cat humor

1
Sherlock Herms – What Lies Beyond The Doggy Door?
2
Pole Dancing + Spiked Water Bowl Kind of Pawty
3
Sherlock Herms in…Down the Rabbit Hole
4
A Wonderpurr Weekend
5
Sherlock Herms Purranormal Mysteries – Now on Amazon.com
6
Sherlock Herms in…Intimations
7
Sherlock Herms Meets Evie Pees
8
Will Dori Forgive Sherlock Herms?
9
Sherlock Herms in G.A.G. Order
10
Sherlock Herms in Denial

Sherlock Herms – What Lies Beyond The Doggy Door?

Previously on Sherlock Herms in Down the Rabbit Hole

I asked the pretty ghost who didn’t realize she was dead, “Would you be interested in traveling to Urbana, Ohio to see the route Abraham Lincoln’s funeral train took in 1865?”

Dottie’s blue eyes sparkled. “My goodness! That sounds like fun. How many days should I pack for?”

“No need for luggage. We’ll be gone just the one day.” My plan was to transport Dottie into the past to witness Abraham Lincoln’s actual funeral.

“But how are you going to explain it to her?” my tabby brother Jack asked later when I mentioned my plans to help Dottie realize she was no longer breathing.

“See, that’s the idea. I don’t explain it. I let her figure it out for herself. How is it possible for her to be in the past when she was born 108 years after the dood died?” Read More

Pole Dancing + Spiked Water Bowl Kind of Pawty

The Wonderpurr Gang wanted to shake our tails this weekend, so I donated two huge quarters to send our pawrents out of the house for a few hours. While they were gone, we rocked the house! Check meowt!

The Garage Band…Jesse and Nikolas with Opie on rhythmn and Frank on drums…played a full set of Stray Cat tunes. Stray Cat Strut always brings down the house.

Since joining our gang last year, Candy has gotten quite the reputation as a Party Girl. Read More

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

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

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

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

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

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.”

“Why?”

“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.”… 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.

TO BE CONTINUED FRIDAY, APRIL 14th.

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!

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

And on Instagram as Wonderpurr_Life.

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

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