There was no Murder Monday. Murder Monday was murdered by a migraine.
Instead, there is Frightening Friday. Check out previous Murder Mondays to catch up with Elle and the gang.
A small white cat named "Tabby" by an insistent five year old looked both ways before crossing the street. Its purple leopard print collar hung in shreds around Tabby's neck where she had tried to remove the tacky accessory. But five year olds are notoriously insistent.
Tabby had her eye on a house where her friends told her a nice lady lived. A nice lady with a cat, and 57 houseplants. Tabby could not take any more Dum Dums stuck in her hair, any more pudding spilled on her back, anymore My Little Ponies buried in her litter box. Enough was enough. She had better things to do with her nine lives.
Tabby caught sight of a fluttering yellow tape and batted at it for a moment before remembering that it was unseemly to play in public. Recovering her dignity, she went up the steps and began what she hoped was plaintive howling, scratching pathetically on the door in hopes of some Fancy Feast, or even commoners' Purina.
But no one answered. Not to be dissuaded, Tabby curled up on the porch, attempting to look cold and alone. By the time she couldn't stand the chilled concrete anymore, she was thoroughly disgusted. Humans would simply never be trained.
Tabby decided to run to the back of the house, in hopes of a friendly, communal stray cat bowl. Such items were not unheard of. Instead, she was startled by a watchful sentry of fourteen pink flamingoes speared into the ground around a patio with garishly colored planters containing dead marigolds. Tabby hated marigolds. She sniffed around a puddle where the downspout met the mud underneath and eyed the dirtied siding. She was beginning to think she'd been grossly misinformed about the catliness of this lady when a loud purring approached. A warm engine heating the hood of a vehicle lured Tabby towards the shrub where the tiny car had parked. She thought it a nice place to nap if it was going to stay awhile. But the human was not a woman, so she despaired of being let into a toasty home.
To Tabby's surprise, however, the human glanced around, then ducked his head and began to walk across the yard. Tabby found it time to make her presence known.
"Mwaaaaaah," she breathed in her most seductive feline tones.
But the nasty human didn't even look.
She raised an eyebrow stiffly in the direction of the offender and followed behind his footsteps. A moment of confusion met Tabby when she saw the man take his hand from his pocket and do something to the doorknob. Just before the door swung shut, Tabby scooted in behind him, unseen.
Here were welcoming smells: cat hair, cat food, cat litter box. The lady must be housebroken, Tabby determined. As the man walked into the kitchen, he looked around with disgust. True, the human wasn't of tidy habits, Tabby noted, but that gave the cats all the more freedom. She decided to make it her home, and pawed at a banana peel that had fallen out of the garbage. When the human had disappeared into another room, she leapt onto the counter and landed squarely by a coffeemaker with stale Folgers brew sitting in the carafe, beginning to mold on its surface. She stepped gingerly over a stack of last year's coupons, sniffed the crumbs around the toaster, ignored a bag of half-eaten potato chips, and flicked her tail in disdain at an, curling fly swatter. But one item caught her curiosity; just as she began to paw at it, a rough hand caught her around the stomach.
"Found it for me, did you?" a rough voice churned. Tabby's heartbeat quickened. This was not a human who had ever bought cat food, she could tell. In fact, she quickly suspected he only spent his time with foul canines. She hissed and jumped from his chapped hand before he could catch her.
As he stomped from the kitchen and back to the warm engine sitting next to the hedge, Tabby crept from her respite under a kitchen chair and rubbed her back against the refrigerator. Despite the curiosity almost killing the cat, the intruder was gone. She could now make herself at home.
Ah, the plot thickens! How deliciously suspenseful!
Can't wait for next Monday....Mom
Did you make that up? It's quite good. I hope that the sequel is out soon. I was looking through your page trying to catch up on what's been going on, and I have to admit, the cake with the "Olynpic Rings" is absolutely brilliant. That's why I don't work in the bakery department at Krogers.
I'm not scared. I'm not scared at all. "Frightening Friday" indeed. Humph! More like "Fictional Fruitcake Friday." More like "Fantastically Flaccid Friday." More like "Fairytales for the Frankensteinaphobic (Frankenphobic?) Friday." Ok, I'm done.
Question: Do you host your own version of Mardi Gras on Fat Froosday? I'm gonna throw that one in the ole suggestion box.
...aren't there books by...uhm....some lady that has "cat" in the titles?...for instance, "The Cat who thought it was a detective"?? or something like that? sooo.. there must be something to this "cat" in the plot thing.---dad
ooohh.... was it Rita Mae Brown?..the cat author?--dad
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