What's the story?

I've just been out for my morning patrol in the front garden. She usually hobbles along behind me, stumbling blindly through the scents in her dressing gown gripping a little plastic bag. On this point, I must ask this: why does she use such small bags and why oh why are they almost see-through? Their inefficiency is compounded (the bags) by a faint whiff of small children. I use the terms 'faint' and 'see-through' loosely here as if talking from the viewpoint of my human.

Today, she was a bit more jerky than usual. Almost vigilant. Readers of old may remember me mentioning double-bagging moments, those sticky situations she tries to get herself out of by the most complicated manoeuvre imaginable involving two of her little bags and an immediate dash to wash her hands afterwards. Today, there was no messing. She noticed last night's message I left for our nocturnal visitors, picked it up swiftly before moving to the other side of the lawn, same bag in hand to collect this morning's contribution. It had barely enough time for to make landfall. I was whisked indoors most unceremoniously. I will have to leave examining the new mulch in the flowerbeds until later. Perhaps when she's left the door open. She's certainly preoccupied so there are no worries there. So what is it? Is it what I said yesterday? I don't think so. I've noticed her hovering around one of the noisy human's bedroom doors (you know, one of those who has shot up from small to big over the last few years). She almost knocks but then doesn't. Come to think about it, he was a bit funny yesterday too. Something is definitely afoot. I sense anticipation. What can it be?