Fiction—Sam Spayed, Private Eye

It was the kind of day that made you want to lie around and wait for a belly rub. A breeze was slinking about the neighborhood, and the welcoming scent of McAlister's Pet Friendly Kitty Chow was wafting through the window. But I had to be on my paws. Trouble could come scratching my door at any minute.

So I sat at my desk, playing with the blinds, waiting for my nine lives to run out. On my desk were a few toy mice and a ball of yarn I'd bought at a flea market to relieve stress. Whatever effect the yarn was supposed to have was being negated by the fleas. I used to have a pot of catnip, too, but I gave that stuff up.

That's when she sauntered in. A domestic long-hair, although tame is the last word I'd use. She was a tall bowl of milk, white and fluffy with cream on her shoulders like she was wearing a second fur coat. Soft blue eyes. The type of dame you wish hadn't been declawed.

"You stalking anybody?" she asked.

"No," I purred. "You got something for me, or are you just looking for the litter box?"

"I might have something," she said, cool as a calico. "See, there's this fancy cat I've been nuzzling. And he's gone missing."

"You check the pound? Maybe he rubbed someone the wrong way?"

"Mittens always keeps his address on his collar. See, he's forgetful sometimes. I'm afraid something's happened to him, Sam." Her whiskers twitched pathetically and I was string in her paws. She went on to describe her plaything. A Himalayan long-hair, blue-gray, googly eyes. Not the sharpest claw on the paw. More like the type who'd run out of an open door and drown in the pool.

"You armed?" she asked. "This might get fuzzy."

I opened a drawer and pulled out my Ktaxon 5mm laser pointer.

"So you'll do it?" she said luxuriously. "I should warn you, I can only pay in Purina."

"Salmon?" I said. "Or Chicken and Liver?"

She looked sheepish: "Chicken Gravy."

"Hmm." I thought about it. To be honest, I would have hissed my mother out a window for a spoonful of Meow Mix. "All right, I'll be your puss-in-boots."

She rubbed against me in appreciation. “Thank you, Sam," she said. "Now, please, find my Mittens."