April 2017

1
Sherlock Herms in…Down the Rabbit Hole
2
Dori Wants Her #Smittens – Even When She’s Not a Good Girl
3
A Wonderpurr Weekend
4
Sherlock Herms Purranormal Mysteries – Now on Amazon.com
5
A Poem for Wills on His Birthday
6
Sherlock Herms in…Intimations
7
A Poem for Belle on her Birthday
8
Sherlock Herms Meets Evie Pees
9
Stupidity or Devolution?
10
Will Dori Forgive Sherlock Herms?

Sherlock Herms in…Down the Rabbit Hole

Previously on Sherlock Herms in Intimations

I pawed the computer mouse awake. I wanted to know whether other ghost hunters ever had a problem with ghosts not knowing they’re dead. I needed to know how a pawfessional explained it to the ghost.

“Whatcha looking for, Hwermie?” Dottie appeared next to me, her bright blue eyes alive with joy, despite her being dead.

I clicked off the Ghost Hunter Q&A site. “Just doing some research.”

“Ohhh! I love history.” Dottie pointed to a photo of Abraham Lincoln on the page beneath the one I’d just deleted; a page dedicated to all things paranormal about U.S. Presidents. “My grandmother, Violet, was a history buff and was especially fascinated with Lincoln. Did you know Mr. Lincoln visited Michigan only once, but left a long-lasting impression as he is attributed with the first known use of calling a Michigan resident, a ‘Michigander?’”

A memory exploded inside my head of Dori telling me about something she had read in her ghost book. “There’s some old hoomon named Lincoln who died and according to the legend, every April 29th, the phantom twain carries his body through the town of Urbana, Ohio, following the route it took back in 1865 when it carried his body back to Springfield, Illinois.”

I had an idea. I didn’t know if it was possible, but if it was, Dottie would be joining Violet and Isobel on the roof for tea by this time next week.

CLICK TO LEARN MORE

I sat with Opie and Jack on my new office furniture in my new office. It was so new, it still had a new office smell. “So, do you think it’s possible?”

My tabby brothers exchanged looks, then nodded in unison. “But how are you going to explain it to her?” Jack asked.

“See, that’s the idea. I don’t explain it. I let her figure it out for herself.”

Opie and Jack again exchanged looks. “What if she freaks out?” Opie wondered.

“I wouldn’t want a ghost freaking out on me,” Jack added.

“Who’s fweaking out?” Dori strolled into my office with a fresh bag of Smittens cat treats. Candy entered behind her with a box marked Catipilla.

“Hopefully no one,” I said as I hurried to take the box. (There was no chance in Hades of Dori sharing her treats.) I’d been asked to help promote the manufacturing of the Catipilla climbing frame using a crowdfunding campaign via Kickstarter. “You know how Violet and Isobel hired us to help their granddaughter, Dottie, understand she’s dead?”

“But they can’t tell us anything about her being dead cuz they’re gagged by the G.A.G. order,” Dori added.

“Exactly!”

“Why can’t you just tell her she’s dead?” Opie asked.

“Because that would upset her,” Candy explained.

“So, I got an idea,” I told them. “What if we took Dottie on a trip in Mosey? Back to some historical event, before she was even born?”

My Gen7Pets Regal stroller rolled to my side, trembling with excitement. Mosey hadn’t been used for an investigation since we time-traveled to the 1940’s to investigate Mrs. Shallowford’s Ghost.

Dori and Candy exchanged glances. “That would fweak her out,” they said in unison. Read More

Dori Wants Her #Smittens – Even When She’s Not a Good Girl

Hi! It’s me, Dori. *wavy paws* Lately I’ve been thinking about how I only get my favorite tweats ~ Smittens! ~ when I’m a good grrrl.  I don’t think that’s fair. I mean, I’m a good grrrl on most days. But what about those days when I accidentally bweak something? Not on purrpose! It’s not my fault Mom’s tchotchkes are so poorly made that they explode when they hit the floor.

So, I’m thinking of starting a pwotest over being denied my Smittens whenever I feel in the mood to nom their fishy goodness.

Wait. What? Yoo haven’t heard about my favorite tweats? Well, gather awound, pals and let me meow about them.

Dori-for-Smittens-700x466

“Smittens treats are made by The Honest Kitchen. They are cute, heart-shaped and crunchy, all very impawtent to me. They are also 100% grain-free, made from pure, wild, line-caught Haddock from the pristine waters off the coast of Iceland, all very impawtent to my meowmy.”

Dori-tastes-Smittens-700x465 “I understand these tweats are made wif no fillers or by-products. Just pure 100% dehydrated Haddock, packaged in the U.S.A. The Honest Kitchen didn’t get its name by being sneaky, and that’s the troof!”

Tummy-Happy-700x466

“I’d like to thank the Academy… I mean, Chewy.com for sending me dis package of Smittens. Eating Smittens tweats is like a pawty in my mouf. Smittens also makes my tummy happy. If you want a pawty in your happy tummy, visit Chewy.com and tell them Dori sent you.”

Disclaimer: We have received the reviewed product free-of-charge. Our claims and/or opinions regarding this product are not in any way influenced by the provider of the product, nor the product manufacturer.

A Wonderpurr Weekend

Friends ask me all the time…what does the Wonderpurr Gang do on weekends. So, to answer that question…here are a few photos from this past Caturday.

Frank and our new sister, Elly.

This is Chevy. He’s claimed our yard for his own.

Dad’s best cat Cookie went OTRB in 2012.

Elly has applied for the job opening.

Huck was born in 2011. He’s blind in one eye. He’s a good dad.

Frank used to sleep in the woods. Now he sleeps in our pawrent’s bed.

Me and Dori enjoy a good snooze in a favorite sun puddle.

Hope you enjoy a Wonderpurr Week!

Herman!!!

Sherlock Herms Purranormal Mysteries – Now on Amazon.com

My name is Sherlock Herms. It is my business to know what others don’t know. At least that’s what I hoped for once I got my paws wet as a private investigator. It was my first day on the job. The Wonderpurr Detective Agency had been open for business all of twenty minutes, but my phone hadn’t rung once. I flicked my floofy tail with impatience. How long would I have to wait before someone hired me to solve a caper?

It all began when my author mom and I watched a documentary on famous detectives. She had decided to write mysteries. That made me nervous. I’m her mews, you see. I inspire her when she writes novels. But how could I inspire her when I know nothing about solving mysteries? If I fell down on the job, she might ask my arch-nemesis to be her mews. He’s a chunky orange tabby named Opie. He’s also my brother.

With that in mind I paid close attention to the documentary. My favorites were Spade and Marlowe for their hardboiled detective lingo, and Sherlock Holmes for his use of logical reason to solve cases. Plus I liked his hat. Mom had just published two books in one year and was taking a much-needed break to grow more brain cells. I needed experience solving capers. Now. Before she started plotting her first mystery. But what if no one hired me? Ever! I’d be a washed-up has-been before the sun set on my first day as a hardboiled detective. I’d also be out of a job as a professional mews.

I heard a knock. A thrill skittered through me. My first client had arrived! I opened the door to see my little sister. “What do you want, Dori?” “Mommy said I can play detective, too.” The fur bristled under my collar. “I’m not playing detective. I’m a hardboiled private investigator with grit in my blood. And no. You can’t play— I mean, be a detective, too.” I watched her eyes narrow. I’d seen that look before—right before I got a headache. She claims she can give migraines just by thinking one into your head and I believe her. But then her eyes filled with tears. Oh no. I’d rather have a migraine. “Mommy,” she yowled. “Hwermie won’t let me play detective.” “Let her play, Herms,” Mom called from her desk. “Please? I’m plotting.” Plotting! Oh no! Had she started mystery-writing without me?

Meet Herman, a wise old floofy-tailed Turkish Angora, and his quirky tabby-kitten sister, Dori. When their first client hires them to solve a mystery in another town, they aren’t allowed to leave the backyard. No problem. Using a kitty play tunnel as a magical portal, Herman and Dori travel out of their yard—and out of this century—to take on their first big caper.

NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON.COM

A Poem for Wills on His Birthday

Today was supposed to be my Pwince Honeysmoochies birthday. You know him as Wills @HRMeownessWills. But he was called Over the Rainbow Bridge way too soon. I can’t send him pawsents anymore, but instead I wrote him a poem. I hope he likes it.

Sherlock Herms in…Intimations

Previously on Sherlock Herms Meets Evie Pees

“Maybe yoo just need to stop twying so hard to be like Shewlock Homes,” Dori said. “Stop twying to be someone yoo awen’t. And stop being so humorless. We are Finalists for Blogpaws Best Pet Humor Blog. Our furends aren’t stopping by on Fridays to soak in yoor melodwama. They got enough of that at home. They visit us to laugh. Yoo used to be fun before yoo became a detective, Hwermie. Yoo need to be fun again.”

I nodded. “Okay. I guess maybe I’m putting unnecessary pressure on myself.”

“Ya think? I’m pwetty sure Shewlock Homes didn’t sit around on Baker Stweet bending Watson’s ear about his fear of failing or how he feels inadequate.”

“I just don’t want to fail, Dori.”

“Hwermie, failure is a bwuise, not a tattoo.”

“Good point.”

“And yoo gotta stop growling at me when I don’t measure up to yoor high expectations. Blowing out my candle doesn’t make yoors shine any bwighter.”

I sat back, stunned by her articulate reprimand.

“Don’t blame me for disappointing yoo, Hwermie. Blame yoorself for expecting too much.”

“Dori, I’m so sorry. I had no idea you felt this way.”

“Don’t apologize yet. I’m not done.” She moved to look beneath her paws. There I saw Mom’s phone with the screen filled with motivational memes. She read, “What screws us up most in life is the picture in our heads of how its supposed to be.”

I pointed to the next meme. “I like that one.”

“Yoo need to go back to being funner, Hwermie. Sewriously, yoo stawting to get fwrown lines.”

“Sounds like the formula to a great detective team, Dori.” I crawled onto the bench and lay with my head on her tail.

As the moon rose high in the night sky, I released the last of my self doubts. Life is too short to live in fear of making mistakes. Or getting frown lines.

You can quote me.

When I awoke the next morning I found Dori snuggled against me, using my floofy tail for her pillow. After spending an hour exploring motivational memes on our mom’s phone, she had fallen into a deep sleep, but I hadn’t closed my eyes for more than what seemed like a minute. I was worried about solving a case.

Two ghost ladies who hung out on our house rooftop had asked me to tell their granddaughter that she was dead cuz she was in Denial. But Violet and Isobel couldn’t give me details about their granddaughter’s death because they were under a G.A.G. Order.

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

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

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

Dori had then wanted to play 20 Questions with the ghost ladies to ascertain (my Word of the Day on my Word of the Day calendar) details of their granddaughter’s death, but then I kinda sorta got my floofy tail all knotted up with self-importance and growled at her. And hurt her feelings. Read More

A Poem for Belle on her Birthday

My beautiful wife, Belle @Frankencat1, and I were meowied on June 22, 2013. We enjoyed a wonderpurr three years together before she went Over the Rainbow Bridge unexpectedly on August 1, 2016. Today would have been Belle’s birthday. I know she still visits me as an angel, but I miss her still, and I wrote a poem for her.

Sherlock Herms Meets Evie Pees

Previously on Sherlock Herms in Will Dori Forgive Sherlock Herms

“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 bestest 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. “Youse just need to a-poly-gize to make Dori feel awwww better.”

I lowered my paws to see the blonde lady in a pink polka-dotted dress.

The lady Dori called Evie Pees.

And now… Evie Pees

I had no idea who she had been in life, but in death Evie Pees captivated me with her charm. She reminded me of a bubbly Elle Woods with Oprah’s knack for warm compassion. And while her Jennifer Tilly-like baby voice kinda grated on my last nerve, she drew me to her like a moth to a flame.

At a glance she looked as alive as my pawrents, but then I noticed how the moonlight turned her pale skin almost translucent. It didn’t take a pawfessional purranormal detective to realize that meant she was dead. Despite that, I felt comfortable with her. I guess that was the Spirit Counselor in me that Charley mentioned.

Midnight had come and gone, and the air had turned chilly. Still, we sat on the roof talking, mostly of my frustration to present myself as a hardboiled detective with grit in my blood, while my little sister innocently undermined me by playing at being a detective instead of acting like a pawfessional.

“Dori isn’t deliberately trying to embarrass you,” Evie told me. “She thinks the world of you. She is very proud to be your partner.”

After a solid hour of listening to her baby talk, I’d found the courage to explain to Evie that my pawrents speak to me and my fursibs like intelligent equals—never newborn pets. She’d found this bit of information interesting, and had stopped using the high-pitched nonsensical cooing that had made Frank want to spray stuff when we had first arrived at our new home. Read More

Stupidity or Devolution?

You’re zooming through an alternative realm, not only of sight and sound, but also of smells as Frank just finished using the litter box. An excursion into a Wonderpurr place where fences are high enough to reach the roof, and the stars have the pawsibility of being swatted from the sky. Get ready to mark your territory—your next stop is…

Wikipedia says Devolution or backward evolution is the notion that species can revert into more primitive forms over time. Purrsonally I think it means when a hoomom’s mind goes numb with no reason when she should know better. Kinda like Mariah Carey saying, “Whenever I watch TV and see those poor, starving kids all over the world, I can’t help but cry. I mean I’d love to be skinny like that, but not with all those flies and death and stuff.”

But I’m not talking about Mariah Carey. I’m referring to my own hoomom. Read More

Will Dori Forgive Sherlock Herms?

Previously on Sherlock Herms in G.A.G. Order…

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 said, “We may need a few days before we can resume this interview.”

As Violet and Isobel faded away, 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. Read More

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