“Digital EMF Meter… Check! 35mm camera… Check! Digital thermometer and Spirit Box… Check! Litter box, extra litter and pooper scooper… Check!”
“Hwermie! What are yoo doing?”
I glanced up from packing my suitcase to see my little sister Dori looking at me with huge worried eyes. “I’m leaving for Blogpaws next week. There’s a lot to do before we head out.”
She looked ready to cry. “But Hwermie! Dottie is weady to go through the doggy door portal. She needs to know she’s dead. Yoo can’t just zoom off to Blogpaws and leave her there. What if she fweaks out?”
I sighed. “Look, I meant to help her figure out she’s dead before I left for Blogpaws. But then Mom got a lecture gig at some writer’s conference and also a gig with a radio talk show over in Spain of all places. I kinda need her assistance to help Dottie with her issues. It’s not my fault we ran out of time. I was here at home doing my part as a purranormal investigator. If you have to be upset with anyone, be upset with Mom.”
Dori wrung her tabby tail with nervous paws. “Should I spray something?”
“NO! I… Look, honey. I’m sorry we can’t help Dottie this week. Or even next week… I–”
“Two whole weeks! That’s a lifetime in cat years!”
*pulls out pocket calendar* Actually, I can’t schedule Dottie’s problem until June 9th.”
I saw Dori stagger. “I think I’m gonna pass out,” she moaned, making me run to ease her to the floor. “We worked so hawd to get weaders to like us. Now they’re all gonna go away and never come back.”
“No, they won’t abandon us. They’ll be back.”
Dori began to sob. “Our readers might have Atten-Shun Deffy-Sit Dis-Odor. We need to post every week so they don’t fo’get us, Hwermie!” She flexed her claws. “If only I was born with fingers so I could type instead of being born with an amazingly beautiful face. Oh! The twials and twibulations of being born gorjus!”
I left her on the floor to resume packing. She soon realized she’d lost my attention and joined me. “So, what is this Blogpaws thingy you and Mom attend every year?”
“It’s a wonderpurr pet bloggers conference where we meet up with friends and talk about pet products and pet health. There are workshops to learn stuff, and there is a huge room filled with pet-related goodies where the bloggers talk with the Brands who display their newest products. There is also Kate Benjamin’s Cat Lounge. I wish you could see it, Dori. It’s a huge, HUGE room filled with cat toys, climbing trees, water fountains… I can’t wait to go there.”
Dori’s eyes had grown to the size of dinner plates. “I wish I could see the Cat Lounge too, Hwermie.”
I paused in my packing, but then added my tiger jacket and leash, and two sticky brushes so Mom and Dad wouldn’t walk around the hotel looking like billboards for cat hoarding. I tend to shed a lot. “Well, Blogpaws is being held in a hotel over in Myrtle Beach. That’s in South Carolina. In order to get there we have to drive in a car for about eleven hours.”
“Stwaight?” Dori’s voice squeaked with dismay. “There must be a law against that.”
“Not straight. We stop every other hour so Mom can use the human litter box.” I added a package of eye wipes cuz my allergies are acting up, and a Groom Genie brush because Mom insists I shouldn’t look like a hot mess when I leave the house, although I absolutely hate to be brushed. The Groom Genie is just about the only brush I will tolerate.Our readers have Atten-Shun Deffy-Sit Dis-Odor. We need to post every week so they don't fo'get us. Click To Tweet
“What’s this?” Dori held up a houndstooth cape with a match deerstalker hat.
“You know Wonderpurr.com is a Finalist for Best Pet Humor Blog, right? Well, Mom thinks she’s going to dress me like a little Sherlock Holmes for the Nose-to-Nose Awards banquet.” I caught Dori’s eye. She looked horrified. Then we both burst out laughing. “Yeah, it’s cute how she’s still delusional after years of being a cat magnet.”
“She’s pwecious,” Dori giggled. “So, we are taking a bweak from the Sherlock Herms mysteries until June 9th.”
“Yes. Then we will return, fresh enough to complete the Welcome Home, Sherlock Herms mystery series.”
“Fwesh as a daisy!”
“But, then we will be taking a summer hiatus from the series.”
“What! Not another bweak. Hwermie! This is ca-weer suicide! I gotta work on my wesume. I need to stawt job hunting now before Wonderpurr.com goes down the porcelain litter box.”
“Relax! We won’t lose readers. In fact, we might gain a few. While we are on hiatus, you and I and Mom are going to ghost hunting school. Then we will be fresh with a new purrspective when we resume with a new mystery.”
Dori still looked uncertain. “I don’t need to attend ghost hunting skool. I alweady know everything. So, should I wesume my career as a pawpawrazzi and take embarrassing pictures of everyone to fill the sad void of not posting on Fridays?”
“No need to worry about Wonderpurr.com becoming a ghost town on Fridays. While we are on a break, we will entertain our readers with Stories from The Whiner, a newsletter mom used to write while she and Dad lived in Kentucky. The stories are about two suburbanites and their fish-out-of-water experiences while living in the country. There are so many stories that Mom plans to put them in a book.”I need to start job hunting now before Wonderpurr.com goes down the porcelain litter box. Click To Tweet
“This doesn’t sound familiar. Was I in Kentucky?”
“No, but I was. That’s where I found my Forever Home, during a blizzard.”
Dori smacked the deerstalker hat from my suitcase to the floor. “Sounds boring. How can it be any good if I’m not in it? I have fans, you know? My public will pwotest my lack of inclusion. In fact, I may sue!”
I closed my suitcase, leaving the hat on the floor. “I will talk to Mom about letting you host the Whiner series. Will that appeal to your public?”
“Maybe. I should pwactice for my debut as Hostess with the Mostess.”
“Good idea. How about if you host The Whiner next Friday while I’m a Blogpaws? Unless… Unless you want to come with me and meet Kate Benjamin and play in her Cat Lounge?”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dori’s eyes as big as they were at that moment. “But, I fweak out dwiving in the car to the vet eight minutes and twenty-two seconds from our house. And I don’t like hoomons very much except for Mom and Dad.”
“Then don’t go, Dori. It’s your decision.” I clicked the lock on my suitcase. “Well, I’m packed. Now all I have to do is wait for Mom and Dad to finish doing whatever it is they do before we leave on a big trip. It’s a mystery to me.” I noticed Dori had picked up the deerstalker hat. “I bet you’d look cute wearing it.”
She slid it onto her head and tied the flaps under her chin. “Do yoo know if it comes in pink?”
Furends, as I told Dori, we look forward to resuming Sherlock Herms Purranormal Mysteries on June 9th. Until then, to keep those of you with Attenshun Deffy-Sit Dis-Odor from wandering away like unattended puppies in a dog park, Dori will be hosting Stories from the Whiner. As a bonus to thank you for stopping by, here is a Sneaky Peeky Preview of what’s coming:
I need a restraining order against my 16-year-old Turkish Angora, Genny. She is obsessed with going for a walk down our driveway, and will whine, beg and plead non-stop throughout the day. I adore this cat, but the sound of her voice is driving me mad!
Genny starts her day with a plan to take a walk. While I’m still in bed, she stands on her scrawny back legs and peeks at me over the edge of the mattress. If my eyes are closed she will lightly pat my face until I open them. Oh no! I quickly shut them, but its too late. The whining begins! Plus she has horrible old lady breath, so the symphony has an added fragrance.
She follows me into the bathroom to park herself on the counter while I shower. She has been known to push back the curtain to see if I’m still in there, especially when I purposely delay rinsing and repeating.
Once I get downstairs, the real concert begins. While Ray is rushing around, doing his Dagwood Bumstead impersonation in order to get out the door by 7:20, Genny stands at the front door, bouncing like she’s on a pogo stick, trying to touch the door knob. Ray shouts, “No!” in his most firm voice, and uses his foot to nudge her aside. At least he does this on two out of five mornings. On the other three he just lets her out and leaves me to deal with her.
We live on 5 acres in the country. Thick woods surround us and there is a two-lane road at the bottom of the steep driveway which seems like a mile long with high rock walls on either side. This is not ideal for an old indoor cat who has spent her pampurred life in the Florida ’burbs.
The morning rolls into the afternoon with Genny dancing at the front door if I pass it, or even glance at it. She sometimes gets confused and will beg at the garage door, which I’ll open and she’ll rush through, only to stop and moan with disappointment.
She’s under the impression that the louder she begs, and the more frantic she sounds, I’ll give in. I’m sure parents of human children are acquainted with this process. Maybe they can even identify with the lengths I will go to in order to avoid confrontation. Just yesterday, as her feverish yowl sent me over the edge, I shut myself in the downstairs bathroom and sat with my back to the door with a magazine. So engrossed in an article about Gidget, the Taco Bell chihuahua, I didn’t realize at first that the yowling had stopped. Then I noticed a white flash in the corner of my eye.
I looked down to see Genny’s paw, turned up, feeling along the opening between the door and floor. As I watched her “fingers” examine the door, I knew she was searching for the knob that was a good 2-1/2 feet up from the floor. That told me volumes about her determination. Still, I reached up to turn off the light, and sat in the dark while her strong sniffing on the other side of the door continued.
“She’s not in here,” I whispered anonymously.
She soon left, and after I turned the light back on I finished my article. Perhaps five minutes later I checked to see if the coast was clear, and like a thief in the night I hurried to my office across from the front door, and sat at my desk to work.
“Meirrow!” Genny popped out from under my desk, jubilant.
Resigned, I opened the front door and followed her down the driveway, her floofy tail waving like a triumphant white flag in the breeze.
Hope you enjoyed the Sneaky Peaky Preview of Stories from The Whiner. And don’t forget look for me at Blogpaws!
Until next time,
Have a Wonderpurr Week!