Sherlock Herms

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Sherlock Herms in… Heaven Can Wait – Part 4
2
Sherlock Herms in… Heaven Can Wait – Part 3
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Sherlock Herms in… Heaven Can Wait – Part 2
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Sherlock Herms in… Heaven Can Wait
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Sherlock Herms in Goose Guess, A Cat-Toon
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Sherlock Herms in… Rejected!
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Sherlock Herms in… Where’s Charley?
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Sherlock Herms in The Art of Surveillance
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Sherlock Herms in Code Names
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Sherlock Herms: The Case of The Dancing Ghosts – Conclusion

Sherlock Herms in… Heaven Can Wait – Part 4

heaven-can-wait-promo

Previously on Heaven Can Wait-Part 3

Watching the paranormal investigators and TV crew take over our house, I felt things could quickly get out of control. I went to introduce myself. “I’m Sherlock Herms, a hardboiled detective with grit in my blood.”

Ghost Guy ignored me. “Who’s next? You cutie? Which body part do you want me to sign?”

My jaw dropped as Chauncie Marie exposed her belly and Ghost Guy signed right over the fourth nipple.

A choir of screams drew our attention to the front lawn. “My fans!” Ghost Guy grabbed his jacket and slung it over his shoulder as he bound out the front door. The screams hurt my ears .

The bearded guy whose batteries died rolled his eyes. “This is getting old.” He grabbed the director’s arm. “I get paid regardless if we’re shooting or not, right?”

“Get out there Pete, and meet the fans while we set up,” the director told him.

Pete shot a dirty look at the crowd trampling our front lawn. “They aren’t here to meet me.” He headed for our kitchen. I followed.

“You got anything stronger than bottled water and almond milk?” he asked, his head inside our refrigerator.

“I think there’s beer in the lettuce crisper.” I watched while he drank one of Dad’s brewski’s and ate a cold leg of fried chicken. “Dori called Ghost Guy because of the problem in our attic.”

“What kind of problem?” Pete finished the leg and tossed it onto the counter where one of my fursibs could get it.

I jumped onto the counter to paw it into the sink and cover it with a dish cloth. “Well, there’s a bottom rung demon behind the bookcase, and some kind of monster with bad indigestion lurking under the couch. My friend Charley is missing; he’s a ghost. I was hoping you could find him. Oh! And my calico sisfur has been possessed by a thick mist that turned her fur black.”

Pete stared at me. “Come again?”

“There’s a demon behind the book—”

Pete flew from the kitchen, up the stairs to my mom’s author office at the top. “Where’s the attic?” I heard him ask Mom as I arrived.

She had the police on the phone, but hung up when she saw me. “What’s going on, Herms? Who are these people?”

“Ghost hunters,” I told her. “Pete. In there.” As he closed my office door behind him, I said to Mom, “Dori thought we needed help finding Charley.”

She sighed. “I hope they find him before your dad gets home from work.”

My office door abruptly opened and Pete stepped out, his face a bit whiter behind his beard. “We’re gonna need a bigger boat.” He flew down the stairs, his voice reaching a new octave while calling for Ghost Guy.

And now…Part 4

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Sherlock Herms in… Heaven Can Wait – Part 3

heaven-can-wait-promo

Previously on Heaven Can Wait-Part 2

“I want YOU,” Demon Loud Lady shrieked. “I’m here for YOU so Charley will come to your rescue, and then I will GET Charley!”

This was the a-ha! moment I’d been looking for. “Vivian, you need to get over your fixation on Charley. He’s moved on. You should too.”

“I want my house,” she roared in a dark voice that scared my whiskers straight. “He stopped me from coming back inside.” She abruptly shoved her face against her side of the bookcase, causing the upper half of my body to jerk back while my feet remain planted on the couch. “You helped him. If you don’t give me back my house, I will get you my pretty kitty, and your little sister too!”

Dori moaned behind me, but I didn’t dare react. She wanted our house. What would Mom and Dad say? And if Loud Lady didn’t have Charley—who did?

“Vivian. You’re in hell. Century 21 doesn’t sell real estate to bottom rung demons. Get over it. This house belongs to us now.”

The bookcase began to smoke. The room temperature plunged, ice cold. My whiskers sparked with electricity. My fur stood on end.

Jack murmured, “It just got creepy in here.”

I turned to see Opie by the door with Dori in his arms, her claws in his neck. Jack sat on the edge of the couch beside me, staring at a black mist seeping from the floor cracks, swirling around Candy who sat watching it as though in a trance.

“If I can’t have this house,” Loud Lady squealed, “then no one can!”

“Gotta go, Viv.” I slammed the book back into place, cutting off her outrage as the mist swirled around my sister. It didn’t drift or billow, though it moved like smoke. It looked more like a dense dark cloud shifting shape. It hovered around Candy for a few seconds, then disappeared inside her. Before our eyes Candy’s fur turned from autumn calico colors to blackest black.

“Mom’s gonna be really mad when she finds out,” I said after a moment. “Any idea what that was?”

black-mist-800

And now Part 3

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The strange mist had turned Candy’s calico markings to coal black and her lovely golden eyes were now pea soup green. Mom would have a meltdown when she saw her kitten—not that my mom doesn’t like black cats; she has four. However she did have issues with her cats being possessed by woo-woo stuff like black mists.

“I’m late for my nap.” Jack zoomed from my office with Opie hot on his tail.

I saw Dori standing by the door. “You gonna leave too?” I asked. I could see indecision in her eyes. But then she surprised me. She kicked the door shut.

“We got twouble, Hwermie. Chawley is missing. Loud Lady is stinking up our office. Da couch monster is eating my tweats. And now Candy…” Dori gestured to the mist swirling in and out of our baby sisfur who appeared to be in a trance. “I think we should call a pwofessional.”

I took a gamble. “Ghostbusters?”

Dori shook her head. “Ghost Guy!”

“Who?”

“Come on, I’ll show you.” Dori headed for the door.

“We can’t leave Candy.”

“She’s awright,” Dori insisted just as Candy burped a smoke curl. “We won’t be gone long.”

Downstairs Dori pawed the TV remote to the Spooky Stuff channel just as Ghost Guy’s TV show was starting.

Dori nuzzled Ghost Guy’s image on the TV screen, “Isn’t he Wonderpurr?”

More like a posturing poser, but I bit my tongue. Clearly my little sisfur thought otherwise.

dori-loves-ghost-guy

“Ghost Guy will help us get rid of Loud Lady and find Chawley.”

“Honey, we might need help, but I’m not sure he’s—”

“He’s available,” Dori inpurr-rupted. “I alweady asked.”

I was going to say authentic, but I let it slide. Wait. “You already asked? Asked what?”

“If Ghost Guy could come to our house.”

ding-dong

I whirled to see a shadow lurking through the curtained front door window. No!

Dori licked her paw and then flicked it through her whiskers. “Do I look purrfect? First impwessions are lasting impwessions.”

“Dori! You didn’t hire him, did you?”

“Hwermie! Chawley’s soul is in danger.” She scampered to the front door just as her hero kicked it open.

“This may be THE MOST HAUNTED HOUSE in America!” Ghost Guy exclaimed in an unnecessarily loud, melodramatic voice that made Dori flip backwards, ass over ears.

“Hey, Guy. Wait till the cameras get set up.” A slick director-type edged past the ghost hunter into our foyer with three child-size cameramen on his heels. One stepped on my tail. “Okay! Take two!”

Ghost Guy slipped back outside, only to kick the door open a second time. “This may be THE MOST HAUNTED HOUSE in America!”

As Ghost Guy and his TV crew invaded our home, I had to agree with Dori. First impressions are definitely lasting impressions.

Mom flew down the stairs to confront the film crew. “Who the hell are you people, and what did you do to my front door?”

Standing maybe an inch taller than Mom, Ghost Guy planted his feet apart in an aggressive stance, drawing my attention to his pointy toed dress boots with their two-inch heels. As a cameraman knelt to shoot up at him, he stripped off his leather jacket to reveal a crisp white shirt a size too small designed to make him appear like he had muscles. “I’m Ghost Guy,” he said to my mom, not removing his sunglasses. “I’m here to rid your home of its demon infestation.”

For a moment I thought Mom was gonna laugh. Then she said, “I’m calling the police.” She ran upstairs for her phone.

“Ghost Guy.” Dori tugged on his pant leg.

He patted her head. “Nice kitty.” He pulled out a pocket size tape recorder. “There is some scary but awesome dark energy lurking in the corners. EXPOSE YOURSELF!”

His shout knocked me on my tail while Dori zoomed under the couch.

“Uh, Guy?” The director waved to get his attention. “The network big shots are pretty adamant about you not saying that anymore. Their wives think it sounds suggestive.”

“Oh my God!” Everyone looked at the dark haired bearded guy in a zip-up sweatshirt. “My batteries just drained. Dude! I put them in five minutes ago. I swear!”

Ghost Guy abruptly bent over, grabbing his neck. “Gak! I’m…being…CHOKED!” He fell to his knees with one of the cameramen looming over him for a money shot.

“Cut!” The director jammed his fists into his hips. “Guy! How many times do I have to remind you? You need to establish contact with the demons before they choke you.”

Guy stopped emoting and rolled to his feet. “Who wants my autograph?”

Dori zoomed from under the couch. Peaches, Gidget and Chauncie Marie scampered in from the kitchen, giggling behind their paws. Only Candy didn’t line up as she was up in my attic being possessed by a shadow monster.

Watching the paranormal investigators and TV crew take over our house, I felt things could quickly get out of control. I went to introduce myself. “I’m Sherlock Herms, a hardboiled detective with grit in my blood.”

Ghost Guy ignored me. “Who’s next? You cutie? Which body part do you want me to sign?”

My jaw dropped as Chauncie Marie exposed her belly and Ghost Guy signed right over the fourth nipple.

A choir of screams drew our attention to the front lawn. “My fans!” Ghost Guy slung his jacket over his shoulder as he bound out the front door. The screams hurt my ears .

The bearded guy whose batteries died rolled his eyes. “This is getting old.” He grabbed the director’s arm. “I get paid regardless if we’re shooting or not, right?”

“Get out there Pete, and meet the fans while we set up,” the director told him.

Pete shot a dirty look at the crowd trampling our front lawn. “They aren’t here to meet me.” He headed for our kitchen. I followed.

“You got anything stronger than bottled water and almond milk?” he asked, his head inside our refrigerator.

“I think there’s beer in the lettuce crisper.” I watched while he drank one of Dad’s brewski’s and ate a cold leg of fried chicken. “Dori called Ghost Guy because of the problem in our attic.”

“What kind of problem?” Pete finished the leg and tossed it onto the counter where one of my fursibs could get it.

I jumped onto the counter to paw it into the sink and cover it with a dish cloth. “Well, there’s a bottom rung demon behind the bookcase, and some kind of monster with bad indigestion lurking under the couch. My friend Charley is missing; he’s a ghost. I was hoping you could find him. Oh! And my calico sisfur has been possessed by a thick mist that turned her fur black.”

Pete stared at me. “Come again?”

“There’s a demon behind the book—”

Pete flew from the kitchen, then up the stairs to my mom’s author office at the top. “Where’s the attic?” I heard him ask Mom as I arrived.

She had the police on the phone, but hung up when she saw me. “What’s going on, Herms? Who are these people?”

“Ghost hunters,” I told her. “Pete. In there.” As he closed my office door behind him, I said to Mom, “Dori thought we needed help finding Charley.”

She sighed. “I hope they find him before your dad gets home from work.”

My office door abruptly opened and Pete stepped out, his face a bit whiter behind his beard. “We’re gonna need a bigger boat.” He flew down the stairs, his voice reaching a new octave while calling for Ghost Guy.

SHERLOCK HERMS DIVIDER

I wonder what spooked Ghost Guy’s partner, Pete? There weren’t any cameras rolling, so I don’t think he was acting for a TV audience. You know those show-biz types.

Be sure to come back Friday for Part 4 of Heaven Can Wait.

Need to catch up with my Sherlock Herms Purranormal Mysteries? The links to all the Season 1 Case Notes are listed on the Archive Page (see upper tab on far right). If you missed Part 1 of Heaven Can Wait, click here. For Part 2, click here.

Until next Friday…Have a Wonderpurr Week.

Purrs! Herman!!!

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Sherlock Herms in… Heaven Can Wait – Part 2

heaven-can-wait-promo

Previously on Sherlock Herms…Heaven Can Wait – Part 1.

“Nooo!” Dori howled. Tears wetted her whiskers.

“What?” I ran to her. “What’s wrong?”

She pointed to the couch. “My tweats are gone. The couch monster eated them—again!”

We stared at the darkness under my couch. Then…

burp-couch

Dori flung herself at the couch. “Yoo gimme back my tweats! I need to review them for Chewy.com.”

I went to pull Dori off the couch. No telling what kind of mood the couch monster was in. He’d been pretty passive, but…

From the corner of my eye I saw something move, and turned just as Evil Paranormal Stuff fell to the floor from the third shelf on my bookcase. Frozen with fear, I forgot Dori and her couch nemesis as I watched the bookcase shake like it was under attack.

Oh My Cod! The demon Loud Lady was trying to escape!

I felt Dori’s claws in my neck as she wrapped herself around me. Together we widdled our floofy britches. That was a mistake. Before our eyes the demon grew scarier and stronger from our reaction. I had to take control.

“Where is Charley?” I yowled. “Give him back!”

Demon Loud Lady howled from behind the bookcase, causing Dori to climb onto my back and sob.

“You give Charley back,” I snarled. “He wants to go to Heaven!”

“Heaven can wait!” Loud Lady screamed. “I have your precious Charley in Hell!”

And then she stuck her arm right out of the bookcase!

demon-loud-lady-behind-bookcase-reduced

And now…Part 2

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Sherlock Herms in… Heaven Can Wait

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heaven-can-wait-promoI sat brooding in my attic office with my back to the seething bookcase. My snake-necked lamp splashed weak light onto my huge desk, causing eerie shadows to surround me. The atmosphere fit my mood. It had been weeks since my Bakelite phone with the rotary dial last rang. Was I a washed-up has-been after only two cases?

My name is Sherlock Herms. It is my business to know what others don’t know. But since my phone isn’t ringing, clearly everyone knows everything so I’m not needed for nuffin’.

Actually I think Charley unplugged my phone until I got my focus issues under control. No sense taking more cases if I can’t see the clues right under my whiskers. Read More

Sherlock Herms in Goose Guess, A Cat-Toon

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An Anytime Story with Bears

It’s a sunny morning in the Big Forest, and the Bear family is just waking up.

Baby Bear goes downstairs and sits in his small chair at the table. He looks into his small bowl and sees it is empty. “Who’s been eating my porridge?” he cries.

Papa Bear then arrives at the breakfast table. After he sits in his big chair he looks into his big bowl, and sees it’s also empty. “Who’s been eating my porridge?” he roars.

Momma Bear puts her head through the serving hatch from the kitchen and yells, “Oh for goodness sake! How many times do we have to go through this?

It was Momma Bear who got up first.

It was Momma Bear who woke everyone in the house.

It was Momma Bear who made the coffee.

It was Momma Bear who threw in a load of clothes.

It was Momma Bear who unloaded the dishwasher from last night, and put everything away.

It was Momma Bear who went out in the cold morning to fetch the newspaper.

It was Momma Bear who set the table.

It was Momma Bear who put the cat out, cleaned the litter box, and filled the cat’s water and food dish.

And now that you’ve decided to drag your lazy bodies downstairs and grace Momma Bear’s kitchen with your grumpy presence, listen good cuz I’m only going to say this one more time…

I HAVEN’T MADE THE PORRIDGE YET!

SHERLOCK HERMS DIVIDER

Hi Pals! My mom’s creative batteries are low, so I took her to the lake to recharge.

We will be back next week with another Cat-Toon and an Anytime Story.

Be sure to mark your calendars for Octopurr 7th when a new Sherlock Herms Purranormal Mystery begins:

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Sherlock Herms in… Rejected!

Cover for Rejected
I held the copy of my letter in my paws. What did I do wrong?

I’d started over eight times. Mom always says first impressions are lasting impressions. I’d wanted my letter to be purrfect. I’d hoped that if he liked what I wrote, he would want to meet me in purrrson. Maybe even solve a case with me.

Dear Mr. Holmes,

I wanted to introduce myself since we are in the same business of detecting stuff. I am Sherlock Herms of the Wonderpurr Detective Agency. I have one assistant, like you do with Watson…only my assistant is my little sisfur, Dori. I don’t suppose you’ve ever had to take your little sisfur on a caper. Anyway! We just solved our first case. It had ghosts that needed to be busted. We were paid two huge quarters. Have you ever solved a case with ghosts? Just wondering. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.

I’m a huge fan of yours. I watched one of your hissstorical doc-mew-mentaries last night on teevee to pick up tips on solving cases. Maybe someday when I get real good at solving cases myself, you and me could maybe get together… Discuss stuff. Or maybe not if you’re real busy. You probably are, so…

Maybe if you have an extra picture of yourself lying around, you could pawtograph it for me. I would hang it over my desk and look at it all the time for inspurration. But if you don’t have time to have your picture taken…or don’t want to just because… I understand.

Countless weeks had passed since I’d mailed my fan letter business correspondence to my hero. Sherlock Holmes had to be back from his case by now. He had to have gone through his stack of mail. He had to have seen my letter. Unless the mail carrier had gone postal and flung my letter into the River Thames…there was only one conclusion: I’d been rejected. Rejected by my hero. Read More

Sherlock Herms in… Where’s Charley?

Title Where's Charley

“Hurry up!” I shouted to my fur sibs. “We’re gonna be late!”

“We can’t be late,” Opie contradicted. “A picnic starts when we get there.”

“The picnic starts when we open the picnic basket,” Dori corrected. She had a package of Smittens in her paws. I doubt her tummy is ever empty.

Hi! I’m Herman, a Turkish Angora known as @TattleCat on Twitter. I help my author mom write books, and I purrformed in the 5-star children’s book, FINDING MYA. When Mom decided to write mysteries, I opened the Wonderpurr Detective Agency to learn about the hardboiled crime business. Then I got my first case. It involved busting ghosts. That’s how I got to be the almost-famous purranormal detective known as Sherlock Herms.

I flicked my floofy tail with impatience. Not for the picnic to start…although the aroma of the fried chicken my sisfur Gidget had prepared was making me drool. No, I was impatient to get to the woods where my friend Charley was waiting for us to find him.

Charley Feeble wasn’t exactly lost. You see, seventy-some years ago he was a detective known as Maxwell Shallowford. Charley has some kind of phobia that makes him so shy, he pretends to be someone else. I met Charley during my second case, Mrs. Shallowford’s Ghost. Charley was the ghost. He died from heart failure caused by a demon masquerading as a crabby lady with a loud voice. To better understand what I’m meowing about, you’re welcome to review my case notes for Mrs. Shallowford’s Ghost.

Since Charley is dead…he can no longer work as a hardboiled detective, so he’s teaching me the biz. He said he would also teach me about the spirit world, but we weren’t learning about ghosts today. Last Friday Charley gave me a lesson on Surveillance. Today I’m taking my fursibs into the woods to have a picnic, and while we’re there we’re going to hunt for Charley. Read More

Sherlock Herms in The Art of Surveillance

COVER Lessons with CharleyHi everyone!

Concatulations, you made it to Friday!

In case you aren’t aware, Friday is Sherlock Herms Day when I invite you to join me on one of my purranormal mystery adventures.

Sometimes my phone doesn’t ring, and that means I’m in-between cases.

Like now.

So, while I wait for my phone to ring, my new friend Charley has volunteered to teach me about the private hardboiled detective business. And also about purranormal investigating.

You’re welcome to join me. Today’s Lesson with Charley is on the Art of Surveillance.

Herman mailbox 1

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Sherlock Herms in Code Names

COVER Lessons with CharleyI nommed my breakkie with anticipation of a great day. Charley Feeble wanted to teach me everything he knew about the hardboiled detective business. Also, he would teach me about paranormal stuff since he had personal experience.

Charley is a ghost. I met him during my second case. Charley was also the almost-famous hardboiled detective, Maxwell Shallowford, but had died after being scared into a heart attack from the demon-like Vivian aka Loud Lady. Refer to my case, Mrs. Shallowford’s Ghost, for clarification.

Beside me, nomming her own brekkie, was my lil sisfur Dori. She’s also a partner in my Wonderpurr Detective Agency. “What do you think Charley will teach us today?” I asked her in between bites.

“I’d like to learn how to dwaw dwagons,” she responded. “Or speak Eye-tell-lion.”

My sisfur is the Queen of Non Sequitur. Following her in a conversation is like following Big Foot through the Canadian Rocky Mountains.

I chewed my last bite, then licked my paw to clean my face. “I think Charley is going to teach us about private investigating. Watching for clues. Digging for dirt. Stuff like that.”

Dori licked her plate clean. “I’d rather learn how to dwaw dwagons.”

As I headed up the stairs to my mom’s author office, Opie and Jack fell into step alongside me. They invent stuff to help me solve mysteries. Nepawtism runs deep in my family.

“Charley is going to teach us purranormal stuff,” Opie said. “You think he will wear robes and have a long white beard?”

I looked at my ginger-furred brofur, confused. “Like Dumbledore,” Jack, my tabby brofur clarified. “From Harry Potter.”

“That would be cool,” I said, though I doubted it. We crossed the French doors to my mom’s office, and from there we walked to the door to our house attic. It also served as my Wonderpurr Detective Agency.

On Google I’d read that privacy is extremely important when you’re a detective. I’d needed an office with at least one window, a place nobody else used so I could detect in peace. And the room couldn’t make my meow echo in case someone eavesdropped in on my meetings. Our house attic next to my mom’s author-office was purrfect.

I’d once had my heart set on an office in a dingy building, slowly collapsing under the weight of time and despair, but then, during the case of Mrs. Shallowford’s Ghost, I’d watched our house go through that very transformation and now realized I was happy doing business at home, near my mom.

As I pawed open the door, I expected to see my usual office, with my couch, table of magazines, and my huge desk filled with lots of nooks and crannies. The desk came with my office. Actually, it came with the house. It’s too big to get through the door without chopping to pieces. Our home was built around an older house that refused to be torn down. I found out why. The desk—my attic office—had belonged to Charley when he was alive and practicing being a detective in secret. After he died, the house began to crumble, but Charley loved his office and refused to let the bulldozers tear it down. That’s why our house had to be built around Charley’ home.

Instead of seeing my office, however, I saw Charley had created a classroom.

Classroom_Horner_Avenue_School_1916

Jack and Opie’s tails drooped with disappointment. “No Hogwarts for us,” Opie grumbled.

“Good morning, pupils!” Charley appeared, smiling and happy to get his first lesson underway. Seeing our disappointment, he frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“They were expecting Hogwarts,” I told him. “It’s okay. This is a real nice classroom.”

Behind me Dori and the others had arrived: my sisfurs Peaches, Gidget, Chauncie Marie, Candy, and my other brofurs Jesse, Nikolas, Frank and Noah. Charley wanted everyone to attend his classes. He said the Wonderpurr Detective Agency needed the participation of the entire Wonderpurr Gang in order to be… Well. Wonderpurr!

Charley looked confused. “What is Hogwarts?” Charley died back in the 1940s and had remained there until he followed us home to our time, seventy-some years into the future. He had a lot of catching up to do.

I crossed to my mom’s author library in the corner and tried to hand him the first book, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. He couldn’t hold it, of course. He can’t hold anything cuz he’s a ghost. Stuff falls through his hands to the floor.

“Place the book on my— I mean, your desk,” he told me. I did, and watched as Charley disappeared inside the book.

We all stood around with our jaws dropped, and Frank whispurred, “Cool!”

A minute later, the book talked to us.

We obediently filed into Mom’s author office and closed the door to my detective office. We then stood around with our hands in our pockets, waiting.

Nikolas checked his watch. “Is this going to take long? I have a date with an unspayed Siamese.”

“And I want to hunt birds,” Frank added. “Also, there’s a squirrel with my name on it.”

“You may return!” we heard Charley call out. I reopened the door.

Charley with sorting hat

We all exploded into yowls of joy. Charley gave us a few minutes to explore the classroom, then asked us to have a seat.

Classroom with Wonderpurr Gang

“Thank you all for giving up your prowling and hunting and napping for my lessons,” Charley said once we settled down. “For my first lesson, I’d like to open with a little history about private investigating. The very first private investigation agency was opened by Allan Pinkerton, who was born in Glasgow, Scotland in 1819. Pinkerton played a significant role in history, as it is alleged he became aware of the plot to assassinate President Abraham Lincoln whilst en route to his inauguration in Washington D.C. Pinkerton overtook Lincoln’s entourage and persuaded him to change his itinerary, thus thwarting the attempted assassination.”

I wanted to raise my paw and ask where Pinkerton was four years later when the president was assassinated at the Ford Theater, but I didn’t know how to ask without sounding like a know-it-all. I’m my author mom’s mews. We read a lot of history stuff when doing research for our books.

Then I saw Dori raise her paw, and I held my breath. Dori hangs around our mom’s office, but she doesn’t care much about history. She’s more about if Mom has any snacks in her desk drawers, and likes to sleep on top of her novel notes. I could see she had a package of Smittens in her lap, so I doubted she would ask about Charley serving ‘wefweshments.’ I couldn’t imagine what question she had.

“What about code names?” Dori asked.

Charley looked as confused as I felt. “Code names? You mean like kind the Secret Service uses for presidents and their families? The use of code names began as security when sensitive electronic communications were not encrypted. Today, code names simply serve for purposes of brevity, clarity, and tradition. They didn’t use code names when President Lincoln was alive. They began under President Franklin Roosevelt. Oddly, he didn’t have a code name, but President Kennedy’s code name was Lancer. President Clinton’s is Eagle. President George Bush’s is Trailblazer. President Reagan’s was Rawhide. President Obama’s is Renegade.”

Dori again raised her paw. “I don’t know all them hoomon’s. I want to know what our Code names are.”

“Like OO7!” Opie yowled.

“And Q!” Jack joined in.

“Agent 99!” Peaches and Chauncie Marie said in unison.

“Agent J from Men in Black,” Jesse said, and Frank joined in with, “Secret Squirrel.”

Charley and I exchanged discreet glances. I felt a little embarrassed. This was play stuff. Pretend private investigators. Not real hardboiled detective with grit in his blood stuff like Sam Spade, Philip Marlowe and my hero, Sherlock Holmes.

“Well,” Charley said, “why don’t we spend today picking out code names, and then get down to the actual lessons next time? Dori. What code name would you like to have?”

From her expression, clearly she had already decided on one. “Pwincess.” To accent her choice, she slid a crown onto her head. It looked like one her boyfriend, Wills aka @HRMeownessWills, had given her.

Dori with Crown

“That’s an excellent code name,” Charley said diplomatically.

Opie snickered behind his paw. “She should have the code name, Destroyer.”

At our house, Dori is famous for making stuff crash. 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.

“Your code name should be Opipotamus,” she growled, “cuz yoo haz a big butt.”

While everyone meowed out loud, I hid my smile behind my paw. Charley’s white brows lifted with surprise.

“So does Chauncie Marie,” Frank shouted.

Our tabby sisfur’s eyes grew large with hurt. “Meowmy said I am the Beyoncé of the cat world.”

Peaches glared at Frank. “Your code name should be Toxic Tabby after what you do to a litter box.”

I put my paws over my eyes. This wasn’t going well. I could see by how pale Charley looked—even for a ghost—that he was getting nervous. Charley once told me he liked girl cats because he had once been bit by a boy cat. I couldn’t guarantee there wouldn’t be a brawl with lots of scratching and biting if someone didn’t say something to defuse the tension.

I waved my paws. “Let’s not insult each other. This is supposed to be fun.”

“Fun?” Opie snorted. “I saw you laughing behind your paw at Dori calling me Opipotamus. Your code name should be Skinny Ass’d White Boy.”

I felt the fur on my neck stand on end. “That’s getting purrrsonal. I can’t help being a lightweight.”

“No more purrrsonal than me being called Opipotamus because I’m a heavyweight.”

“I was thinking of using Monkey Boy,” I told everyone. “That’s what Mom calls me.”

Jack and Jesse started scratching and screeching like chimpanzees, while the others rolled their eyes. They’re all jealous of my relationship with our mom cuz I’m the favorite.

“I want my code name to be Chef,” said Gidget, “because I help Mom cook.”

We all ignored her, preferring to argue among ourselves.

“I don’t want my code name to be Amazing,” Candy’s sweet little voice penetrated the cacophony. (That’s a ten dollar word for a harsh discordance of sound. Remempurr, I’m my author mom’s mews.) “The pressure is too much for me to live up to it.”

We all stopped arguing to look at her. Candy is our newest sisfur. She’s a Calico and so far she’s fit in pretty good. We all like her, even Opie.

I watched his whiskers twitch. I knew from experience that Opie can be cutting and brutal with insults. I hoped he wouldn’t be mean to her. She’s only a year old; still a baby.

“Amazing would be a lot of pressure,” he agreed. “But I have a better code name for you. It’s the one Mom calls you because you’re always stripping off your collar.”

We all looked at Candy’s throat – naked of her pink collar.

Candy with no collar

“Your code name should be Bubbles,” Opie told her. “Bubbles the Stripper Kitty.”

Everyone laughed. Including Charley. Including Candy. She clapped her paws. “That’s a fun code name. I like it! I’m Bubbles.”

The Wonderpurr Gang then got down to business of picking out serious code names.

Jesse and Nikolas are both black panfurs and look like twins, so they chose Toxic Twins 1 & 2.

Peaches chose Alpha Queen cuz…she is.

Chauncie Marie chose Meyowcé, and Gidget changed her mind from Chef to Cuisine.

Our newest outside brofur, Noah, chose the code name Ex-Stray because that’s what he is. Jack chose Agent J (He’s a huge Men In Black fan), while Dori and Candy stuck with Princess and Bubbles respectively.

Frank decided he liked Peaches’ insult, Toxic Tabby, and Opie chose Gingerman for his deep orange fur.

I chose Monkey Boy because that’s what my mom calls me.

“Hey Charley!” I said when we were getting ready to leave. “You didn’t pick a code name for yourself. What name do you think would be good for you?”

Charley thought about it a moment. Then, with a twinkle in his eyes, he replied, “I think my code name is Mud.”

We all stared at him, not getting the joke, if there was one.

“Meet back here next Friday,” Charley then told us. “Your first lesson on mastering the techniques of private investigation will begin then.”

Hope to see you all join us, too. Until next Friday, have a Wonderpurr week!

Purrs! Herman!!!

If you’re new to Sherlock Herms Purranormal Mysteries and want to catch up, here are the links to my first case, The Case of the Dancing Ghosts, and my second case where I met Charley Feeble, Mrs. Shallowford’s Ghost. Also, you can click on the links located on the sidebar of this website.

Thanks so much for stopping by. I’d love to hear what you think of my series, so please leave your comment below. Thanks so much! Herman!!!

P.S. If you’d like to learn more about the books me and my mom write, visit our Author Page.

My Books in Row

Sherlock Herms: The Case of The Dancing Ghosts – Conclusion

Sherlock Herms 1st caper cover CROPPEDPreviously on Sherlock Herms…The Case of the Dancing Ghosts…

When we last left our hero, Herman TattleCat – the dashing hardboiled detective with grit in his blood, and his beautiful yet sated sisfur/assistant, Dori, they had come to the conclusion that the Throckley mansion was contaminated with ghosts, and the CritterZone Air Naturalizer that Dori had pulled from the wall when they were sucked into the kitty play tunnel-slash-trans-portal might eliminate the ghosts. But before they did that, Herman wanted to find out how the ghosts got dead in the first place.

Dori wanted to hire a Medium to connect with the ghosts by letting them inside their bodies to talk, but Herman couldn’t afford one. Plus he didn’t like the idea of Old Man Throckley inside him, all drooly and stinky.

Suddenly the ghost party returned, making Dori and Herman run upstairs to the third floor where Throckley appeared, holding a hammer. Herman was afraid he would hit them, but then Throckley walked through them, through the wall. When an explosion of violent hammering burst from beyond the wall, Dori zoomed back downstairs, but Herman remained behind, determined to solve the mystery. With his sensitive whiskers tingling with feline intuition, Herman put his paw on the wall. It felt cold. Really really cold.

Then, it hit him!

And now…
The Conclusion.

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