Previously on Sherlock Herms: The Making of a Master Detective…
Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5.
Fergus stared at me with wide eyes. “Hello? Did you just wee on my master’s chair?”
My ears burned hot pink with embarrassment. “I-I did.”
“I would have excused you to the loo, if you had only asked,” the dog told me, his tone filled with shock and… perhaps a hint of amusement.
“You were fighting with Mosey. I didn’t know how to stop you from hurting each other.”
Fergus’s bushy white brows rose. “So you shook your tail onto the Jean Avisse signed hand-carved Bergère French armchair?” He rolled onto his back, barking out loud with laughter. “I’m liking you more and more, Herman.”
I felt relieved that Fergus wasn’t angry, but I also felt numb with worry. Mosey had freaked after being attacked by the dog and hightailed it out of the house…and out of this century, leaving me stranded in 1894.
What was I going to do? Was I doomed to remain in the past? What would Mom say when she found out I was missing? Would she think I’d run away? I felt my lower lip quiver as hot tears blurred my vision. I would never see my Mom again! Unable to stop them, tears rolled down my whiskers. I covered my eyes and sobbed into my paws. I didn’t care what Fergus thought of me. I was scared.
“Why did you fight with Mosey?”
I felt his paw awkwardly pat my back. “It’s a dog thing. You wouldn’t understand. There, there. You can live here with me. You can even share my bed by the fire.”
His niceness made me sob all the harder. “I miss my meowmy!”
Fergus led me back to his bed where he barked an order to Mrs. Gray to place more logs on the fire. Seeing I was upset, the housekeeper brought me a bowl of cream. Nice gesture but…
“I can’t drink milk. I’m lactose intolerable.”
Fergus and Mrs. Gray both crooked their heads to one side. “What is…lactose?” they asked in unison.
“Milk products,” I explained. “They make me frow up.”
Mrs. Gray quickly removed the bowl of cream. She already had the hand-carved Bergère French armchair to clean. Instead she fed me tiny morsels of a poultry product I didn’t recognize, but Fergus said was guinea fowl.
“Is it free-range? Organic?” I asked Mrs. Gray, who looked at Fergus with concern.
“Your guest has strange food requirements for a cat.”
“What is strange?” I asked them.
“Cats typically eat vermin,” she said. “Mice. Rats. Magpies. Squirrels. Pigeons. Doves. Rabbits.”
“Is Vermin a high-quality pet food company like Blue or Hills? Does Magpie come in both pate and kibble?” Read More