April 22, 2017

Sherlock Herms Purranormal Mysteries – Now on Amazon.com
A Poem for Wills on His Birthday

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.


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.

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