Ever wonder how close we pet caretakers come to being sued our fur kids?
Ever wonder how close we pet caretakers come to being sued our fur kids?
I held the copy of my letter in my paws. What did I do wrong?
I’d started over eight times. Mom always says first impressions are lasting impressions. I’d wanted my letter to be purrfect. I’d hoped that if he liked what I wrote, he would want to meet me in purrrson. Maybe even solve a case with me.
Dear Mr. Holmes,
I wanted to introduce myself since we are in the same business of detecting stuff. I am Sherlock Herms of the Wonderpurr Detective Agency. I have one assistant, like you do with Watson…only my assistant is my little sisfur, Dori. I don’t suppose you’ve ever had to take your little sisfur on a caper. Anyway! We just solved our first case. It had ghosts that needed to be busted. We were paid two huge quarters. Have you ever solved a case with ghosts? Just wondering. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.
I’m a huge fan of yours. I watched one of your hissstorical doc-mew-mentaries last night on teevee to pick up tips on solving cases. Maybe someday when I get real good at solving cases myself, you and me could maybe get together… Discuss stuff. Or maybe not if you’re real busy. You probably are, so…
Maybe if you have an extra picture of yourself lying around, you could pawtograph it for me. I would hang it over my desk and look at it all the time for inspurration. But if you don’t have time to have your picture taken…or don’t want to just because… I understand.
Countless weeks had passed since I’d mailed my fan letter business correspondence to my hero. Sherlock Holmes had to be back from his case by now. He had to have gone through his stack of mail. He had to have seen my letter. Unless the mail carrier had gone postal and flung my letter into the River Thames…there was only one conclusion: I’d been rejected. Rejected by my hero. Read More
Well, it was a wonderpurr weekend at my house, the place where I live.
Actually, I didn’t spend my weekend at my house. I spent it cooped up in a hotel suite. And…it actually wasn’t very wonderpurr.
This is what happened:
My mom and her friend, Aunt Linda, went to a mystery writers conference and brought me along cuz… Cuz Dad was in charge back at the house and Mom didn’t think he could hack taking care of all of the Wonderpurr Gang, plus the raccoons, plus give me my special diet noms and health supplements.
Besides, why would my author mom leave me, her mews, at home when she’s going to a writers conference?
The thing was… This was a writers conference. Not Blogpaws. And troofully, I wasn’t supposed to be in the hotel cuz of the rule where they used to allow pets but then changed their minds. What the Friskies! How rude!
We packed up the Land Yacht on Thursday and headed out with me riding in either Mom’s lap or Aunt Linda’s. I had my commode and bed in the back, plus Dori packed me a box of refreshments to nom. It was nearing dark when we arrived at the hotel. Usually I jump into my Ride and zoom through the front door, but this time Mom informed me a little skullduggery would be involved. Since I’m now a hardboiled detective with grit in his blood, this sounded right up my alley.
After checking in at the front desk, Mom and Aunt Linda grabbed a baggage cart and brought it out to where I was manning the getaway car. My litter box was disguised as a huge black trash bag. So was my pet stairs. The rest was either in suitcases or moving boxes. After everything was placed on the cart, I was loaded into a pink pet carrier that resembled a duffel bag and set on the top, looking like an ordinary piece of luggage. This is when the excitement started.
The cart was possessed by a demon. I know it was cuz I’m not only a hardboiled detective with grit in my blood, but I’m also a purranormal investigator. I know about ghosts and demons and stuff.
Anyway, that demon jerked the cart to the right and to the left. No matter how hard Mom and Aunt Linda tried to steer it straight, the cart had other ideas. Meanwhile, I’m inside the pink duffel bag getting ready to urp my last meal.
Finally, we got into the elevator and rode up to our floor. Thank Cat the other guests were busy fooling around in their rooms or drinking in the bar. Nobody saw nuffin!
Once inside the room, I was released from my duffel bag and my litter box and refreshment stand was set up. I got a nice bed on the couch. And that’s where my excitement ended.
After Aunt Linda put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door, Mom turned on the teevee to the Summer Olympics for me to watch while they were at the workshops. With nothing else to do besides pee and poop and eat…I slept. B-O-R-R-R-I-N-G. Sorry, but the only sport I found remotely inpurresting was when the girls waved ribbons on a stick. Otherwise, it was a total snoozefest.
I wasn’t even allowed to patrol the halls, like I usually do at Blogpaws. And when it came time to eat, I had to deal with leftovers. I tried to find the phone to order room service, but my mom is a sneaky pete and hid it on me. So I had to pretend like I was grateful for the cold greasy bacon and the French dip without the dip she brought me.
I guess more than being disgusted with the teevee programming, no room service, and not getting to zoom the halls…I was pretty ticked off about not going to the conference. These were my hoomons! Mystery writers. Hardboiled crime detective writers. I wanted to rub elbows with them. I wanted to sidled up to the bar with the big names and toss back a few shots of purrbon on ice, looking all brooding and mysterious.
But no. I was treated like an ordinary cat. And we all know there is nothing ordinary about me.
After three very loooong days, I was sprung from my luxury prison. The idea was to grab a luggage cart, load it up like when we arrived, and run out to the getaway car. However, when my mom and aunt discovered that the hotel bellhops wouldn’t let the luggage carts out of their sight cuz…tips… Plan B was put into action.
Plan B went like this:
It was a dark and stormy morning. The sky was pitch black and the rain came down sideways in sheets. Great time to leave the hotel, eh? My hoomons packed everything up, including disguising my commode and pet stairs in their huge black trash bag costumes and sweeping the rug of litter crumbs. They even bagged their trash since maid service had not been welcomed since we arrived. When the room looked pretty spiffy, Mom loaded me into my pink duffel bag, and Aunt Linda grabbed my pet stairs, and we headed out for the Land Yacht. But…when we got to the elevator, it was pretty crowded. We squeezed in so as to not look suspicious, although I overheard Aunt Linda tell Mom that one of the men in the back kept eyeing the pink duffel.
Just between you and me, I’d pawed a zipper open so I could see out with one eye…
Upon reaching the first floor, we hustled out the side door into the storm. The parking lot puddles splashed around my hoomon’s ankles while I snuggled high and dry in the duffel. I was dumped like a sack full of dirty laundry in the back. Mom jumped into the driver’s seat while Aunt Linda ran back to get the bellhop. She took him up to the room to load up, while we pulled around to the entrance. After our stuff was loaded into the back, we pulled away, then parked around the corner so I could be released from my pink prison and my commode could be released from its trash bag disguise.
We rode home without much ado. Life is like that. A lot of prep work and run around…then nuffin.
Anyway, I didn’t get much out of the conference, but my mom got to meet her author idol, Janet Brockovich. Um… Erin Evanovich? Whatever! I didn’t get to meet her, so I’m not impressed.
Do you ever travel with your hoomons? Have you ever been sneaked into a hotel? Details! I want details! Thank you so much for stopping by. Please remember to come back on Friday. Friday is Sherlock Herms Day!
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