito in the same way, Mr. Evans stopped his work, picked up the plate containing the fish meat, and prepared to coat them with flour and breadcrumbs, and then put them in a frying pan.

However, Mr. Evans found something wrong as soon as he picked up the plate.

The weight was too light.

Mr. Evans, who has been in this business for more than ten years, has a clear idea of ​​how much fish he cut. The weight of the fish in his hand now is obviously a little different from the amount he cut.

"Strange..."

Mr. Evans looked around and found no fish meat on the ground.

Could it be that when he was cutting the fish just now, he accidentally threw the fish meat and internal organs and bones into the trash can?

Mr. Evans scratched his increasingly thin hair in confusion, and he didn't care too much. Anyway, from the feeling, there were only about two or three pieces of fish meat missing. It was not worth wasting time for this little fish meat, because the first batch of customers would come soon.

Mr. Evans, who put this matter aside, fried fish and French fries as usual according to the original procedure.

Even after the guests arrived, Mr. Evans used this matter as a topic of conversation to talk to those old customers.

However, what Mr. Evans never expected was that today was just the beginning.

As the days passed, Mr. Evans lost fish more and more frequently, and the amount of fish he lost increased. He even searched the trash can and found that he had thrown the fish in.

However, no matter how carefully Mr. Evans protected the cut fish, he still couldn't stop the fish from disappearing. He even put the plate of fish under his nose, but the fish seemed to have legs and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

After experiencing the mysterious disappearance of fish again, Mr. Evans finally couldn't stand it anymore. He spent 15 pence to hire seven-year-old John from his neighbor John's house to help him see how his fish disappeared.

It was another new morning. Mr. Evans brought John to his shop. He first let John get into the box he had prepared, and he handled the fresh bonito as usual.

John hid in a box nearby, staring at the plate on the table through the gap in the box.

Nothing happened at first, but as the fish meat on top gradually increased, a ghostly figure suddenly appeared on the cabinet above Mr. Evans's head.

It was a silver-gray tabby cat. Little John couldn't tell whether it was a British shorthair or an American shorthair. The kitten didn't look very old, and its size was only slightly larger than an adult's palm. Its pair of emerald green eyes stared at the fish meat on the table through the gap in the cabinet.

The kitten turned its ears and seemed to be aware of Little John's presence. Its big emerald green eyes turned to the box where he was hiding and stayed there for a moment.

Little John met the pair of emerald green eyes through the gap in the box. His little hands covered his mouth and nose tightly, fearing that he would accidentally make a sound and disturb the kitten.

As if realizing that Little John didn't intend to stop him, the tabby kitten retracted his sight and turned his attention back to the bonito meat on the table.

After confirming that Mr. Evans was not paying attention to the fish meat, the tabby kitten fell from the cabinet like a ghost, landing gently on the table without making a sound.

Turning his head to glance at Mr. Evans who was still immersed in his work, the tabby kitten quickly picked up a piece of fish on the plate, shook his head upward twice, and swallowed it smoothly. Then he used the same steps to quickly swallow almost the same amount of fish as his body, and then he jumped lightly onto the cupboard, ran along the top of the cupboard to the skylight in the kitchen, and disappeared through the gap in the skylight.

It was not until the tabby kitten left that Little John jumped out of the box excitedly.

"Uncle Evans! I saw it! It's a very beautiful kitten!"

Little John danced excitedly, describing the kitten to Mr. Evans, and pleaded with Mr. Evans on behalf of the kitten: "Anyway, it doesn't eat much, Uncle Evans, please don't hurt it! If it doesn't work, I can pay for it with my pocket money!"

Looking at the excited Little John, Mr. Evans touched his head in surprise. He knew that Little John wanted a football and had saved money for it for a long time. During this period, he was as frugal as the famous old miser in the tailor shop on the corner.

What kind of magic did the kitten that stole the fish have that made Little John give up his favorite football.

But...

Isn't the cat's appetite a bit big?

According to Little John's gestures, it should be just a little kitten. How could it eat so much...

Maybe the gap in the box was too small, so Little John couldn't see clearly.

Mr. Evans shook his head and smiled, then patted Little John's head and said, "You should save your money to buy footballs. I can still afford this little fish."

So Evans's shop has another topic of conversation today, that is, the mysterious silver-gray tabby kitten that only Little John has seen.

The silver tabby of the American shorthair is more famous, but there are also silver tabbies in the British shorthair. As for the specific breed of the protagonist...it doesn't matter.

...

The Camelot that was sacrificed in the last chapter was actually the protagonist of a time-travel article that I wrote for fun. I never published it. I gave up after writing about 20,000 or 30,000 words. Now I don't even know where the manuscript is lost.

At that time, system articles were not popular. I can't remember the specific configuration. I just remember the name. Other place names and the like are all new ideas.

…

The title seems to have changed again… Because the editor said it should include Hogwarts, so I changed it to Hogwarts Cat Druid, but when it was reviewed, the editor said that this name was not good, so I changed it to Master Druid. It was just reviewed, and it became Cat Druid again…

I am so miserable…

…

I should update twice a week on weekends…