Excerpt from chapter 2: Stray Cat

Tibbs was having a very bad time of it. He walked anxiously up and down his room. Every now and then he sat down at his typewriter but soon he tore up what he'd written and got up again. He rummaged in all the drawers of his desk in search of his peppermints, because he had got the idea into his head that he couldn't think properly without them. And all the time it was getting later and later.
"At this rate I'll just have to go out again," he said. "To see if anything's happening there that I can write about. But I don't expect anyone will be outside in this weather. It's odd that Fluff has stayed out on the roof for such a long time. He usually comes back sooner than this. I may as well go to bed, I suppose. I'll go and see the boss tomorrow. And I'll say: 'I'm sorry, you're right, I'm no use to the paper.' And then he'll say: 'All right, then. It seems to me that it will be best if you look for something else.'
And that will be that. I'll go off and find another job."
There was a sudden sound from the kitchen.
The garbage can.