March 2017

Sherlock Herms in G.A.G. Order
Dori Reviews #PioneerPet Raindrop Fountain for Frank
Reality Bites, Sherlock Herms
It’s Wonderpurr to be a #Blogpaws Finalist
Sherlock Herms in Denial
Mousebreath Magazine Intermew
Sherlock Herms in… Spring Break!
Sherlock Herms in The Trojan Horse Mystery

Sherlock Herms in G.A.G. Order

Previously on Sherlock Herms in Denial.

“You want me to find out who murdered your granddaughter?” I asked Violet.

“No! We already know who murdered her. Suffice to say we would be extremely pleased if you could bring the murderer to justice, but that isn’t why we wish to hire you. We want you to convince my granddaughter of her disembodied state so she can accept being dead. She’s in Denial, Detective Herms.”

And now… Sherlock Herms in G.A.G. Order

I sat on the bench across the road from our new home watching a pair of piping plovers skip along the sandy beach. The breeze felt cool and smelled of fish mixed with pungent earth warming to the idea that spring had sprung.

As the sun set over the ocean-size lake, my thoughts drifted back a few months to the time my friend and mentor Charley gave me a lesson on Inattentional Blindness. He’d told me to first focus on the birdbath, then shift my attention to the window reflection without turning around and tell him what was going on behind me in the room.

I’d been failing as a detective because I was so highly distracted by everything, I couldn’t focus on any one thing at a time. That day, by shifting my attention to the reflection, I’d seen Dori talking with Charley, and my other sister Candy was asleep on the back of the sofa. I’d also seen an angel with huge wings, along with some dood wearing sunglasses that turned out to be Ghost Guy who eventually summoned the demons that ran us out of our home.

When I arrived at my new home, I’d discovered Charley waiting for me. He’d overheard my thoughts about no longer wanting to be a ghost hunter. Who would after being sucked into Hell through an Ouija board? I was done with demons, big time! Charley is now my Guardian Angel and I guess there is some special dispensation that says G.A.’s can listen in on our thoughts. (I know, unnerving!)

I’d opened the Wonderpurr Detective Agency to learn how to solve crimes so I could help my author mom who wanted to write mysteries. I’m her mews, you see. I help her write novels. A year ago we’d watched a documentary on famous detectives that inspired me to be like Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe for their hardboiled detective lingo, and Sherlock Holmes for his use of logical reason to solve cases. Plus I liked his hat. I wanted to get back to the basics, and purranormal investigating was anything but basic.

That’s when Charley brought up my Inattentional Blindness. “When I gave you that lesson, Herman, I didn’t realize you could see into the future. But you can. That is your true talent. And with that talent comes the ability to see spirits. I cannot promise that demons will not try to approach you, because Evil is attracted to Good. But I can promise that I will always be there to prevent them from harming you and Dori, and your family.”

I’d hung my head. “How am I supposed to be my mom’s writer mews when I’m busy counseling spirits?”

“You are where you are supposed to be. You are here now…to help someone.”

Violet and Isobel, the ladies I’d lunched with on the rooftop, hired me to convince their granddaughter of her disembodied state so she could accept being dead. Looked like my role as a Spirit Counselor was about to take off. I didn’t want this job, but Charley seemed pretty set on me doing it. And how do you argue with your Guardian Angel who is also your mentor and good friend?

Deep in thought, I didn’t hear Dori arrive until she pounced onto the bench beside me. “Wanna wrassle, Hwermie?”

“No thanks.”

She flopped down to lick her paws. Then she spied the plovers. “Wanna chase birdies?”

“Not really.”

She nudged me. “Yoo were quiet at dinner. Cat got your tongue?” She meowed with laughter, but I only sighed. “What’s wrong, Hwermie? Why yoo sad?”

“I’m not sad, honey. Just…thoughtful. I got my first case tonight.”

She looked at me with surprise. “How? Yoor phone don’t work no more.”

“I don’t think it ever worked. When I found it in my desk drawer back at our old house, all I did was place it on the desk. I never asked anyone to hook it up.”

“So that means… What?”

“Think about who called on that phone.”

Dori’s eyes glazed over. “I can’t remember what I ate for breakfast, much less who called last year.”

“The calls came from the 1940’s. From dead people.”

“I think you’re mixing your movies.”

“Who hired us?”

“Violet and Isobel. They want us to tell their granddaughter she’s dead.”

“She don’t know she’s dead?”

“Apparently she’s in denial.”

“Egypt? Did she drown?”

“That’s what I asked, but they said denial is another name for purrgatory. She thinks she’s still alive.”

“So they want yoo to show her The Light?”

“Actually, The Roof. They want her to join them for tea.” As Dori turned to look at our rooftop, I asked, “Are they there?”

“Two old ladies? One with white hair? One with yellow hair?”

“That’s them.”

“Nope. Not there.”

When I turned around, Dori giggled behind her paw. “Made yoo look.” She waved at our clients. They waved back, then gestured for us to join them. “They seem like nice ladies, for dead hoomons.”

“I need more details on the granddaughter. Let’s go intermew them.” I moved to stand.

Dori stayed put. “We have to wait until dark.”


“Cuz that’s when ghosts come out of hiding. My book, Ghost Hunters Do It With the Lights Off, says so.”

I saw Violet and Isobel had their hands on their hips, clearly wondering why we were sitting on our tails. “It’s twilight. That’s dark enough. Let’s go.”

Violet poured her grassy-scented clover tea into cups for Dori and me. “In life my granddaughter was a beautiful girl with a sparkling personality. She easily made friends and was loved by everyone.”

“Almost everyone,” Isobel corrected.

“Indeed,” Violet responded with raised brows. “I dare say jealousy is a two-headed monster, able to fool even those closest to them.”

Dori gasped. “A two-headed monster killed her?”

“They speak in obscure references,” I whispered to my sister. Obscure was my Word of the Day on my Word of the Day calendar. I poised a freshly sharpened purrple crayon over my professional detective notebook. “How did she die?” I asked my clients. “Who killed her?”

“We must wait for dark to intermew them. My book, Ghost Hunters Do It With the Lights Off, says so.” `~Dori Click To Tweet

“And how?” Dori added. “That’s impawtent to know.”

“We cannot tell you,” Isobel told us. “We are under a G.A.G. order.”

Dori’s eyes grew huge. I can only imagine what she was thinking.

“What does G.A.G. stand for?” I asked.

“Alas, we are gagged by the G.A.G.,” Violet said, “unable to discuss such specifics.”

Dori opened her Ghost Hunters Do It… book. “G.A.G. stands for Ghost Authorization Guidelines. Number three prohibits spirits from discussing specific details of another spirit’s life and death.”

I asked, “How can I help when you can’t give me details?” My clients shrugged in unison.

Dori slapped her book shut. “Let’s play 20 Questions. All yoo have to do is nod if we guess correctly. If we don’t, then yoo just sit there.”

The ladies put their heads together, whispering. Then Violet said, “I suppose we won’t be breaking the rules if we simply nod.”

“Excellent!” Dori put her book aside. “Did yoor granddaughter like pink? The color, not the singer.”

The ladies nodded.

“Did she like kitties?”

Again they nodded.

“Did she—?”

“Dori!” I snarled, embarrassed by her schoolgirl questions. “We need information on her death, not her fave colors and pets.” As my sister sat back with crossed arms and an even crosser expression, I asked my clients, “Did your granddaughter know the person who killed her?”

They stared at me. Then again put their heads together, whispering. Finally Violet said, “Detective Herms, we need to consult the Higher Ups.”

“We don’t wish to jeopardize our heavenly reward,” Isobel added as she faded away.

“We may need a few days before we can resume this interview,” Violet said as she too departed. “I’m sorry.”

I sighed with disappointment. A few days was a long time to a housecat. Then I heard a whisper on the fragrant twilight breeze. “She easily made friends and was loved by everyone… Everyone.”

I said to Dori. “I’m more than a spirit counselor. I’m a detective, and detectives detect. Tomorrow we will talk with the neighbors.”

Dori’s sulky puss warned me she was still hissed that I’d scolded her. “I got a better idea. Yoo talk with the neighbors. I might ask dumb questions about fave colors and fave pets.”

“I didn’t say your questions were dumb.”

“Yoo had a condescending tone to yoor voice.”

“I… I did not.”

“Did so. Tomorrow I’m going to take my dumb questions and talk with the kitties who live in the park.”

“What? Why?”

“So they can tell me about the lady who wears pink and loves kitties.” She picked up her book, prepared to leave.

I grabbed her tail. “Dori, wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be condescending with you. I’m just frustrated. How am I supposed to find a dead lady who doesn’t know she’s dead? Especially when my clients refuse to answer direct questions about who she is. I didn’t even get a chance to ask her name.”

“Why don’t yoo ask me who she is. I know.”

I stared at my little sister. “What? Who? Tell me!”

“Now yoo sound bossy.” She walked to the door leading to the stairs to my office.

I growled, “Dori!”

Her paw on the doorknob, she narrowed her eyes at me. I’d seen that look before—right before I got a headache. Dori claims she can give migraines just by thinking one into your head, and I believe her.

“Dori! Stop right there. Tell me the granddaughter’s name. I’m your boss.”

Her eyes brimmed with hurt. “I thought yoo were my pawtner.” A tear trickled through her whiskers, making me feel like a two-headed monster.

I ran to throw my paws around my little sister, but she closed the door between us. By locking it, she put an exclamation point on her feelings.

I felt wretched. I hadn’t meant to growl or be condescending. I loved Dori with all my heart. And while she could overwhelm and exaspurrate me, she’d also had a big impact on solving my cases. Our cases. She was my partner. My best friend.

I covered my eyes with my paws and moaned, “I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. But I did. I’m a baaaad kitty.”

“Youse not a bad kitty kitty,” said a sparkly voice. “Youse a good kitty kitty.” The high-pitched baby talk triggered a memory of the day we’d arrived at our new home and a baby-talking blonde lady in a pink polka-dotted dress tried to lure us inside with the temptation of fresh litter boxes. “Youse just need to a-poly-gize to make Dori feel awwww better.”

I lowered my paws to see the lady in pink polka-dots.

The lady Dori called Evie Pees.


Welcome to Season Two of Sherlock Herms Purranormal Mysteries starring me, Herman @TattleCat and my lil sisfur, Dori @Adorapurr on Twitter.  If you’re new to us, you’ll find my Season One Case Files located in my Case Note Archives . You can also Subscribe to this Wonderpurr blog by email. See the side column. Go on, I’ll wait while you look.

I hope you’ve enjoyed today’s story, and if you did, let me know in the Comments below. And pleeeeze tell your friends. All of them. Even the ones you don’t like. Until next time…

Have a Wonderpurr Week!


You can also find us on Facebook as Herman.TattleCat.

And on Instagram as Wonderpurr_Life.

Dori Reviews #PioneerPet Raindrop Fountain for Frank

Hi everyone! It’s me, Dori. *wavy paws*

As yoo may have heard, my brofur Fwank almost died this past month from a blocked bladder. It was horrible! Something my Mom never wants to go through again with any of us. So she bought us a new fountain. I asked to review it before she gave it to Fwank cuz he’s a copycat and he likes most of the stuff I like.

Grab a bag of tweats and pull up a chair. This is my review:

Mom Kim: I purchased the Pioneer Pet Raindrop Fountain from because I liked the design.  Two cats can drink at the same time. The fountain part is made of stainless steel. It has a charcoal filter and was easy to assemble with a 60oz water capacity. Since I’m refilling the fountain every day, clearly The Wonderpurr Gang is using the fountain…including Frank. Since has wonderpurr prices, I plan to buy a couple more of these fountains.

As mentioned, I purchased this fountain. I am not being paid for this review.

Reality Bites, Sherlock Herms

How ironic that is a finalist for a Blogpaws Nose to Nose award for Best Pet Humor Blog, and yet I felt anything but funny.

I sat on Frank’s hospital bed, clutching my floofy tail with worry. Dori, Opie, Candy and the other members of the Wonderpurr Gang were with me. While none of us wanted to be at the vet jail, we were there to surround Frank with healing purrs.

Thursday morning started out as usual with Frank jumping on the kitchen counter to “help” Mom fix breakfast. After he ate, he went outside to yell at Chevy, a young stray tabby who arrived a few days after Noah died in February. Of course! Mom’s a cat magnet and there is a waiting list for mempurrship to the Wonderpurr Gang.

After she convinced Frank to return inside, he saw a potted rose bush in the foyer that Dad put there because the nights had dipped back to freezing. Me and Mom were preoccupied trying to finish last Friday’s Sherlock Herms Purranormal Mystery when suddenly Frank started screaming. I thought he had a thorn in his paw, but the bush didn’t have thorns. When Mom picked him up and he screamed louder, she ran him to the closest animal hospital. His bladder was totally blocked. We never saw it coming. Read More

It’s Wonderpurr to be a #Blogpaws Finalist

Herman: Dori! What the Friskies are you doing?

Dori: I’m pwacticing to accept my reward for Bestest Pet Hoomor Blog at the Blogpaws Nose-to-Nose awards banquet in May. Yoo like my dwess?

Herman:You look like a baby Cruella DeVille. And it’s award, not reward. The entire Wonderpurr Gang is among the finalists.

Dori: But I’m the bweak out star. Everybody says so.

Herman: You don’t know anybody. You’re an indoor cat and hide under the sofa when the doorbell rings.

Dori: I have more costume changes. Owl bee bach. *zooms off*

Herman: While Dori is gone, I’d like to thank everyone who nominated for a Nose-to-Nose award, and I’d like to thank Blogpaws for choosing us as a Finalist for the Best Pet Humor Blog. It’s a true honor as is only a year and a half old. We didn’t start Sherlock Herms Purranormal Mysteries until May 22, 2016 which is not only Sherlock Holmes Day, but also the birthdate of Sir Arthur Conan Doyal.

It’s been a Wonderpurr experience connecting with our readers. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been bamboozied over how to solve a mystery and the comments helped steer the story.

Here’s a Fun Fact: I write the mysteries off the top of my head the week the story get published, which makes for some real drama when Reality rears it’s ugly head and bites me in the floofy tail. So reader interaction is very appreciated.

Dori: *enters twirling* Yoo like my dwess?

Herman: Yes. It’s very you.

Dori: I’m known for my pweferance for pink, but purrhaps I’m in a rut. Stay put. Owl bee bach. *zooms off*

Herman: As I was saying, Readers mean a lot to me. More than they realize. Me and my mom are authors. We wrote a few books. It’s in our blood to entertain–even for free, although my financial wiz Dad can’t wrap his brain around that idea.

Dori: *enters twirling* What do yoo think of this dwess?

Herman: It’s nice, but you do look pretty in pink.

Dori: Owl bee–

Herman: Wait! I’ve noticed you are practicing acceptance speeches. Does that mean you are planning to go to Blogpaws? Read More

Sherlock Herms in Denial

Previously on Sherlock Herms in Spring Break

My title on the org chart said I was a hardboiled detective with grit in my blood. If I couldn’t promote that image to my agency personnel, I sure couldn’t promote it to my clients. I didn’t want to upset my siblings, but I needed to take control and not let them run all over me. The org chart was insignificant. No one outside the agency would see it, and if the silly titles, colored boxes and the flowers and the tartar sauce made everyone happy, so be it. But if my investigators-in-training started to supersede (my Word of the Day on my Word of the Day calendar) my position as Lead Investigator, I would be forced to shake my floofy tail and get tough. I’d also tattle on them to Mom.

And now… Sherlock Herms in Denial

As the aroma of corned beast and cabbage drifted up the stairs to my huge office on the third floor, I ignored my growling tummy to concentrate on emptying the last box that contained items from my office at our old house. Today was St. Patrick’s Day and Mom’s Irish blood made St Paddy’s Day an event that required Celtic mewsic and green beer. My fur sibs and I would skip the beer and the cabbage, but there was a juicy chunk of beast with my name on it that I planned to sink my teeth into later tonight.

The last item out of the box was my snake-necked lamp that I planned to shine blindly into suspects eyes during interrogation once my 1940’s Bakelite phone with the rotary dial got hooked up later this morning and clients started calling. My smiling piggy bank was hungry to be fed more huge quarters.

Dori wandered into my office rolling the Amazon Echo Dot. We had ordered some bacon and pawfessional ghost hunting stuff when we first arrived, but our order had been cancelled after an Amazonian called Dad to verify the order and Dad being Dad snuffed the deal.

“Concatulations, Hwemie! We are a finalist for Blogpaws Nose-to-Nose awards in the Best Pet Humor Blog category.”

“I’m humorous?”

“Actually, I am. Yoor my stwaight man. Like Ricky to Lucy.”

“I can be humorous. I can be like Alec Baldwin to Tina Fey.”

“Sowry, but Alec Baldwin will never be funner than Tina Fey.”

“But I’m Sherlock Herms, a famous hardboiled detective with grit in my blood. It says so on the W.A.D. org chart.”

“Detectives aren’t humorous.”

“Sure they are.”

“Name two.”

While I struggled to think of even one, Dori spoke to the Echo Dot. “Hi Dottie, this is Dori. Hope yoo are having a Wonderpurr St Paddy’s Day.” Read More

Mousebreath Magazine Intermew

There we were, Dori and me, just doing what we do…when suddenly Miz Jan from Mousebreath Magazine asked us to do an intermew. Actually she asked me and my little sisfur kinda horned in on the intermew…but its all good.

Please click on the above photo to read our wonderpurr intermew. And be sure to comment to let us know what you think.

Purrs! Herman!!!


Sherlock Herms in… Spring Break!

Previoiusly on Sherlock Herms… The Trojan Horse Mystery

“I think I have a virus,” Mom told me. “I feel puny.”

“What does puny feel like?” I asked. I was very concerned. If my mom died, who would feed me? Who would…tweet for me?

“I have chills, a sore throat, and I’m achy all over.”

“Where did you find a virus?”

“No idea. It’s a mystery.”

I excused myself to scamper back to my office where I grabbed a notebook and a purrple crayon. Then I headed back to my client. “I need to interrogate you,” I told her. “What time did you first notice you were feeling puny?”

She swallowed hard. “Last night around nine-thirty.”

“What were the symptoms?”

“I felt tired. And queasy.”

I wrote in my notebook. “Where were you prior to feeling puny?”

She reached for her water bottle and drank before answering. “I went to a book signing at the library, and then out to dinner.”

“You book signed at the library. Did you sign in the entry hall, or someplace else?”

She grabbed her water bottle. “They set me up in a room with a small stage.”

“What else was there?”

She thought about it as she drank. “They had a giant book on the floor. And a giant pink eraser. And a rack of hand puppets.” She frowned.

I gasped. “You were in the—”

“Kid’s library!” we said in unison.

She groaned. “I should have known. The library’s a Trojan horse for kiddie crud.”

And now… Sherlock Herms in Spring Break

I hunched over my desk in my huge but otherwise empty office, working on Frank’s request to add tartar sauce to his salmon-colored box on my Wonderpurr Detective Agency (known as W.A.D.) organizational chart. With the help of Peaches I had managed to convince Frank that the box was indeed salmon-colored and not pink as he was worried that pink would ruin his image as a tough guy.

As I worked I thought about sharing my office with my investigators-in-training. Nine of them plus Dori my investigator-slash-partner. I’d shared my old office with my little sister and that had been incredibly disruptive. She knocked stuff over. She sang silly little songs under her breath. She walked through the talcum powder I’d sprinkled on the floor designed to capture unauthorized paw prints. She asked eleventy-billion questions without expecting me to answer a single one. In short—she drove me crazy! I shuddered to image what it would be like to share an office with all of my brothers and sisters. I felt pretty sure Sam Spade never had to share an office with his little sister, much less his entire family. Read More

Sherlock Herms in The Trojan Horse Mystery

Previously on Sherlock Herms Purranormal Mysteries…Org Chart Angst.

As Dori hurled herself at Gidget with claws flailing and teeth chomping, everyone scattered to avoid being caught in the cat fight. We have a No Fighting rule in our house. Wrassling is allowed, but without claws and blood.

“Hisssst!” Peaches ran to break up the fight. “Mom’s coming. Quick! Everyone back to your seats.”

As they flung themselves at their pillows, I scampered back to the podium where I pretended to be winding up my lecture on ghost hunting. “And so…I’d like to end by saying…ghost hunting can be fun and exciting, but it’s also hard detective work.” I turned and pretended to be surprised to see our mom standing in the door with a tray of refreshments. “Look! It’s our Beck and Fetch Grrrl.”

She laughed. “That sums up my position in this house purrrfectly. Everything okay? I thought I heard howling and yowling up here.”

“We were having a lively discussion on…on… Hey! That smells good. Whatcha got on that tray, Mom?”

Wearing angelic expressions on their pusses, my W.A.D. employees formed a single file to retrieve their treats from the tray. Then as Mom closed the door behind her, my investigators stretched out on their pillows to eat and nap for the duration of the afternoon.

I dragged the cushion from the chair in the sunny turret and joined them. “I think we had a rousingly successful first meeting. What do you think?”

They all nodded sleepily, clearly not in the mood for further discussion.

Then Candy said, “We didn’t appoint a secretary. Did anybody write down all those job titles?”


And now…The Trojan Horse Mystery

It was Dad who fed us breakfast. Highly unusual. Typically he’s in charge of cleaning the litter boxes in the morning, but today he also divvied up the kibble and placed the bowls in the wrong spots. I like to eat by myself on the cushy rug in front of the sink, but instead the bowls were lined up like a barnyard feeding trough in front of the kitchen fireplace.

Not realizing there had been an unexpected change of command, I was the last to arrive and almost didn’t get to eat because Jack on the end had wolfed his food like a starving…um, wolf, and then moved on to eat from Opie’s bowl next to him. Opie then moved on to eat from Peaches’ bowl, who was forced to eat from Dori’s bowl, who was forced to eat from Frank’s bowl…etc. etc. I arrived just as Jack finished Opie’s bowl and was heading for mine. I slapped my bowl aside and glared at him before turning my back to eat in semi-peace.

“Where’s Mom?” I asked Dori after I finished and was washing up.

“In her room. Dad says she’s sick.”

I stopped washing my paws. My heart thudded with panic. My mom isn’t a drama mama. She caters to my needs no matter what kind of storm pounds at our door. “What kind of sick?”

She shrugged. “Rabies, maybe?” Read More

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