Trick-or-treat, smell my feet! The old saying always sounded silly—until the little black cat on Maple Street started following every candy bucket home. One Halloween, Mia left a pumpkin-shaped treat on her porch. By morning, it was gone, and tiny pawprints led straight to the garden gate. She followed them past the crooked scarecrow, past the crunchy leaves, and down to the basement steps. From below came a soft little sneeze. Mia opened the door. There sat the cat, wearing a paper crown, surrounded by candy wrappers. It blinked at her, purred once, and nudged forward one last chocolate. Mia laughed. “All right, you can have the rest—but next year, bring your own bag.”
