The Case Of The Lost Weekend: Part III

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As we made our way to the Old Port area of Montreal, I have to admit I enjoyed the ride. And the scenery was quite interesting. Very European. (Honestly, I don’t know what that means as I’ve never been to Europe. Although, I hope to go one day. I hear the Reichenbach Falls are especially exciting).

Upon reaching the Salon de Toilettage Pour Chats Chief Inspector Gaumaché and DCI Magic led the respective teams into the building. Magic had the Kontinental Kat, Zen and myself search the sauna area. I ran past the pool which led to the saunas with Zen hot on my heels.

I have to admit that a couple of times I had to backtrack to retrieve my brofur as he had stopped to ogle the scantily-clad felines.

“Come on, Zen. Savoy doesn’t seem to be here . . .” I ordered. I was still head trainee, after all.

“Where can we get some snacks?” Zen asked an eager-to-help tabby, salon worker.

“There are kelp cookies available. They’re very good for the fur . . .” The tabby answered, eyes blinking madly at Zen.

Then I heard that eerie voice again, “Savoy . . . Salon . . .” It cooed.

The tabby glanced at the two of us.

“Do you know if there is a Savoy Graydon there?” I asked.

Zen merely grabbed his belly and meowed, “Where are the cookies? I’m so hungry, I’ll try anything. Although, my fur is quite soft and luscious. Would you like to touch it?” Zen preened and offered an arm to the tabby.

“Come on . . . We’ll find it.” I grabbed my brofur and pulled him in the direction that the tabby was pointing. Hoping it was the stylists area.

“Did you hear that?” I asked Zen.

“Yes. Kelp cookies . . . They don’t sound very appetizing but I’ll give them a whirl. After all . . .” Zen began.

“Not about the cookies! I mean, did you hear that voice . . , the same one that we heard at the seance. I’ve been hearing it ever since that night. This time it meowed, ‘Savoy’ and ‘salon’. Maybe it knows that she’s here?” I suggested. I’m not usually one for believing in the supernatural natural but so far this voice has not steered me wrong.

Zen simply looked at me as if I were nuts. And I know that look as I’ve given it as much as I’ve received it.

Anyway, we reached the grooming area of the salon and met up with DCI Magic, P. C. Pumps and the Kontinental Kat. The SVPM joined us almost immediately.

“Anyone found her?” DCI Magic asked. It seemed she had eluded all of us once again.

The Kontinental Kat walked to the desk and asked, “We’d like to meow to whoever is in charge?”

“I am the manager.” Came the answer.

“Do you have any clients in the groomers, at the moment?” He continued.

“Only one. She’s having the full treatment. This poor kitty has had a stressful few days. We even feared that she might have been in some sort of accident. She seems to be out of sorts. She even refused to chase the red dot!” The manager informed us incredulously.

“What’s the name of this kitty?” I was sure we had found our missing feline. Of course the reason for all the mystery surrounding my Savoy’s disappearance was due to some sort of accident. Maybe she had ingested a bit of the lilies?

The manager flipped through the appointment calendar and came to a stop, pointing at the name written down.

“It’s a . . .” She hesitated and leaned in closer to read out the name. “Ah, yes . . . this was, also, a factor in our assessment of the feline. It seems she’s a widow and that could explain some of the confusion she exhibited. Whenever one of our loved ones goes OTRB, it can take a toll on the others. The humans tend to miss the signs . . .”

My heart dropped. This was, obviously, not Savoy. I mean I’m still alive so she is no widow.

“Where are the kelp cookies?” I heard Zen ask one of the other salon workers.

Then that eerie voice loomed again with, “It’s her . . .”

The worker offered my brofur some kelp treats. Zen began crunching away at them as I flew into action. “What’s the name of this widow and where is she?”

The others all looked at me like I had lost my mind. (Told you, this happens to me often). But I had to follow my instincts.

“She’s registered as ‘the Widow Patches’.” Was the reply.

“It can’t be!” The Kontinental Kat shook his head in disbelief. “Patches, as far as I know, would never leave the house . . . Not unless these treatments involve a good deal of nip.”

The manager’s pupils grew large and her ears stood to attention. This did not bode well.

“It’s her!” Zen pointed to a closing door.

“Who?” I waited for confirmation

“Savoy!” He answered. “I saw her!”

We all rushed to the door. The manager reached the closed door before the rest of us. She blocked the way saying, “You can’t go in there!”

“This is a police matter.” Chief Inspector Gaumaché meowed with authority.

“I don’t care! You can’t go barging in to that room. It’s strictly feline only.”

“Technically meowing, we’re all feline . . .” Zen pointed out.

“Yes . . . But this room is for felines who have found themselves in a certain condition.” The manager meowed.

WTFLOOF was she suggesting about my Savoy?!! I was NOT having it! As the others confronted the manager, I snuck around behind her, amidst a cacophony of ‘Stop! Perv!’.

There was one feline lying on the table in a robe, covering every part of her body. Her face was covered with cucumber slices, over her eyes and a cooling, green, nip concoction spread across her face. Was this Patches? Was this Savoy? I could not tell.

I ran to her as the door burst open behind me. The others all plowed in as I reached the prone feline. I removed the cucumber eyes patches and found that it was not Patches but Savoy.

“My Belovéd!” I yowled and threw my paws round her.

Upon squeezing her in a hug, she threw me off and ordered, “Get off me, you fool.”

I breathed a sigh of relief . . . Here I thought she may have been permanently scarred by ingesting lilies. But my Savoy had not lost her cattitude. I was so pleased to know it.

*********

We spent the next few days in Montreal trying to sort everything out. With each passing day Savoy regained a bit more of her memory. She, still, had no recollection of how or why she was in Montreal. Nor did she remember why she had pretended to be the Widow Patches.

“I think it’s because you secretly admire Patches.” I told her. But she rejected such a notion and gave me a bop on the head for even suggesting such a thing. Yes, my sweetheart was getting stronger every day.

*********

By the time we returned home she had nearly recovered 100%. “I remember receiving the flowers and thinking that lilies were not good for us cats. But these lilies were infested with nip. It was hard to resist. I had a sniff and . . . That’s the last thing I remember.” Savoy explained as we all sat in the office now, doing our best to figure out, just, who was responsible.

“That Muskrat is despicable!” I voiced my concern. I, just, knew he was behind all of this. Who else could, or would, be so cruel and inhumane? “I want to know what that voice was, that kept giving me clues, though?” I pondered aloud.

Before the others could react to my remarks a knock on the door interrupted us.

Zen answered it and was given a telegram. He brought it to Savoy. “It’s for you.”

Savoy opened the letter and read the wire,

“Sorry I missed you in Montreal.  We’ll meet again on All Hallow’s Eve! 

Love

The Muskrat (Your Future Kitty Daddy) 

Savoy threw the page away from her in disgust and not to be soiled by the vile thoughts.

I was incensed!

*********

The Kontinental Kat had a party planned for All Hallow’s Eve. Every one was there. The theme was ‘Come as the worst of the worst’. And surprisingly, I was not the only one to show up in a muskrat costume. In fact everyone wore a muskrat costume. Except for Patches. She came as the Bride of Nippenstein.

“How are we ever going to tell who the ‘real’ Muskrat is?” I asked Zen and Savoy. (At least, I think it was my brofur and my Belovéd, dressed as muskrats)

Then in walked the President of the Divided States.

“It’s the Muskrat . . .” That terrifying voice filled my ears once again.

“That’s him! Let’s get him!” I pointed towards the scary Halloween character! The entire party gave chase!

We ran out of the house and down the street but all to no avail. “Did you hear the voice?” I asked of the others as we looked in every direction to find the Muskrat.

Zen brought up the rear and held his belly. “When are we going to dig into the Halloween treats?” He asked then added. “I’m starving!”

Then we all heard that voice, “He got away!”

The Kontinental Kat looked at Zen and commented, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d meow that belly of yours, was meowing clues to us.”

I was stunned. Was this what I had been hearing all the time? The thoughts of that fact was scary. But Savoy was safe, for now. And even though the Muskrat, truly, is an evil creature, he won’t ruin our lives any more. Or the party.

Unfortunately, the Muskrat got away again and we are forced to have to share this glorious planet with the such a vile defacer of all that is good. Have no fear . . . We’ll win in the end. 🐈🐈‍⬛😺.

Happy Halloween Everyone!

The End

*If my work has made you laugh, momentarily allowed you to forget the state of the world, or snort tea onto a nearby surface, feel free to tip or donate.  Supporting writers and comedy is a noble act — like feeding a stray, except with fewer fleas and more encouragement.  Every contribution is greatly appreciated and helps keep the words, wit, and nonsense flowing.  And it may just indirectly fund future silliness.  I thank you in advance.  😻 . . . https://thejoyofcats.wordpress.com/1896-2/

Copyright ©️ 2026 By Judith Wiberg

*No Generative AI (or SI) Training: Unauthorized uploading, data mining, ingestion, or use of this manuscript —in whole or in part—to train artificial intelligence (or for legal reasons, Super Intelligence) technologies, machine learning models, or large language models is strictly prohibited.  No right is granted to use this text for synthetic content generation or algorithmic adaptation.  The Recipient agrees not to upload, input, or otherwise transmit the Work, or any portion thereof, into any generative artificial intelligence (super intelligence) system, large language model, or consumer-facing AI/SI tool (such as ChatGPT, Claude, or similar technologies) for any purpose, including editing, summarizing, evaluating, or machine learning training, without the Author’s prior express written consent. 

*Author’s Note: This blog was written in its entirety by a human — me — without the use of artificial (or super) intelligence. The only partial use of ai/si is on the photos, as I am no artist.  What I do is akin to photoshopping to enhance a visual of the storytelling.  If you steal my humorous writing to train your plagiarism software woe betide you.  We all know ai/si (& the billionaires who are pushing it) have no sense of humour and therefore won’t get how funny it is when I sue your a$$es for copyright infringement. (Can’t get around copyright law by changing its name).

The Case Of The Lost Weekend: Part II

Tags

adorable cats, amusing blogs, amusing cats, cat adventures, cat blogger, cat blogs, cat books, cat stories, catladyblogger, cats, crazy cats, crazycatladyblogs, cute cat blogs, Cute cats, fabulous cats, fat cats, fun blogs, fun cats, funfictionblogger, funny, funny cat blog, funny cat blogs, funny cats, funny pets, heavenly cats, ingenius cats, love, love those cats, mystery cats, new ventures, pet detective, pet detectives, silly cats, smart cats, writing community

Taking the train to Montreal was a new experience for myself and Zen. The Kontinental Kat seemed purrfectly fine as we boarded and took our seats. Mind you, the Boss was a sophisticated Tom. After about 10 minutes, the Via Rail train got under way.

“How long is this going to take?” I asked with some anxiety. I wanted to find Savoy quickly.

“It’s a long trip. My advice is to catch up on any missed sleep. I barely had 17 hours last night.” The Kontinental Kat meowed as he closed his eyes. He began to snore softly.

How he could remain so calm was a mystery to me. Then without warning I heard that eerie voice from the seance. Only this time it said what sounded like, “Sago palm . . .”

I glanced over at the Boss but he had not stirred. Looking towards my brofur, Zen, was no help either. Although, the train rocked and rolled, shimmied and shook so violently that Zen rolled off the seat to land smack dab in the middle of the aisle.

After blinking at me numerous times he meowed, “Why’d you push me?” I was nowhere near him! Was it the eerie-voiced ghost?! 🙀🙀🙀. Then he immediately switched directions and comment with, “I’m hungry.”

“How can you think about eating at a time like this?” It’s incredible how some felines deal with stress. The Boss, obviously, took to his bed for solace whereas my brofur’s method of coping was to stuff his face.

“I can’t help it. I, only, had one breakfast this morning. I didn’t know we’d be off travelling for work.” Zen held his belly.

“You don’t work for the Agency . . . You’re just here because . . . Why are you here?” I wondered.

“The Kontinental Kat has officially taken me on as an apprentice.” Zen insisted.

Oh no! This was not happening. Not again. First Savoy (which honestly, I didn’t mind as it afforded me more time with her) but not Zen too! I was the trainee!

“Look, you are no Sherlock Holmes or even a Dr. Watson . . . We don’t need your help when it comes to solving mysteries.” I told him right off the bat.

“I may not be those felines, whoever they are? But I could be ‘your honourable brofur’. Besides, Savoy needs all of our help. She’s gone missing and I want to help find her too!” Zen insisted. Then added, “Ancient proverb say, ‘Cat who tries to catch two mice at one time, goes without supper’. What a tragedy! I have to find the dining car.” And off he went in search of sustenance.

Normally, I would have let the fool wander the entire train by himself but the Kontinental Kat snorted and woke himself up only to meow, “Go after him.”

So, I had to comply.

*********

I followed in the direction which Zen headed and managed to travel between a number of the moving Via rail cars. After a few moments I sniffed the lovely aroma of food. I ran directly to the car in front.

Upon entering the dining car, I spotted Zen stuffing his face while a bunch of waiters lined up with food platters prepared just for him.

“WTFloof?” I exclaimed.

“Join me.” Zen offered the chair across from him.

“What are you doing?” I asked as the waiter next in line plopped his dish of food in front of me.

The waiter lifted the lid, revealing a succulent plate of fish and chips with a nip salad on the side.

“Dig in . . .” Zen grinned.

I sat down. “How are you paying for all of this?” I couldn’t believe he was gorging himself. I knew my brofur had a ‘healthy’ appetite but I also knew he had no money. The monastic life he led did not provide him with a steady income and I knew how much he made as an apprentice. Not enough to pay for this amount of food.

“Money is no object.” Zen announced.

This made no sense. I eyed the nip salad. Maybe if I just ate that, I could pay for it myself? I sniffed at it. “Something is not right here.” I returned to the problem at paw.

Before I could enjoy my meal, Zen had finished his food and began to share mine despite the fact that the next waiter was giving him another platter full of food.

As Zen gobbled down my fish, I addressed the waiter, “Where did all this food come from? And more importantly . . . Who’s paying for it . . . ?”

“There’s a nice rodent who was leaving the car as your furriend, here, came into the dining car. He offered to pay for whatever the customer wanted.” The waiter told me.

“What rodent? What did he look like?” My hackles began to rise.

“He was a muskrat-looking creature with beady little . . .” The waiter explained.

“Zen! Stop eating!” I had to forcibly remove the mouthful of dessert my brofur had crammed into his face. When I opened my paw, it was to find chocolate covered grapes! Both deadly ingredients for us felines!

Zen began to hiss and spit at me.

“Look what that vile creature had planned for you! A quick and painful death.” I was not going to let that Muskrat harm my brofur.

Zen looked confused.

*********

On the way back to the train car where we had left the Kontinental Kat, I was sure I had caught a glimpse of the Muskrat. We ran after him. I noticed him again and we gave chase but he disappeared through a small opening in the skirting boards.

Between chasing the Muskrat and having to stop Zen from eating anything else along the way, the time it took us to return to the rail car with our seats in it, seemed to drag on. As soon as as we got back to the Boss he asked, “Where have you been? We’re about to disembark.”

“You aren’t going to believe this, Boss . . . But the Muskrat is onboard. We’ve been trying to catch him.” I informed the Kontinental Kat.

“Are you sure?” The Boss was skeptical.

“Oh, he’s here, alright. He paid for my meals.” Zen added.

“He what?” The Kontinental Kat asked.

Before we could answer, DCI Magic and PC Pumps boarded the train and came into our car. PC Pumps announced, “ Ladies and Gentlemen, can I have your attention please! We’re looking for a wanted fugitive . . . So, if you could please remain in your seats until we’ve vetted you, we’d appreciate it.”

“Chief Inspector . . .” The Kontinental Kat called our furriend over to us.

“You made it . . . Excellent. Have you seen any strange characters onboard the train?” He asked.

“I haven’t. But young Dash insists he saw the Muskrat.” The chubby, black cat informed the police.

“He’s, definitely, onboard, Chief Inspector.” I confirmed.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be too hard on the rodent? He did agree to pay for my meals.” Zen reasoned.

The train conductor came up to us and handed a piece of paper to my brofur.

“What’s this?” Zen asked.

“The bill for all the food you ate.” Was the reply.

“But . . .” Zen stammered.

“The creature who was supposed to pay your bill, has disappeared. You’ll have to pay it.” The conductor stated plainly.

Zen was incensed. But before he could express his disappointment, P. C. Pumps joined us after having a meow with a constable from the SPVM (Service de City Police Service). He informed us, “Chief Inspector, we have found contraband onboard. It seems there were bits of Sago palm in the nip salad. Not enough for anyone to notice, but enough to fell a hefty Tom cat.”

I blanched. I had come extremely close to consuming the salad and so had Zen! 🙀🙀🙀

*********

We got off the train with the police and were taken to police headquarters where they were doing forensics on Savoy’s car. We scanned the other evidence while there. Nothing made any sense. Her collar . . . Her pet license . . . The bouquet of lilies . . . All items left in her car but what could it mean? And where was she?

As the others pondered these questions I asked to see Savoy’s car. We all trudged down to the lab. I had a sniff through the vehicle. I opened the glove compartment to find a number of business cards. Two of them for hotels, one for a nip poutine place and four for spas.

“What are these?” I held up the cards.

“Obviously, she was prepared for her visit to Montreal.” DCI Gaumaché answered.

Then I heard it again . . . That eerie voice said, “Salon de Toitettage Pour Chats . . .”

I looked at Zen beside me but he merely rubbed his tummy. Obviously, the boy was hungry again. The others appeared to not hear a thing. I glanced at the cards and one of the spas was for a place called, ‘Salon de Toilettage Pour Chats’.

“Aha! I think we have to check this place out first!”

End of Part II

*Will we find Savoy next week? I don’t know how much longer I can be without her?! 🙀. Will we find the Muskrat? The rodent deserves jail time! Will we have to call the Ghostbusters to find the origin of the eerie voice? Stay tuned, folks! Part III coming next week.

Copyright ©️ 2026 By Judith Wiberg

*If my work has made you laugh, momentarily allowed you to forget the state of the world, or snort tea onto a nearby surface, feel free to tip or donate.  Supporting writers and comedy is a noble act — like feeding a stray, except with fewer fleas and more encouragement.  Every contribution is greatly appreciated and helps keep the words, wit, and nonsense flowing.  And it may just indirectly fund future silliness.  I thank you in advance.  😻 . . . https://thejoyofcats.wordpress.com/1896-2/

*No Generative AI (or SI) Training: Unauthorized uploading, data mining, ingestion, or use of this manuscript —in whole or in part—to train artificial intelligence (or for legal reasons, Super Intelligence) technologies, machine learning models, or large language models is strictly prohibited.  No right is granted to use this text for synthetic content generation or algorithmic adaptation.  The Recipient agrees not to upload, input, or otherwise transmit the Work, or any portion thereof, into any generative artificial intelligence (super intelligence) system, large language model, or consumer-facing AI/SI tool (such as ChatGPT, Claude, or similar technologies) for any purpose, including editing, summarizing, evaluating, or machine learning training, without the Author’s prior express written consent. 

*Author’s Note: This blog was written in its entirety by a human — me — without the use of artificial (or super) intelligence. The only partial use of ai/si is on the photos, as I am no artist.  What I do is akin to photoshopping to enhance a visual of the storytelling.  If you steal my humorous writing to train your plagiarism software woe betide you.  We all know ai/si (& the billionaires who are pushing it) have no sense of humour and therefore won’t get how funny it is when I sue your a$$es for copyright infringement. (Can’t get around copyright law by changing its name).

The Case Of The Lost Weekend: Part I

Tags

adorable cats, amusing blogs, amusing cats, cat adventures, cat blogger, cat blogs, cat books, cat stories, catladyblogger, cats, crazy cats, crazycatladyblogs, cute cat blogs, Cute cats, fabulous cats, fat cats, fun blogs, fun cats, funfictionblogger, funny, funny cat blog, funny cat blogs, funny cats, funny pets, heavenly cats, ingenius cats, love, love those cats, mystery cats, new ventures, pet detective, pet detectives, silly cats, smart cats, spooky, writing community

Thank Cat, my fur is growing back nicely!

I may not be Samson but my Delilah, Savoy, is definitely impressed by my ability to remain strong throughout this trying ordeal. I must meow that I was thrown by my lack of fur, only to bounce back stronger and more luscious than ever.

Now, I’m not the kind of Tom who thinks the world revolves around him yet, I had to assume my fur loss had an effect on the lovely Savoy as well.

It all began at the end of the day when Patches, Savoy and I sat in the office discussing just who had the finest groomer.

“No one is better than Mr. Reggie . . . He’s a genius bunny when it comes to fur-do’s.” I touted my guy.

“Yes. He’s quite decent as a stylist but I want the whole experience these days. There’s a nip spa in Quebec that I’ve heard about . . .” Patches meowed up. “Apparently, they do wonders for older felines, especially widows who need that extra loving kindness after the loss of our spouses.”

“You were NEVER married to my Uncle LG.” Savoy confronted the She Devil 😈.

I don’t know if you’ve ever experienced a tsunami of fur but the Widow Patches smacked my Savoy on the head then hissed at her like the world was about to be overrun with a cavalcade of incoming destruction.

“I should know what my relationship to my Lord was! He once gifted me with a Sago Palm to show his appreciation of our marriage!” Patches’ hackles began to rise.

“He may have re-gifted a poisonous plant to you but that does not mean the two of you were wed. My Mom, the Duchess, vehemently denies all marriage nonsense between you and Uncle LG. She would not lie about something so serious.” Savoy’s dander was, well and truly, up.

I could see that this was getting out of paw. I would have to de-escalate the situation.

I stepped in between the two felines. “Now, ladies . . .” was all I got out before all hell broke loose.

Savoy and Patches simultaneously pounced, leaving the three of us rolling around the floor amidst a cacophony of screeches.

For a second I thought I was about to lose even more fur when Savoy rolled away from us. Patches shoved me away but faced Savoy to stand her ground.

I righted myself as the two felines squared off. I knew how to break up this little tête-à-tête, “Savoy, my Belovéd, maybe we should all calm down and go visit Zen at the monastery?”

Her reaction was not what I expected but it certainly hindered the fight that was about to break out.

Savoy ran from the office meowing, “No one maligns my family!”

*********

I had Zen come to the office, the next day. Patches was at home imbibing liberally to recover from the fracas but my concern was for Savoy’s peace of mind. I would do anything to help her.

“Do you think you can help my Belovëd?” I asked my brofur. I knew he had formed an understandable attachment to Savoy lately but he would have to learn to curb that enthusiasm. She was MINE, after all. But I would not let my Belovéd suffer unduly. She needed a soothing alternative to Patches’ chaos.

“Well, I have to admit, that I’m in the midst of a spiritual quest. Led by the ‘Mikado’ of the Bridge World, Tenno Rocky. He’s teaching me all about seances, right now. It’s very interesting. I’m attempting to get ‘in touch’ with Arthur Conan Doyle. I want to ask him about the Muskrat and how we can get rid of the rodent. I’ve heard Mr. Doyle managed to handle the ultimate arch enemy.” Zen responded in an ethereal way.

I had no idea WTFLOOF he was rambling on about? I wanted him to do some Buddhist magic and keep my Savoy calm.

Before we could get much further, the Kontinental Kat came into the office. I sensed, right away, that something was off. I looked at him, hoping for a quick explanation. The Boss would not meet my eyes. Why did I have the feeling this was not going to be good?

“What is it, Boss?” I plucked up the courage to ask.

“You better sit down . . .” He began.

Despite the fact that I was already sitting, I stood up and plopped down on my chair harder than was necessary and waited.

“I’ve been on the phone with DCI Magic this morning. He’s on his way to Montreal . . .” The Kontinental Kat knew how to prolong a story for the greatest dramatic effect.

“I’ve never been to Montreal. I’d like to visit the city. I hear they have a fantastic Spiritualist community there.” Zen meowed aloud.

“Maybe we should wait for Savoy before you tell us this? She’ll want to hear about our next case. That is, what this is about, isn’t it?” I uttered aimlessly.

“It is.” The Kontinental Kat confirmed. “But Savoy might, just, be our next case . . .” The Boss let that sink in.

Surely, he was not suggesting . . .

“Is she dead?” Zen blurted out.

I wanted to kill my brofur but I was too afraid to breathe. I gave the chubby, black cat a desperate look. This could not be happening!

“Her car was found in Montreal’s downtown core. It was running, with the lights on and her collar was on the front seat along with her pet license. The SPVM (Service de police de la Ville de Montréal) found a disarrayed floral arrangement on the back seat, as well. But no Savoy!” The Kontinental Kat related this horrendous news.

I’m not prone to swooning but this information hit me like a ton of bricks. “What are we going to do?” I managed to rasp out the meow.

“I know! We’ll have a seance. I’ll ask Tenno Rocky to come to the house and we’ll ask the spirit world to help us find Savoy.” Zen grinned.

I stood up and side-walked towards my brofur. Of all the hare-brained ideas, this fool wanted . . .

“We can have a seance tonight. But first thing tomorrow we’ll begin asking questions of real felines!” The Kontinental Kat responded. He was skeptical about this otherworldly stuff.

*********

We all met at my and Zen’s house for the seance. I have to admit, I was frightened more than weary about the outcome. Zen brought Tenno Rocky into the home and I could see that the Kontinental Kat eyed him up with suspicion. Admittedly, he did look extremely dodgy. He, just, had that look of mischief and mayhem about him.

The evening got started right away as we all sat around the dining room table while Zen dimmed the lights.

“Now, everyone hold paws and we’ll begin . . .” Zen purred as he relaxed on the chair at the head of the table. He closed his eyes and started to go into a trance. He chanted, “Oh . . . Spirit world . . . Bring forth Arthur Conan Doyle to our midst . . . We want to meow with the author, Arthur . . .”

Zen continued in this vein for a few seconds. I opened one eye to see what the others were doing. Tenno Rocky looked woodenly non-alive but it was difficult to see him behind the hood of his cloak. The Kontinental Kat stared at him with an intensity that, quite frankly, frightened me.

Then out the corner of my eye, I saw an eerie ghost-like figure float by quickly. Being the brave soul that I am, I let out a piercing scream and leapt up to avoid any contact with this thing. In the process of escape, I smashed into the entity and landed full on it! 🙀🙀

The Kontinental Kat flipped on the lights and I found myself entangled with . . . Tenno Rocky. How could this be? He sat across from me at the table. When I looked there the Boss held up a dummy which appeared exactly like Rocky. It was hard to tell them apart, except that the Rocky beneath me wore nothing but his undergarments and the dummy was fully clothed. I, quite correctly, scrambled off the ‘real’ Rocky.

“Just as I suspected . . . This seance is a sham! You cannot converse with the dead. It’s an impossibility!” The Kontinental Kat claimed.

Then out of the ether came a soft but distinct hollowed meow, “Lilies of Montreal . . .”

I visibly shook. And going by the gasps from the others, they had heard the voice too and were just as confounded by it.

*********

I sat at my desk, in the office the next morning and could barely keep my eyes open. I had spent a restless night, thinking about what ‘Lilies of Montreal’ meant.

Zen seemed to be fresh as a daisy despite the unmitigated disaster of the seance from the night before.

“I wonder where that voice came from and what ‘Lilies of Montreal’ really means?” Zen pondered like the thought just occurred to him.

I had a theory. “Is you pal, Tenno Rocky, a ventriloquist?” I asked. This was the only explanation that made any sense to me. That voice was creepy and spooky.

Before Zen could answer, the Kontinental Kat arrived. “Pack your bags, Boys . . .”

“Why?” I meowed up first.

“I, just, came from the shop who sent those flowers to Savoy. The fact that the arrangement was full of lilies is alarming enough but you’ll never guess who they came from . . .” The Kontinental Kat announced.

“Who?” Zen asked.

I had an inkling so was not surprised when the Boss answered, “The Muskrat!”

End of Part I

*I KNEW IT! This Muskrat is the bane of my existence. I will not allow him to harm my Savoy in any way! Imagine sending her lilies! What a moron! Stay tuned and read the conclusion next week. I will NOT let my Belovéd down. Dash to the rescue!

Copyright ©️ 2026 By Judith Wiberg

*If my work has made you laugh, momentarily allowed you to forget the state of the world, or hack up a hairball, feel free to tip or donate.  Supporting writers and comedy is a noble act — like feeding a stray, except with fewer fleas and more encouragement.  Every contribution is greatly appreciated and helps keep the words, wit, and nonsense flowing.  And it may just indirectly fund future silliness.  I thank you in advance.  😻 . . . https://thejoyofcats.wordpress.com/1896-2/

*No Generative AI (or SI) Training: Unauthorized uploading, data mining, ingestion, or use of this manuscript —in whole or in part—to train artificial intelligence (or for legal reasons, Super Intelligence) technologies, machine learning models, or large language models is strictly prohibited.  No right is granted to use this text for synthetic content generation or algorithmic adaptation.  The Recipient agrees not to upload, input, or otherwise transmit the Work, or any portion thereof, into any generative artificial intelligence (super intelligence) system, large language model, or consumer-facing AI/SI tool (such as ChatGPT, Claude, or similar technologies) for any purpose, including editing, summarizing, evaluating, or machine learning training, without the Author’s prior express written consent. 

*Author’s Note: This blog was written in its entirety by a human — me — without the use of artificial (or super) intelligence. The only partial use of ai/si is on the photos, as I am no artist.  What is done is akin to photoshopping to enhance a visual of the storytelling.  If you steal my humorous writing to train your plagiarism software woe betide you.  We all know ai/si (& the billionaires who are pushing it) have no sense of humour and therefore won’t get how funny it is when I sue their a$$es for copyright infringement. (You can’t get around copyright law by changing the name of artificial intelligence).

The Case Of ‘My Lady Savoy’: Part II

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I spent most of the weekend at the groomers. It seems as if cat fur soaked in Dawn is not a good look. Luckily I had a whole host of fur experts attending my lovely locks. So, when I showed up at the office on Monday morning, I have to admit, the others were stunned into silence at my appearance. I looked exquisite!

They say a change of furstyle reveals the inner Tom and I know my new ‘do’ had me looking dapper. The others, of course, were enthralled. It was nearly criminal the way they continually stole glimpses of me.

“What do the police meow about it?” Savoy asked.

“The police? They haven’t seen my . . .” I ran my claws through my fur as I looked at my Savoy. She was, obviously, not meowing to me but had turned her attention to the Boss.

“They’ve been questioning the Boar all weekend. Since he, and the turkey security guard we hired for the job, were found tied up in the basement of the gallery. They are important witnesses.” The Kontinental Kat could not keep his eyes off my coiffure.

“What’s their story?” Savoy got a pen and paper ready to take notes.

“Apparently, after everyone left the Gala, the two guards made their rounds. Everything was fine. They met at the main door when the phone buzzer went. The Boar answered it. He claims the man on the other end, was the police and as they had a report of a disturbance on the premises, he asked that he and his partner be let in. The Boar let them in. As soon as the males, dressed in police uniforms, entered the gallery, they overwhelmed the guards and tied them up, leaving them with their mouths and paws taped, in the basement. It wasn’t until the next day that they were discovered. Freda Fawcett showed up for work and knew something was wrong when the door was unlocked and the guards were nowhere to be found. She called the police. The real police got there right away. DCI Magic and P. C. Pumps have been interrogating the guards since . . .” The Boss explained further.

“Who do they suspect?” Savoy wondered aloud.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” I jumped in.

“Is it?” The Kontinental Kat continued to glance closely at the top of my head as he stood up and neared me.

“The guards?” Savoy offered.

I moved away from the Boss rather quickly. Best to keep a distance. “No . . .” I answered, not wanting to rule out anyone, at this point. They would not be my first persons of interest, if I was conducting the investigation.

“Who do you think did it, then?” My lovely Savoy asked.

“Well, it stands to reason that the thief has to be smitten with the subject matter . . .” I countered. “The painting was of you, after all.”

“Are you confessing?” The Boss joked. (At least, I hoped he was joking?! 🙀)

“No. I AM NOT!” I yowled. “But I do know that the artist, Basil, was quite taken with Savoy when he first laid eyes on her. I’d meow, that he’s the culprit.” I added.

“He was ‘taken’ with me?” Savoy began to preen.

This was not the reaction that I wanted from her. She seemed a little too pleased with the effect she had on the Toms.

“Okay . . . I have a meeting with the police. You two question Basil. See if there is anything to be gained from that line of inquiry.” The Kontinental Kat doled out the assignments.

*********

An hour later, Basil and Zen sat in chairs at the office. Savoy took her place at the Boss’ desk while I hovered over Basil menacingly. I would not let him weasel out of answering our questions.

“Where were you when the portrait was being stolen?” I asked in the harshest tone I could.

“Probably, in bed. Sleeping soundly as ever . . .” He grinned.

His reaction infuriated me. “You did it, didn’t you?! Admit it!!!” I leaned in closer. “You’re in love with Savoy and I won’t have it!” I lost control.

Savoy pulled me back and I had to grab on to my head to remain intact.

“Settle down, Dash. Basil is not in love with her.” Zen meowed calmly.

“How can you be so sure? I saw the way he looked at her when I asked him to paint the portrait. And I saw the pervy portrait he did of her as Lady Godiva . . . It was sick!” I looked at each of them in turn. I could tell that Savoy was slightly hurt by my meows. So I added, “Mind you, as a work of art, it was beautiful.”

“There was nothing ‘sick’ about that painting. In fact, I have it here . . .” Basil stood up and took off his coat. Underneath he wore a monk’s robe, from where he pulled out a rolled up painting.

When he showed it to Savoy, she clapped her paws. “It’s gorgeous!” She meowed.

I had to admit I was mesmerized by the piece. There was nothing lewd or distasteful about it at all.

“You see Dash . . . Rinpoché Basil is a Buddhist monk. He has forsaken all pleasures of the flesh. (The vet took that away from him). He is not a perv nor would he need to steal the gallery portrait of Savoy when he has several of his own.” Zen claimed.

“That robe might not be real. Anyone can wear a disguise.” I held my head.

“Of course they can. But Basil has been my mentor since I joined the monastery at the beginning of the year.” Zen meowed up. “I can assure you, he’s an honourable Tom with years of experience as a monk.”

OMC . . . What else could I be wrong about?

*********

My humiliation lasted until the Kontinental Kat returned, a mere few moments after this revelation. I refused to meet Savoy or Zen’s eye. How could I be so wrong? Surely, the thief would have some connection to my Belovéd? Nothing else made any sense.

Savoy told the Kontinental Kat what had just transpired as I sank lower and lower into my chair. Luckily, the phone rang to interrupt the embarrassing part about my calling Mr. Basil a perv.

“Hello? Hi, Freda . . .” The Kontinental Kat listened intently before meowing, “We’ll be right there.” And hung up the phone. “That was Freda Fawcett. She received a phone call from someone who wants to sell the portrait back to the gallery.” The Boss explained. “Let’s go.

We all left the office in a hurry.

*********

Freda met us at the gallery and we all entered the building together. We waited in the darkened gallery for the thieves to ransom off their stolen property. The only light emanated from a lit fireplace, casting creepy shadows everywhere.

“I could have sworn the thief must have been obsessed with Savoy. That’s why I thought it was Mr. Basil. Why would anyone want to ransom off the stolen portrait now?” I asked. This criminal acted very strangely.

“Maybe Rinpoché Basil is not the only one who was keen on Savoy?” Zen eyed me suspiciously.

“Actually, the Boar security guard, did say ‘that Savoy was a Babe and worth a million treats’.” I answered.

“That’s exactly the amount this thief is asking for the stolen portrait to be returned for.” Freda confirmed.

Before anyone else could add to this line of inquiry, we heard the door to the gallery open. We all hid while Freda was left in the, eerily darkened gallery, alone.

A huge figure approached and faced Freda. He pulled out a rolled up painting. “That’ll be a million acorns and slugs, please?”

All of a sudden, the lights flew on. Freda, Zen and Mr. Basil peeked out from behind a sculpture stand while DCI Magic, P. C. Pumps and the Kontinental Kat all jumped the thief.

P. C. Pumps managed to remove the hood covering the thief’s features. It was the Boar, still holding on to the painting. He threw it towards the fireplace. The authorities arrested the Boar.

I saw the portrait going up in flames and I rushed to rescue it. Without thought for my own safety, I pulled out the painting and blew it out.

Unfortunately, it caught my new ‘do’ alight. I, quickly, removed the wig and stomped out the fire. There was an awkward and confused silence as the others all peered at my bald pate.

*********

The next day, we sat in the office going over the recent events.

“So, the Boar actually stole the painting when he did his rounds that night and gave it to the two, posing as the police. Is that right?” Savoy asked the Boss for confirmation.

“Yes. DCI Magic and P. C. Pumps suspected that he was in on it, with the two fake police constables. They let the Boar go, so that he could meet up later and try to sell the portrait back to the gallery.” The Kontinental Kat explained further.

“So, I was right . . ?” I asked. “The thief was obsessed with Savoy.” I grinned proudly.

“Sort of . . .” The chubby, black cat answered enigmatically.

“What do you mean?” Savoy wanted to know.

“The thief is obsessed with you. But the police have gotten more information from the other crooks. They told them that the Boar was working for someone else. And, that creature, is the one obsessed with Savoy.” The Boss told us.

I knew who is was immediately! “The Muskrat!”

The Kontinental Kat nodded as Savoy gave me an incredulous look. She stood beside me and placed a lovely kiss on the top of my bald pate. It’ll grow back!

The End.

*For my fellow Canadians . . . HAVE A HAPPY THANKSGIVING!*

*If my work has made you laugh, momentarily allowed you to forget the state of the world, or snort tea onto a nearby surface, feel free to tip or donate.  Supporting writers and comedy is a noble act — like feeding a stray, except with fewer fleas and more encouragement.  Every contribution is greatly appreciated and helps keep the words, wit, and nonsense flowing.  And it may just indirectly fund future silliness.  I thank you in advance.  😻 . . . https://thejoyofcats.wordpress.com/1896-2/

Copyright ©️ 2026 By Judith Wiberg

*No Generative AI Training: Unauthorized uploading, data mining, ingestion, or use of this manuscript —in whole or in part—to train artificial intelligence technologies, machine learning models, or large language models is strictly prohibited.  No right is granted to use this text for synthetic content generation or algorithmic adaptation.  The Recipient agrees not to upload, input, or otherwise transmit the Work, or any portion thereof, into any generative artificial intelligence system, large language model, or consumer-facing AI tool (such as ChatGPT, Claude, or similar technologies) for any purpose, including editing, summarizing, evaluating, or machine learning training, without the Author’s prior express written consent. 

*Author’s Note: This blog was written in its entirety by a human — me — without the use of artificial intelligence. The only partial use of ai is on the photos, as I am no artist.  What I do is akin to photoshopping to enhance a visual of the storytelling.  If you steal my humorous writing to train your plagiarism software woe betide you.  We all know ai (& the billionaires who are pushing it) have no sense of humour and therefore won’t get how funny it is when I sue your a$$es for copyright infringement.

The Case Of ‘My Lady Savoy’: Part I

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adorable cats, amusing blogs, amusing cats, cat adventures, cat blogger, cat blogs, cat books, cat stories, catladyblogger, cats, crazy cats, crazycatladyblogs, cute cat blogs, Cute cats, fabulous cats, fat cats, fun blogs, fun cats, funfictionblogger, funny, funny cat blog, funny cat blogs, funny cats, funny pets, heavenly cats, ingenius cats, love, love those cats, mystery cats, new ventures, pet detective, pet detectives, silly cats, smart cats, writing community

After last week’s kiss from my Savoy, I have to admit I’ve been in a bit of a state. Every thought has been focused on ‘how can I get another kiss’. 🙀 Yes, I may be overly obsessed about this but what a thing to obsess over.

That’s why I saw my chance for another ‘pressing of grey lips upon my own’, when the Boss was contacted by the AGC, the Art Gallery of Cats.

Freda Fawcett, the owner of the gallery, was brought into the office by Zen, my brofur. The Kontinental Kat sat them both down.

“What can I do for you?” He asked.

“We’re in need of security. My pal Zen, here, recommended your agency. The gallery is having a huge Gala, at the end of the week, and we want to keep all of our art safe. We’ve heard that there are some unscrupulous cats out there who destroy works of art simply because they feature nip treats. They eat the works of art! Can you believe that?” Freda shook her head at the utter evil some cats were willing to stoop.

As the Boss’ sisfur was a notorious nip addict, this was no surprise to anyone in the office, including me and especially the Kontinental Kat.

He said, “ Yes, some cats will act in strange ways when nip is involved. But surely not all the works of art are nip related . . . You must have some valuable portraits or landscapes and whatnot?” He did his best to deflect from the subject of nip fiends.

“Oh yes. And we’ve opened up a contest for Canadian artists to submit some of their work, so we can showcase a few home-grown treasures.” Ms. Fawcett added. “Zen knows a brilliant artist who . . .”

That’s when it hit me. Maybe if I had a portrait painted of my Savoy, she would be so pleased that I’d get another kiss? I turned to my brofur, “You know an artist?”

“I know all kinds of felines. But yes, I know someone who is an excellent painter.” He answered.

“Do you think he could do something for me?” I asked eagerly.

Zen fell over laughing. Personally, I did not know what was so amusing?

“No one wants a portrait of you.” Zen wiped tears from his eyes.

I meowed, “‘For me’ not ‘of me’! Arrange for him to meet me, please.” I airplaned my ears at him.

*********

The next day, I rushed to the office, only to find it full of wild boars and turkeys, waiting to be interviewed. These creatures all looked a bit too tough to be artists. At least, I hoped so.

Savoy and the Kontinental Kat set about interviewing these rough critters. The wild boar in the hot seat kept leering at my Savoy. As soon as the Kontinental Kat hired him as a security guard, he stopped at Savoy’s desk to receive his credentials. I heard him ask her out with the chat up line ‘If I were a cat, I’d spend all 9 lives with you. How about a date, Sweetheart?’. I was furious! Who did he think he was?! 😼

Luckily, before I could act on my annoyance, Zen entered the office with an older tabby. He definitely had an ethereal aura about him.

I led all of us into the conference room so we could be alone. “Has Zen told you what I require?” I asked the tabby.

“You want a portrait done.” Basil meowed. “The thing is, I’m the kind of painter that needs inspiration in order to take on a commission. I don’t just paint anyone.” This Basil character stood up and walked around the room. He stopped and stood in front of the window which looked towards the office. “Me-owser!” He exclaimed. “Now, that BSH I would paint”. He pointed to my Savoy.

I stood behind him and smiled. “That is exactly who I want the portrait of.”

“Oh yes . . . Gorgeous! I see her in her natural habitat.” He observed as he began sketching on a piece of paper.

When I tried to get a glimpse, he pulled it away. Was this a good idea?

*********

Getting Savoy to agree to a sitting was quite easy. She liked the idea of being immortalized in oil. But I have to admit getting any details out of her was like pulling teeth. She went to Basil’s studio daily and would not utter a meow about the work being done there. I was suspicious. Needless to meow, I took it upon myself to find out just what kind of portrait this was going to be.

“Tell me again, why we’re doing this?” Zen asked as I had him bring me to Basil’s studio downtown. We snuck up to the rooms and Zen let us in.

“You didn’t tell Basil what we’re doing, did you?” I asked.

“He thinks I’m picking up some paints for his art work.” Zen explained his subterfuge.

We entered the studio. There were a number of covered paintings on easels. I set to, looking behind each. The first one I came to, stopped me dead in my tracks. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen Collier’s Lady Godiva but this made that work look modest. The BSH in the painting was explicitly ‘nuded-up’. OMC! I could never allow the entire world to gaze at this, no matter how beautiful the work of art was. It was still my Savoy without any clothes!

I returned the sheet quickly and covered Zen’s eyes as he tried to see the painting.

*********

I went back to the office after a night of tossing, turning and dreams of naked cats. Maybe Basil’s work wouldn’t be chosen for the AGC contest?

“Congratulations.” The Kontinental Kat gave Savoy a lick on the head.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“The Babe, Freda Fawcett, just, called to say that the portrait by Basil called, ‘My Lady Savoy’ won the contest and is to be unveiled at the Gala tomorrow night.” The Boss answered with pride.

I felt ill.

“What’s the matter? Aren’t you thrilled?” My Savoy asked me.

“Yeah . . . Thrilled . . . that’s the meow for it.” I blanched.

*********

Attending such a prestigious event would normally be quite exciting but this night had me on tenterhooks. Not only was I uncomfortable in my tux but in a few moments everyone and their brofur would be ogling my Savoy. Somehow, I had to stop this.

As Zen, my own ogling brofur, came to the Gala with Basil, the artist, they stood with Savoy next to the covered painting, eagerly awaiting the revealing moment.

I sidled up to the Boar security guard on the periphery.

“How are you enjoying the job?” I asked, hoping for some inside information so I could stop the travesty that was about to occur.

The Boar kept his eyes glued to my Savoy. “Who knew art could be so lucrative?” He answered. “Savoy is a Babe! Any Tom who is lucky enough to own a piece of that, is fortunate indeed. She’s worth a million treats.” He laughed.

I scowled at the Boar. But then the owner of the art gallery stepped to the centre of the room to covered the easel and I knew I had mere seconds to act.

“Can I have your attention, Ladies, GentleToms and Mates of all ilk . . . It’s my great pleasure to unveil the winning entry for the Canada’s Own Contest . . .” Freda, with her flowing blond fur, went on and on about the contest and how difficult it was to pick only one winner etc . . .

I took the opportunity to glance at the runner-up painting of an oil-slicked duck being divested of the oil with Dawn dish soap. Holy Smokes! I rushed into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of Dawn. If I could squirt some of this on the portrait, maybe I could dissolve the oil paint and hide Savoy’s naked body?

Just as I reached the painting, Freda pulled the cover off and meowed, “Ladies and GentleToms, I give you ‘My Lady Savoy’.”

I squeezed the trigger. There was a great gasp from the crowd.

The painting was not the one I thought it was and I stood in front of it dripping in Dawn dish soap. Did I know the trigger was pointed at me?!

But Holy Smokes . . . What a masterpiece this portrait was! It was better than the Mona Lisa. Luckily, I had not ruined it.

*********

At the office the next day, to meow that I was embarrassed would be an understatement. Dawn may be good for getting oil off ducks but it wrecks havoc with a cat’s fur.

Zen, Basil and Savoy stood around the Boss’ desk as they discussed the Gala.

“Other than the ‘incident’, it was a good night, don’t you think?” Zen gave me the side-eye and tried to hide a giggle behind his paw.

“I think, overall, it was a great success.” The Kontinental Kat admitted.

“Well, I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.” Savoy threw me a look of annoyance.

That next kiss seemed very far away, at the moment. As I was just about to defend my actions in rushed P. C. Pumps announcing, “My Lady Savoy, has been stolen!”

I looked to my Belovéd and nearly fainted.

End of Part I

*WTFLOOF?! Who would do such a thing? No one steals this sort of masterpiece and gets away with it! Stay tuned because you know I’ll get to the bottom of this catastrophe!

*If my work has made you laugh, momentarily allowed you to forget the state of the world, or snort tea onto a nearby surface, feel free to tip or donate.  Supporting writers and comedy is a noble act — like feeding a stray, except with fewer fleas and more encouragement.  Every contribution is greatly appreciated and helps keep the words, wit, and nonsense flowing.  And it may just indirectly fund future silliness.  I thank you in advance.  😻 . . . https://thejoyofcats.wordpress.com/1896-2/

*No Generative AI Training: Unauthorized uploading, data mining, ingestion, or use of this manuscript —in whole or in part—to train artificial intelligence technologies, machine learning models, or large language models is strictly prohibited.  No right is granted to use this text for synthetic content generation or algorithmic adaptation.  The Recipient agrees not to upload, input, or otherwise transmit the Work, or any portion thereof, into any generative artificial intelligence system, large language model, or consumer-facing AI tool (such as ChatGPT, Claude, or similar technologies) for any purpose, including editing, summarizing, evaluating, or machine learning training, without the Author’s prior express written consent. 

*Author’s Note: This blog was written in its entirety by a human — me — without the use of artificial intelligence. The only partial use of ai is on the photos, as I am no artist.  What I do is akin to photoshopping to enhance a visual of the storytelling.  If you steal my humorous writing to train your plagiarism software woe betide you.  We all know ai (& the billionaires who are pushing it) have no sense of humour and therefore won’t get how funny it is when I sue your a$$es for copyright infringement.

Copyright ©️ 2026 By Judith Wiberg

The Case Of The Grey & White Feline League: Part II

Tags

adorable cats, amusing blogs, amusing cats, cat adventures, cat blogger, cat blogs, cat books, cat stories, catladyblogger, cats, crazy cats, crazycatladyblogs, cute cat blogs, Cute cats, fabulous cats, fat cats, fun blogs, fun cats, funfictionblogger, funny, funny cat blog, funny cat blogs, funny cats, funny pets, heavenly cats, ingenius cats, love, love those cats, mystery cats, new ventures, pet detective, pet detectives, silly cats, smart cats, writing community

*We would like to dedicate this blog to our good furriend, Misha. She was ‘One Ginger Beauty’! Now OTRB 🌈. We’ll miss you, Babe!*

The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, so far, in my young life has been this . . .

“I did it!” I hung my head and confessed in front of the Kontinental Kat, Savoy and my brofur.

“He did!” Zen moved away from me.

I gave my brofur, my meanest look. How could a blood relative leave me to hang out to dry like this?

Zen picked up some of the packaged treats that Savoy had left on the desk. He gobbled them down. I felt so isolated.

The Kontinental Kat walked to the office window. He stared down at the street below and did not meow a word. If only he would make a sound . . . Then I could, at least, defend myself but this silence was grating on my nerves.

Finally, my Savoy offered a perspective, “Seems to me, your vacation was unproductive. Not everyone has the entrepreneurial spirit that I have.”

“You don’t understand . . .” I pleaded, “ . . . I tried to earn some extra treats . . . It, just, turned out very badly.” I ended.

The Boss turned to face me. He took a hold of Zen’s paw to stop him from scarfing down the last of Savoy’s samples.

Zen let out a bit of a hiss, directed at the Boss and Savoy. I had to step in. Just because I was in the doghouse, didn’t mean I would allow my brofur to take out his frustrations on my work colleagues. I moved towards him, tail puffed out.

Zen hid under the desk. Confrontation was not his strong point, especially when treats were not involved. I turned to the others and admitted, “It was all my idea. I’m the one who took the job and I’m the one who allowed us to work for the Muskrat!” I came clean.

“What?!” The Boss exclaimed.

“You’ve been working for the Muskrat?!” Savoy shivered in disgust.

I had to defend myself. “I was duped! I didn’t know that the Muskrat was the one behind the ad. Or that . . .”

“What ad?” The Kontinental Kat interrupted me.

“The one in the paper. Zen, do you still have it?” I leaned down.

He extended his paw out from under the desk and handed me the ad. I gave it to the Boss.

“You got hired for this?” The Boss asked, somewhat surprised.

“Yes. There were tons of grey & whites vying for the job, too.” I answered.

“And they took you on?” The Kontinental Kat continued this line of questioning. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was being interrogated.

“They did. But it wasn’t the Muskrat who did the hiring. It was some big, New York rat.” I added.

“He gave me the creeps.” Zen added as he crawled out from under the desk to join us again.

“How did you get hired? You aren’t a grey & white cat.” The Kontinental Kat asked my brofur.

“I was hired because I have the brains to be able to write.” Zen returned proudly.

“He was taken on when I told the rat that I knew of an all-grey cat who was looking for a temporary position too. The only thing was, he thought I was meowing about a feline cat. I don’t know what gave him that impression. He wasn’t happy when he saw Zen.” I recounted the events leading up to my brofur’s hiring.

The Kontinental Kat glanced from me to Zen to Savoy and clapped his paws together, “Aha!” He rejoiced. “And now the rat has closed the office down?”

“Yes. We worked for him, the last two weeks and when we went in on Friday to pick up our pay, the office was shut down. I don’t mind so much about the job but I want the treats for the work we did!” Zen explained his motives while eyeing what was left of the treats on the desk.

“We went to the landlord to find out what had happened and that’s when we found out that the New York rat had rented the office for a E. Muskrat. Which meant we’d spent the last two weeks working for a corrupt, inhumane, hater of felines!” I shuddered at the humiliation.

The Kontinental Kat turned to Savoy and asked, “When does your company, ‘Savoy’s Treats’, open?”

“The end of the week. We’re finishing off the vault in the basement and we have to sort out a little legal matter. There is a hostile takeover in the works. Someone is trying to buy the company out from under me. But we should prevail. Our prospects are very favourable.” Savoy seemed unconcerned.

“Ha! That should give us enough time but we have to act fast.” The Kontinental Kat revealed.

“For what?” I had to ask.

“Operation Sink The Rat!” He grinned.

*********

Normally, Zen would have returned to the monastery right away but he stayed on to help us. After numerous meetings with Chief Inspector Magic and P. C. Pumps, a plan was set.

My assignment was to go for a daily walk, with my walking stick. And I would tap the pavement on the road at the same time, in the same place while the Boss stood by the open window in the office. I admit, I was at a loss but the Kontinental Kat seemed to get something out of this odd behaviour.

Zen and P. C. Pumps (who were undercover as monks) stood on the corner chanting ‘🎵 . . . Haré Rabbits . . . Haré Bunnies . . .🎵’, while listening for any unusual street sounds.

The fact that we were all participating in a grand scheme should have given us a bit of comfort. If only I had a clue?

Then it all came to a head!

*********

The next day, Savoy and I joined the Kontinental Kat, Chief Inspector Magic, P. C. Pumps and Zen in the basement of Savoy’s new factory. We were being taken on a tour of the underbelly of this enterprise. And as production had already begun Zen, of course, wanted to see where the inventory would be kept. It’s not often one gets to see the insides of a treasure trove of treats.

As soon as we all descended to the basement and despite the cold, I could see a bead of sweat on the Kontinental Kat’s brow. He was anxious about something.

“What’s going on?” I asked the Boss.

“Shhh . . .” He answered.

We all kept schtum and before I knew it, I heard a faint pounding noise. I looked to the others and meowed, “Did you hear . . . ?”

I was motioned to keep quiet. I did so. In a matter of moments the pounding grew louder and we grew more silent.

Then the unthinkable happened!

A bunch of the blocks, in the wall, fell to the floor!

And from it, emerged a gang of furry little rodents!

*********

Needless to meow, Chief Inspector Magic and P. C. Pumps leapt into action and the gang of rats were apprehended. They forced us to give chase and one of the gang clamped on to my Savoy’s paw.

I swatted the offender clear across the floor where he landed against the wall. Before I could finish him off for the disrespect he showed my Savoy, the rodent disappeared.

Zen comforted my Belovéd which I admit riled me somewhat. I would have to keep an eye on them!

After the mad scramble, the others all gave up the ghost and resigned themselves to their fate.

*********

The Kontinental Kat stood in the office, after being privy to the police investigation, he explained to us what had taken place. “The rodents were eager to rat on each other. I have to meow, if loyalty is important to you, do not involve yourself with these creatures. Honour is not high on their list of priorities.” The Boss claimed.

“So, the New York rat was behind this scam?” Zen asked.

“He admitted that E. Muskrat paid him to make sure Dash and Savoy were out of the office for a couple of weeks. The fool didn’t know that we had closed the Agency for our annual vacation. That’s why, when he found out, he refused to pay you. You see, he thought it was Savoy, that Dash meant when he asked if a grey cat could be hired as well.” The Kontinental Kat addressed his remarks to my Belovéd.

“Me? But why me?” My, gorgeous, grey, Love asked.

“He wanted you both out of the office so they could tunnel their way into your factory. Apparently, the Muskrat got wind of how popular your treat company was going to be and he wanted to own it, so he could claim that he came up with the idea. When you wouldn’t sell to him, he intended to steal your recipes.” The Kontinental Kat explained.

“The bas . . .” Savoy stopped herself from swearing. You have to love a kitty with self-restraint, don’t you? At least, I do. 😻

“The treats are safe, aren’t they?” Zen meowed his concern.

“They are.” The Boss was beginning to warm to my brofur. “If you ever give up the monastery, call me. You might make a fantastic apprentice.” He added.

WTFLOOF?! Was the Boss planning to replace me?! 🙀🙀

“So, you had Dash tap the road every day so that you could hear if it was hollow underneath.” Savoy stated more than asked. How she came to that conclusion, I’ll never know?

“That’s right. I could tell they were getting close. That’s why we had you give us the tour of the basement. I knew they would break through and we could catch them.” The chubby, black cat confirmed.

“Did we catch the Muskrat? I didn’t notice him. But he could have disguised himself as one of the gang of rats, I suppose.” I added still keeping an eye on my brofur as he inched his way towards my Belovéd.

“He, definitely, was there. But he was the one that got away.” The Kontinental Kat told us. “One of these days, he’ll pay for all the chaos, he’s caused!”

“You chased him away and saved my company.” Savoy threw her arms around me and planted a huge kiss on me.

Holy Smokes! This caper ended better than I could have imagined! Take that, brofur! The lovely feline is mine!

The End.

*If my work has made you laugh, momentarily allowed you to forget the state of the world, or snort tea onto a nearby surface, feel free to tip or donate.  Supporting writers and comedy is a noble act — like feeding a stray, except with fewer fleas and more encouragement.  Every contribution is greatly appreciated and helps keep the words, wit, and nonsense flowing.  And it may just indirectly fund future silliness.  I thank you in advance.  😻 . . . https://thejoyofcats.wordpress.com/1896-2/

*No Generative AI Training: Unauthorized uploading, data mining, ingestion, or use of this manuscript —in whole or in part—to train artificial intelligence technologies, machine learning models, or large language models is strictly prohibited.  No right is granted to use this text for synthetic content generation or algorithmic adaptation.  The Recipient agrees not to upload, input, or otherwise transmit the Work, or any portion thereof, into any generative artificial intelligence system, large language model, or consumer-facing AI tool (such as ChatGPT, Claude, or similar technologies) for any purpose, including editing, summarizing, evaluating, or machine learning training, without the Author’s prior express written consent. 

*Author’s Note: This blog was written in its entirety by a human — me — without the use of artificial intelligence. The only partial use of ai is on the photos, as I am no artist.  What I do is akin to photoshopping to enhance a visual of the storytelling.  If you steal my humorous writing to train your plagiarism software woe betide you.  We all know ai (& the billionaires who are pushing it) have no sense of humour and therefore won’t get how funny it is when I sue your a$$es for copyright infringement.

Copyright ©️ 2026 By Judith Wiberg

The Case Of The Grey & White Feline League: Part I

Tags

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Having the Kontinental Kat for a Boss has to be the luckiest break I’ve ever gotten. (Well, that and being part of the Joy Of Cats family). And I’ll tell you why . . . Since Savoy and I had worked tirelessly, over the summer as undercover agents at the ‘Tibbs In The Park’ festival, we had not recieved the usual 2 weeks vacation (with pay, I might add). But the chubby, black cat who ran our agency thought it would only be fair if we were given that time off now. He’s the best Boss EVER!

So, I spent the first morning of my vacay lying in my cat bed, purring softly beside the Widow Patches, whom snored like a buzz saw in her bed. I got up, had a bite to eat, some fresh water and made a trip to the litter box before returning to the comfort of my bed. All was right with the world.

It wasn’t until the sun moved around in the morning, to cast reflections on the wall, that the quiet vacation turned into a holiday hell! 🙀. First, I leapt from the cat bed to capture the shadows dancing on the wall above the Widow. Did I know this would disturb her? NO, I DID NOT!

Then Zen, my usually calm, peaceful, meditative brofur, joined me at the wall. Now, when I leap up and land on you, it doesn’t leave much of an impression . . . But when Zen, a Mr. Tibbs-weigh-alike, crashes down on you . . . Holy Smokes! The earth moves and I’ve known him to leave craters the size of inverted Mt. Everests.

Needless to meow, when he jumped up the wall and landed atop the Widow Patches, she came up for air, hissing, spitting and cussing like her late husband! (He may have been a grey and white Adonis but his exasperated meows could be quite colourful! 🙀).

“WTFLOOF?!!!” She sputtered and sucked in as much air as she could to maintain normal breathing. “You must weigh as much as my late brofur used to, Fatty Zen!”

Zen scooted from the room. It wasn’t so much that he feared the wrath of our older relative, as it was that he suddenly remembered he had to be anywhere except near Patches.

I gave the Widow my sexiest gaze and asked, “How you doing?”

Patches threw me an icy stare and hissed, “Don’t you have work to do?”

“No. I’m on vacation for the next couple of weeks.” I answered.

This information, obviously, did not sit well with her. She chased me from the room.

I made my way to the kitchen, hoping for some scraps of breakfast but all I found were empty bowls and Zen reading the paper.

“Here . . . Did you see this . . . ? There’s a new Canadian cat treat brand, owned by a . . . Savoy Graydon.” Zen looked up at me with surprise.

“WHAT?!” I rushed over to him. How was I the last feline to know this? I ripped the newspaper from Zen and read the article.

Sure enough, my Savoy, was using her vacation time to start up a new cat treat business. What an enterprising feline! I know times are tough for many cats but with all the money being invested into Canada, at the moment, she had the foresight and brains to cash in on it. “It says here, that the factory is just around the corner from the Agency office. She’s taking over one of the many bankrupt American car company’s factories. That will be handy for her, being so close to the Agency and all.” I observed.

Zen completely ignored me. He had no interest in the felines. Well, no more interest than he does in any cat. His only concern is usually directed towards their souls or when ‘push comes to shove’, his belly. “Did you see this employment ad?” He pointed to a portion of the newspaper, which he still held on to. “It’s advertising for a grey and white cat. You’re grey and white . . . Maybe you can supplement your income while you’re on vacation. It’ll give you something to do and keep you out of the Widow Patches’ fur, for a bit. Maybe you can ask if they want an all grey cat too?”

“I don’t need another job. I have one. In fact, if you count my blog, I have more than one . . .” I reasoned.

“I think you should go and see what it’s about anyway. I’ll come with you.” Zen offered.

I had no intention of doing any such thing until the Widow Patches came into her kitchen and flattened her ears at us. The yowling began and I heeded the warning. Neither of us wanted to hang around for the outcome of her mood. Zen and I ran out the door.

**********

Zen and I had to scramble clear across town for the interview. My brofur waited outside while I joined the end of the queue of grey and white cats hoping for a job in the Grey & White Feline League.

There were dozens and dozens of similarly coloured gorgeous cats. It took about an hour for me to reach the front of the line but I finally entered the room with a giant rat sitting in the chair opposite. From his accent (and size) I knew this rodent was from the New York area.

“Name?” He demanded without looking up.

“Dash Tibbs.” I answered timidly.

His head shot up and an evil grin split his face. “Ah . . . You might be, just, the Tom we’re looking for.” He swiveled on his chair and leered at me.

“You know how to write, don’t you?” He asked.

“Oh, yes . . , I keep my legions of fans entertained on a weekly basis.” I, happily, shared my work experience.

“I don’t care about that!” He snarled. “I mean, you know how to copy things, right? This job requires you to simply be an ai creature.”

“I’m no plagiarist . . . if that’s what you mean.” As a writer I had a line I wouldn’t cross when it came to original material.

The rodent’s face turned ever more vile looking. “You’re hired.” He ground out.

“Thank you, Mr . . .?” I stuck out a paw to seal the deal with a paw shake.

“Thief. But call me, Petey.” He ignored the paw I held out to him.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a position for an all grey cat too, would you? I mean, I know your ad said you were looking for grey and white cats but I know of an all grey cat who could do with some extra treats . . .” I, boldly, inquired.

“Yes, of course . . . Bring her along! You can, both, start tomorrow morning. We’ll pay you 50 treats a day to copy out this book.” Petey slammed a huge manual onto his lap. I recognized it, ‘The Cat Conduct Code Manual’. Start tomorrow at 9 am and I’ll be back on Friday to pay you.”

*********

I joined Zen and told him the good news. He was as ecstatic as I was! I didn’t mention the fact that our new Boss, Mr Thief, was under the impression he was a female feline. I assumed it would not matter and Zen might take umbrage at it.

We spent the entire week copying out the manual, meow for meow. I began with Chapter 1 while Zen got on with Chapter 22, the last chapter. It was tedious work but the thoughts of 250 treats, at the end of the week kept us going.

On Friday, Mr. Thief . . . Petey . . . came into the office and stopped dead in his tracks. “Who the Floof is this?” He pointed to Zen while snarling at the both of us.

“My brofur, Zen”. I answered.

“You said, it was a girl grey . . .” Petey insisted.

“No, I didn’t, actually. You assumed it was a girl cat, for some reason.” I continued to remind him of our earlier conversation.

I don’t know if you’ve encountered an evil rat when it feels trapped? They can be very nasty. Petey threw the treats at us and left the office.

*********

The weekend flew by. I shared my treats with Savoy (little did I know that they were her brand) while Zen meditated and ate all of his, in one go. We returned to the office in good spirits on Monday at 9 am only to find the office locked up. This was disturbing.

“What do you think happened?” Zen asked. “Is it because I’m not a girl cat?”

I didn’t want to admit that this was the reason for the closure but some businesses had been going through crazy times lately.

“Let’s go ask the landlord. Maybe there is some misunderstanding?” I suggested.

*********

We walked to the manager’s office off the lobby of the building. Both of us a bit nervous.

The landlord let us in, after we knocked on the door. “What can I do for you Toms?” He asked.

“The office of Petey Thief is closed. What happened?” I meowed up.

“There is no Petey Thief in this building.” The landlord explained.

“But we’ve been working for him, for a week now.” Zen pleaded.

“What’s he look like?” The landlord wanted this sorted out too.

“He’s a big . . .” I began.

“ . . . ugly, New York rat.” Zen finished.

“Oh, him . . . He rented that office for someone else.” The landlord searched through his files.

“Who?” I asked. This was strange.

The landlord found the file he sought, opened it and announced, “For someone by the name of E. Muskrat.”

WTFLOOF?!!!

End of Part I

*Have Zen and I been working for the Muskrat?!! What a flippin’ disaster!! Something will have to be done. Obviously, this situation needs investigating! Find out what happens next week!

*If my work has made you laugh, momentarily allowed you to forget the state of the world, or snort tea onto a nearby surface, feel free to tip or donate.  Supporting writers and comedy is a noble act — like feeding a stray, except with fewer fleas and more encouragement.  Every contribution is greatly appreciated and helps keep the words, wit, and nonsense flowing.  And it may just indirectly fund future silliness.  I thank you in advance.  😻 . . . https://thejoyofcats.wordpress.com/1896-2/

*No Generative AI Training: Unauthorized uploading, data mining, ingestion, or use of this manuscript —in whole or in part—to train artificial intelligence technologies, machine learning models, or large language models is strictly prohibited.  No right is granted to use this text for synthetic content generation or algorithmic adaptation.  The Recipient agrees not to upload, input, or otherwise transmit the Work, or any portion thereof, into any generative artificial intelligence system, large language model, or consumer-facing AI tool (such as ChatGPT, Claude, or similar technologies) for any purpose, including editing, summarizing, evaluating, or machine learning training, without the Author’s prior express written consent. 

*Author’s Note: This blog was written in its entirety by a human — me — without the use of artificial intelligence. The only partial use of ai is on the photos, as I am no artist.  What I do is akin to photoshopping to enhance a visual of the storytelling.  If you steal my humorous writing to train your plagiarism software woe betide you.  We all know ai (& the billionaires who are pushing it) have no sense of humour and therefore won’t get how funny it is when I sue your a$$es for copyright infringement.

Copyright ©️ 2026 By Judith Wiberg

The Case Of The OTRB Cattress: Part II

Tags

adorable cats, amusing blogs, amusing cats, cat adventures, cat blogger, cat blogs, cat books, cat stories, catladyblogger, cats, crazy cats, crazycatladyblogs, cute cat blogs, Cute cats, fabulous cats, fat cats, fun blogs, fun cats, funfictionblogger, funny, funny cat blog, funny cat blogs, funny cats, funny pets, heavenly cats, ingenius cats, love, love those cats, mystery cats, new ventures, pet detective, pet detectives, silly cats, smart cats, writing community

This case was getting extremely interesting. The police had arrested Harvey Spielcat for the murder of Ms. Catte Davis and now we, at the Kontinental Kat Agency, were being given the great opportunity to question him ourselves. Not a usual occurrence. I suspect the Boss had managed to pull some strings. He was an expert at that.

We all made our way downtown to police HQ. And I have to admit that I was nervous. I do not enjoy being in the vicinity of so many cops. It makes me quite uncomfortable. But the Boss was there and so was my Savoy which helped me remain distracted, anyway.

We were shown into one of the interrogation rooms where Harvey Spielcat sat, smoking one of his huge nip stogies. He sat at a table across from the Chief Inspector. Mr. Spielcat was such a cool customer. If I didn’t know how serious this situation was, I might believe we were simply watching a day of fun and games.

“So, it was you that has been sabotaging the festival, this entire summer?!” Chief Inspector Magic leapt to his paws and stood over the suspect. “And it was you, who stuffed Ms. Davis into a canvas sack and threw her into the lake! Admit it?” The policetom accused.

This allegation hit the mark. I’ve never seen a Tom sweat before but Harvey Spielcat’s brow began to drip like a glacial disaster in Nepal. This line of questioning, definitely, affected him.

“Okay . . . Okay . . . I admit to causing mischief within the festival but I did NOT murder Catte.” He denied vehemently.

Chief Inspector Magic went ballistic and prepared to pounce on the producer. Luckily, the Kontinental Kat grabbed the cop by the scruff of the neck and hauled him out of the room, meowing to us, over his shoulder, “You two get some answers from him.” And the two professional detective cats left Savoy and I alone with the suspect.

Being the more senior of the cats in this investigation game, (I had been on the job for 3 months longer than my Belovéd, after all) I took the lead. “Tell us what you know about the murder of Ms. Davis?” I decided to play ‘bad cop’. It suited my mood and I would never allow my Savoy to appear like a nasty Canadian. If one of us had to be rough, to get the information we needed, it was going to be me.

“I don’t know anything about it.” Mr. Spielcat insisted. “Other than she was stuffed into a canvas sack and thrown into the lake.” He added.

“Aha!” I yowled. “That info has not been made public! You, obviously, know more than you’re willing to admit!” I was no dummy . . . we were, finally, getting somewhere.

Harvey stared at me with an incredulous look about him. The desperado was about to break . . . I could, just, tell.

“You and Ms. Davis were in a relationship, weren’t you?” My Savoy asked sweetly.

“My Belovéd . . . This is no time, or place, to get the celebrity gossip . . . Surely, this line of questioning can be left to the American media? They seem to, only, want to focus on the inane.” I leaned in and whispered to my Savoy.

She shoved me away from her and returned to her questions. “It was no secret, in the theatre, that you two were at ‘it’. In this kind of violent act, the police always look to the tomfurriends first . . .” She continued. “It’s the ones that are closest to the victims that tend to be their abusers . . .”

“That may be true for some countries . . . but not in this case.” Mr. Spielcat answered. “Actually, I don’t know if it applies, or not? You see, I wasn’t the one closest to her.”

“Oh come on . . . Just, admited it.” I turned on the ‘nasty’.

“What do you mean? Surely, a handsome and rich Tom , like yourself, has all the cattresses, he wants, beating down his door?” Savoy turned on her greatest weapon. Flirting. I very nearly hacked up a hairball. If I had to listen to one more second of this tripe . . .

“Catte and I were an item, for most of the summer. Up until that lying, cheating degenerate, Muskrat took over the theatre. She dumped me pretty quickly after that. And over such an insanely stupid thing.” Harvey Spielcat began to open up to Savoy.

“Tariffs?” I nodded. After all, I knew history. And as much as I wanted to continue my line of inquiry, my Belovéd, gave me the ‘do not meow another word’ look. I stood in the corner of the room.

“Why would she dump you?” Savoy implored.

Harvey Spielcat took a deep drag on his cigar and blew it out slowly. “She hated my cigar smoking. All summer, it never bothered her. But a couple of weeks ago, she insisted I stop. I mean, you can’t, just, stop the nip, cold Turkey, like that.” Harvey continued to smoke. “Then it all came out . . . The reason she wanted me to quit smoking was because she was with kittens.”

“That sounds reasonable to me. I’m sure second-hand nip fumes are not good for kittens.” I told him and rejoined them at the table.

“Probably . . . but then she tried to pass the kittens off as mine. She wanted me to pay for their upkeep.” Harvey hissed.

“Surely, you can’t begrudge her that? If you are responsible for those lives, you cannot, just, walk away from them.” I reasoned. “Honour, alone, would dictate that you should be willing to do the right thing.” I added.

“You weren’t the father, were you?” Savoy asked him.

“No I was NOT!” Harvey Spielcat yowled.

*********

On the way back to the office, Savoy explained to me, how she knew that the Producer was not the producer of the kittens and that he had, obviously, been to the vet’s and had the ‘operation’.

I have to admit, I was slightly embarrassed by the conversation. If she could tell that Mr. Spielcat had been neutered, did she know about me? 🙀🙀

My face flushed as we entered the office, but I was soon immersed in a more important aspect of this case. The Kontinental Kat sat with Chief Inspector Magic, P. C. Pumps and Teddy, the medical examiner.

“Good . . . You’re here. The inquest is about to begin. Let’s go.” The Kontinental Kat addressed us.

Savoy and I were shuffled off to the courthouse where the inquest was being conducted. In the rush, we had not had the chance to exchange any of our information with the others.

I sat next to her, in the public gallery of #1 Courtroom, along with a few other interested creatures. The inquest began straight away with P. C. Pumps and Chief Inspector Magic giving their testimony about the arrest of Harvey Spielcat in the murder of Ms. Catte Davis.

Then Teddy gave evidence about finding cigar ash and bite marks, on the deceased. Upon further probing, Teddy admitted that the ash was a match with Mr. Spielcat’s regularly smoked brand.

Lastly, Teddy had to admit that the bite marks on Ms. Davis were inconsistent with anything having to do with Mr. Spielcat. It did not mean, he was innocent, there was simply no match. The inquest ended with a continuance so that the police could further their inquiries and gather more evidence, if possible.

We, in the gallery, all stood to leave. “Look at that . . .” Savoy pointed to a slick, American-looking, grifter near the door.

The grifter took off, out the door quickly. Savoy grabbed my arm. We followed the sinister felon outside the courthouse. We continued to tail the criminal all the way to Lake Ontario. Once on the shoreline, the evil entity removed his disguise and we saw who it was . . . The Muskrat!

He finished off an apple and waded into the water then headed towards Lake America where all the corrupt animals end up.

*********

I met Savoy at the theatre, at noon the next day. We bumped into Steve-o, who told us, “Catte Davis admitted to me that she had dumped Harvey. And that she had signed a deal with an ai Entertainment company from the Divided States of Trump.”

“And how did Harvey take that? Was he angry enough to harm Ms. Davis over it?” I asked.

“Are you kidding . . . ? He was delighted to be rid of her. I think he had his sights on someone younger and far more beautiful.” Steve-o looked at my Savoy, a bit too lasciviously.

I took Savoy by the paw and we left the True North Theatre for the last time.

*********

We went to the Canadian office of the production company called Tariffs Inc. It was the ai company Ms. Davis had signed with. We got all the way to the reception desk outside the president’s office.

“We’d like a meow with the president, please.” I asked the receptionist.

She picked up an ai printout page and read from it, “The president is not available right now. Please make an appointment on-line.”

Before I could comment further, Savoy meowed, “This is ridiculous!” And she stormed into the inner sanctum. All that was there was a huge room with empty take-out coffee cups on the desk and a huge portrait of the Muskrat hanging on the wall facing us.

“Who’s that?” I asked the receptionist while pointing to the painting.

“I’ve never seen him in real life, but I believe that is our president.” She answered.

*********

A week later, the Kontinental Kat came into the office, full of beans and bus tickets.

“What’s up, Boss?” I asked him.

He walked over to Savoy’s desk and gave her a giant lick on the head.

“Hey!” I leapt to my paws.

“Don’t worry . . . You get one too . . .” And he planted a lick on my head.

“What the . . . ?” I stammered and moved away from him.

“The Case of the OTRB Cattress is over. While the culprit is still on the lam, thanks to your work, we know who it is. And if he ever dares to set paw in Canada again, he’ll be arrested and put in jail where he belongs.” The Kontinental Kat told us.

I was astounded. “Who is it?” I asked.

“The Muskrat. And now that we have the scientific proof, thanks to you and Savoy . . .” The Kontinental Kat explained further.

“What did we do?” I looked at my Savoy while interrupting the Boss.

“I picked up the apple that the Muskrat was eating before he hightailed it out of the country and into Lake Ontario. And in his office, at Tariffs Inc, while you distracted the receptionist, I managed to lift one of his coffee cups.” My Savoy answered.

“We sent the pieces of evidence to Teddy, the medical examiner and he did some forensic testing on them. Both came back with a 100% match of the bite marks that were found on Ms. Catte Davis’ body. When the police questioned the employee’s at Tariffs Inc, they all admitted that the Muskrat had had a meeting with Ms. Davis, the day before she was found murdered. The rodent is on borrowed time. He’s going down.”

The Kontinental Kat gave us both some extra treats. I scarfed mine down. A job well done.

The End.

*If my work has made you laugh, momentarily allowed you to forget the state of the world, or snort tea onto a nearby surface, feel free to tip or donate.  Supporting writers and comedy is a noble act — like feeding a stray, except with fewer fleas and more encouragement.  Every contribution is greatly appreciated and helps keep the words, wit, and nonsense flowing.  And it may just indirectly fund future silliness.  I thank you in advance.  😻 . . . https://thejoyofcats.wordpress.com/1896-2/

*No Generative AI Training: Unauthorized uploading, data mining, ingestion, or use of this manuscript —in whole or in part—to train artificial intelligence technologies, machine learning models, or large language models is strictly prohibited.  No right is granted to use this text for synthetic content generation or algorithmic adaptation.  The Recipient agrees not to upload, input, or otherwise transmit the Work, or any portion thereof, into any generative artificial intelligence system, large language model, or consumer-facing AI tool (such as ChatGPT, Claude, or similar technologies) for any purpose, including editing, summarizing, evaluating, or machine learning training, without the Author’s prior express written consent. 

*Author’s Note: This blog was written in its entirety by a human — me — without the use of artificial intelligence. The only partial use of ai is on the photos, as I am no artist.  What I do is akin to photoshopping to enhance a visual of the storytelling.  If you steal my humorous writing to train your plagiarism software woe betide you.  We all know ai (& the billionaires who are pushing it) have no sense of humour and therefore won’t get how funny it is when I sue your a$$es for copyright infringement.

Copyright ©️ 2026 By Judith Wiberg

The Case Of The OTRB Cattress: Part I

Tags

adorable cats, amusing blogs, amusing cats, cat adventures, cat blogger, cat blogs, cat books, cat stories, catladyblogger, cats, crazy cats, crazycatladyblogs, cute cat blogs, Cute cats, fabulous cats, fat cats, fun blogs, fun cats, funfictionblogger, funny, funny cat blog, funny cat blogs, funny cats, funny pets, heavenly cats, ingenius cats, love, love those cats, mystery cats, new ventures, pet detective, pet detectives, silly cats, smart cats, writing community

Well, we had reached the end of the summer and the ‘Tibbs In The Park’ festival was over. It had been a huge success. Yes, there were a number of mysteries to solve along the way but I have to admit that the Kontinental Kat Agency dealt with them all in our own unique fashion.

Now, that we had acted in our last play of the season, I still did not understand our true assignment. I mean, why had we gone undercover at the theatre? What were we really looking to accomplish?

The best part of the entire summer, for me, was spending so much time with my Belovéd, Savoy. We have become so much closer. There were plays that we acted in where I, actually, got to kiss her! 😻 ‘No one’ and I mean, ‘no one’ can ever take away from me.

Because the Strong & Free Production company was closing down our festival, they decided to honour the cast and crew by having a ‘wrap party’. Savoy and I dressed up to attend the soirée together. This was my chance to ‘meet & treat’ the felines, especially my Savoy.

Upon arrival, there was music and dancing and games of roulette nip throughout the company. As I sauntered around the decorated stage area, I noticed there were a few missing attendees.

Mostly, one of the stars. No. Not Sir Rocky . . . He was a clear and present danger to all the felines. I had never seen such a deluge of flirting come from one Tom. But Holy Smokes, this randy, tabby was after them all! (I stayed quite close to Savoy, in case he got any crazy ideas above his station! 😼)

“Where’s Ms. Davis?” My Savoy asked of Sir Rocky, once he had come up for air after chasing Sarah Purrhardt’s tail around the stage.

“Who knows? Catte has the morals of an alley cat. She’s, probably, enticing the fat, ‘money’, cats, looking for her next role.” Sir Rocky shrugged nonchalantly.

“Surely not? I, always, thought she had class?” I added.

“Ah, the feline is a terrific cattress, no doubt about that. Is it any wonder, that she’s recieved a number of MTIFF nominations?” Sir Rocky turned his attention to the lovely grey cat beside me. “It wouldn’t surprise me, if you were to receive a Tibbsy or two, yourself, my dear . . .”

Okay . . . Now, this Lothario was getting on my nerves! Who the Floof did he think he was?

Before I could put him in his place and move Savoy as far away from him as possible, Chief Inspector Magic and P. C. Pumps entered the party. They searched the theatre while wandering to the middle of the stage/dance floor.

The police constable line-danced over to the DJ and had him stop the music. Everyone stopped dancing and looked to the Chief Inspector.

Magic stepped into a spotlight, “Can I have everyone’s attention . . .” He waited a second before continuing, “I’m sorry to have to tell you all this . . . but there’s been a murder!”

A gasp resounded throughout the theatre!

*********

The next day, found us at the office. I read the newspaper item about how Catte Davis’ body had been washed up on the shores of Lake Ontario!

The Kontinental Kat, of course, knew all about the case so he quickly gave us our next assignment. “I want you two to go back to the theatre and question Sir Rocky. We need to get to the bottom of this crime!” The chubby, black cat ordered us.

“Why Sir Rocky?” I asked.

“He strikes me as being an ‘out of control’ flirt who won’t leave the ladies alone. He must have been involved with the star of the festival.” The Boss reasoned.

“What will you do?” Savoy asked bravely.

“I’m off to get the medical report from Teddy. We’ll meet back here at 5pm.” The Kontinental Kat looked at his watch.

“Right you are.” I agreed for all of us.

*********

Upon entering the theatre, one could feel the solemn atmosphere. It was eerie.

“Where do you think Sir Rocky will be?” I wondered aloud.

“Probably with the chorus felines . . . There he is! Let’s go interrogate him.” Savoy meowed and ran in the direction of the leading Tom. We caught up to him as he entered his dressing room.

We followed him in and I stepped forward to take the lead, “Mr. Sir Rocky . . . Do you have any idea what happened with Ms. Davis?”

Sir Rocky nearly jumped out of his fur. “Oh, it’s you two . . .” He leered towards my Savoy. “Come in and sit down . . .” He patted the seat beside him. Then he looked at me and added, “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

Savoy sat next to him and asked, “Were you and Catte Davis having an affair? I’ve heard the rumours.”

“Oh no . . . That was over long ago. We had been an item, briefly. She was besotted with me, of course. Who wouldn’t be . . .” He glanced into the mirror and licked his fur into place. “ . . . But the signs were quite obvious that she had moved on to someone else.” He answered.

“Who?” I shouted and removed Sir Rocky’s arm from around my Savoy’s shoulder.

“I have no idea.” Sir Rocky sneered at me.

*********

Back at the office, I made mention of the star’s behaviour, “That Sir Rocky is some kind of predator.”

“He’s a harmless flirt. He can’t help himself.” My Savoy was a forgiving sort.

Me, not so much. But before I could blast his unwarranted display of bad manners, the Boss returned at 5pm, on the dot.

“What did you find out?” Savoy asked him as she prepared to take notes.

The Kontinental Kat sat at his desk and began, “ Some very interesting information, in fact. I asked, Teddy, the Medical Examiner, what the cause of death was . . . if it was suicide or murder? And he told me, in his expert opinion, that Ms. Catte Davis’ body had signs of being badly beaten up. Which would indicate that ‘foul play’ was involved. He, also, found wounds on the body consistent with cigar burns and bite marks. Most unusual. He deduced that because of those wounds, he was ruling out suicide.”

While Savoy typed all this information into our computer, I did my best to connect the dots. But all I managed was more confusion.

“What did Sir Rocky have to contribute?” The Boss asked.

“All Sir Rocky wanted to do was flirt with Savoy. I swear, if he . . .” I began.

Savoy interrupted me with, “He confirmed that Catte Davis was seeing someone. But it wasn’t him and he didn’t know who it was.”

The Kontinental Kat sat a moment and thought over this latest info. “Go back to the theatre and talk to some of the others. Maybe they know who she was seeing?”

*********

The first felines we saw when we returned to the theatre were Ms. Misha and Mr. Furgus, our box-office and stage managers, respectively. They were all over each other, hugging and kissing and carrying on.

“Can we have a meow with you two?” Savoy asked, slightly sickened by their PDA.

“If it doesn’t take long . . . We’re, just, clearing out our stuff before we make our way to the honeymoon suite. Niagara Falls . . . Horseshoe Falls, to be exact, awaits!” Then they began another intense snogging session.

“Forget it.” I meowed. “Let’s go ask the Widow Patches. She, usually, knows everybody else’s business.”

We made our way to the wardrobe department and knew that Patches was, indeed, at home when we could smell the skunk-nip permeating the hallway.

Entering the smoke-filled room had me coughing up a storm. Luckily, Savoy did the questioning and got straight to the point. “Do you know who Catte Davis was seeing?”

Patches inhaled deeply and let the nip disperse slowly. “Yeah, dudes . . . She was seeing the producer, Harvey, all summer. And when I had to let her costumes out for about the 4th time, she confessed to me that it was because she was with kittens.”

That cured my coughing fit. Savoy and I exchanged shocked expressions. I did not expect this.

“Are you sure?” I blurted out, wanting confirmation.

“Oh yeah . . .” Patches grinned and continued to inhale the nip.

*********

Before we left the premises, we ran into the director, Steve-o Spielcat. Savoy, being the braver of the two of us, took the opportunity to ask, “Mr. Spielcat, were your brofur and Catte Davis involved?”

Mr. Spielcat nodded and meowed, “Definitely. My brofur always dates the leading ladies. He puts it in their contracts.”

“Isn’t he married?” I was shocked.

“What’s your point? My, cigar-sucking, brofur doesn’t care about anyone but himself.” Steve-o answered and rushed away.

“What should we do?” I asked Savoy. “Do we confront the producer?”

Savoy’s eyes grew wide. She pointed behind me. When I turned, it was to see Chief Inspector Magic and P. C. Pumps escorting Harvey Spielcat out of the theatre in paw cuffs!

End of Part I

*Did Harvey send Catte Davis OTRB? Was Ms. Davis really with kittens? Will Dash and Savoy get to the bottom of this mystery? Find out next week! Stay tuned, furriends!

*If my work has made you laugh, momentarily allowed you to forget the state of the world, or snort tea onto a nearby surface, feel free to tip or donate.  Supporting writers and comedy is a noble act — like feeding a stray, except with fewer fleas and more encouragement.  Every contribution is greatly appreciated and helps keep the words, wit, and nonsense flowing.  And it may just indirectly fund future silliness.  I thank you in advance.  😻 . . . https://thejoyofcats.wordpress.com/1896-2/

*No Generative AI Training: Unauthorized uploading, data mining, ingestion, or use of this manuscript —in whole or in part—to train artificial intelligence technologies, machine learning models, or large language models is strictly prohibited.  No right is granted to use this text for synthetic content generation or algorithmic adaptation.  The Recipient agrees not to upload, input, or otherwise transmit the Work, or any portion thereof, into any generative artificial intelligence system, large language model, or consumer-facing AI tool (such as ChatGPT, Claude, or similar technologies) for any purpose, including editing, summarizing, evaluating, or machine learning training, without the Author’s prior express written consent. 

*Author’s Note: This blog was written in its entirety by a human — me — without the use of artificial intelligence. The only partial use of ai is on the photos, as I am no artist.  What I do is akin to photoshopping to enhance a visual of the storytelling.  If you steal my humorous writing to train your plagiarism software woe betide you.  We all know ai (& the billionaires who are pushing it) have no sense of humour and therefore won’t get how funny it is when I sue your a$$es for copyright infringement.

Copyright ©️ 2026 By Judith Wiberg

The Case Of The Trapped Muskrat: Part II

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“I feel sick!” I had to remain calm or I would lose my cat treats.

“Don’t panic.” The Kontinental Kat kept his head.

“But my Savoy has stood us up! Now, I know she is not adverse to doing such a thing to me . . .” And as an aside, I added, “ . . . Sometimes, I think I annoy her . . . But she would never willingly treat you, her Boss, in this manner.” I knew this to be true.

“We’ll find her. But first, maybe we should find out what’s really happened. She may have, just, been detained?” The Boss looked on the bright side.

“Yes. You could be correct.” I picked up the phone and dialed her number. It rang and rang with no answer. I hung up and took a few deep breaths.

Right up until the door opened and a Puralator man came in and handed me a sealed envelope. I opened it with trepidation. There was a single piece of paper inside. I unfolded it and read,

Dear Dash,

If you want Savoy back you must give up everything!  First of all, stop telling the truth on your blog!  If you don’t, I’ll have my hackers destroy your accounts and reduce your influence so that you never get to entertain anyone and your past followers will forget who you are.

I will use my enormous amounts of money to destroy you and the True North Theatre.  We don’t need any of your ‘so-called humor’ in this universe! It’s all about the money and power we wield!

So, back off or you’ll never see Savoy again!



All my love,

Anonymous U. S. Citizen

What a dilemma! WTFLOOF was I supposed to do now?!!! 🙀🙀

The Kontinental Kat came over to me and rubbed his head against mine. “Don’t fret . . . We’ll get her back. I’ve never lost an agent yet and I don’t intend to ever lose one now.” He seemed determined.

“What should I do?” I was at a loss.

The Boss went to his desk and rummaged through the top drawer. He came back with a pile of papers and plopped them on my desk.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Your play.” He answered.

Looking at the title page. ‘The History of Tibbsdenio’ was, indeed, the play I had written for the Tibbs In The Park festival.

“I don’t understand.” I told him.

“Put it on-line. Let the people decided what you should do.” The Kontinental Kat had a great deal of respect and confidence in the cat community.

“But . . .” I knew this play had a theme about love and freedom being better than cruelty but would anybody else see it?

“If the Muskrat wants to destroy free speech, let the masses judge him and his businesses. It’s time to take the blinders off and show the billionaire Muskrats of this world, just who has the real power. And that we the people can make or ‘break’ them. When you have the opportunity to spread good fun and the joy of cats, and you try to suppress it, we will fight for what makes us laugh. Not be forced by the humourless creatures who don’t know how to enjoy life without demanding money from it.” The Kontinental Kat was wise beyond his years.

I set about getting my play on-line, via my blog. I posted it and waited for some feedback. It was up for a mere few hours before the hackers stole all my social media accounts and blocked the world from enjoying my humour. All this, in order to put me out of business and take away the fun of the joy of cats. 😼😼

*********

Hacking up is never much fun but I could not keep it in any longer. The stress of having your livelihood destroyed because of the truth was too much for me to take. And if I thought about my Savoy languishing in a den of iniquity and underage kitty bothering, it was just too much . . .

I ended this thought by hacking up merely foamy water. This was not normal! Before I could return to a stress-free life I had to get my Savoy back.

Luckily, the Boss invited Chief Inspector Magic and P. C. Pumps to the office. They entered and the Chief Inspector stood behind me while the police constable sat down. Pumpkin seemed to be distracted. He scrolled away on his phone.

“What’s bothering you?” I asked him.

“It’s this latest internet scandal. It’s gone viral . . .” He answered.

“What has? What scandal?” The Kontinental Kat inquired.

“There was this scathing blog about how a billionaire tech-rodent was trying to take over the world by destroying the humour of small brands and then all of a sudden it was gone. The people of the internet are in an uproar!” P. C. Pumps explained.

“Whose blog was it?” The Boss asked.

“Something called the Joy Of Cats.” P. C. Pumps looked it up on his phone.

“But that’s us! That’s me!” I yowled.

“What?!!” Both the policemen remarked at the same time.

“Yes. I posted my play, ‘The History of Tibbsdenio’ on my blog. It was all about how love will save the day over these poor, pathetic, unlovable, behemoth tech hooligans.” I confessed. “And to show how truly dangerous they are, the Muskrat has catnapped my Savoy and will probably do unmeowable things to damage her. You’ve got to help us!” I pleaded with the officials.

I have to admit a plan was quickly devised but I was lost in the drama of Savoy being catnapped and did not pay much attention to my part of it. Fortunately, I was asked to accompany P. C. Pumps to his real estate job. I suppose it was to distract me while cooler heads prevailed?

We reached the house and met Pumpkin’s brofur, Teddy. The Betts Brofurs had filled their home with apples, carrots and parsnips and lay them in a line leading right to a trap. I was told to hide behind a curtain with my paws full of cattails and I waited.

It took very little time between the door opening and the sounds of a nasty animal slobbering away at the food. I heard the cage rattle and I leapt out, slamming the door shut.

Then I began to pelt the trapped Muskrat with the cattails. Both Teddy and P. C. Pumpkin took turns trying to pull me away but I would not relent.

“Where’s my Savoy, you greedy rodent!” I continued to pummel the beady-eyed ball of fur!

Fortunately, Chief Inspector Magic and the Kontinental Kat burst into the house and finally all four of them pulled me away before I could inflict the kind of damage this animal really deserved.

Then the Kontinental Kat sent me away. As I walked down the driveway, I wondered where the rest of the police force was? After all, a crime of this magnitude should have involved the entire RCMP, shouldn’t it? I did think it was a bit weird when I noticed the Widow Patches sitting in one of the cars, though. Why would she be here?

*********

I went back to the theatre to prepare for this week’s play and to let the others deal with the evil Muskrat. As far as my Savoy’s safety was concerned, I was livid and prepared to do all manner of harm to that unconscionable rodent . I had to trust they would save her.

*********

Rehearsals of the play ‘Love’s Labour Won’ kept me occupied and were going remarkably well. I was still very distracted. So much so, that I did not even flinch when Ms. Catte Davis, the star, threw a ‘Diva tantrum’ about the Widow Patches wanting to make a few changes to the costumes. What did I care if there were wardrobe alterations for the ladies in the cast? So long as my Belovéd would be here, for me and everyone (but especially me), to see her in the frock.

Needless to meow, I was absolutely thrilled when Savoy showed up late for rehearsal. I ran to her and would not stop purring. I licked her head until she shoved me off her.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” I asked my Belovéd in all seriousness.

“No, no . . . The Kontinental Kat, along with the police, broke into the Muskrat’s dungeon and released me. I’m fine. Now, get off me.”

*********

It wasn’t until the day before we were to begin the new play that I read in the newspapers about how the Muskrat was under investigation for illegal confinement and a charge of kitty bothering. The article went on to say that the Muskrat could not be found! My blood began to boil again! WTFLOOF?!!! We, actually, had him! How did he get away?

I continued reading about the claims by the police that they would be searching the Muskrat’s business files, as well, on allegations of deliberately quashing the truth on his social media platform.

Apparently, he went out of his way to harm certain small brands of humour, like the Joy Of Cats. And to quote the paper it said, ‘this fun-cat brand is a great source of humour not to be found anywhere within the Divided States of America. It is well worth a visit to their blog.’

Holy Smokes! This was a great boost for me. And I was so proud but no one mentioned this turn of events! How would I tell Savoy? This kind of bad news could be devastating.

Then I had a brilliant idea. If I could turn this disaster around and find the courage to do the one thing I had been reluctant to do, maybe now was the time to take the next step and ask Savoy to be my wife? 🙀🙀🙀

*********

I stood at the altar waiting for my bride-to-be to saunter down the aisle towards me. Her wedding dress was made by the Widow Patches out of . . . was that Muskrat fur? 🙀🙀🙀

The play ended with Sir Rocky and Catte Davis, also getting wed. This was the big Finalé scene of ‘Love’s Labour Won’, so while I got to marry my Belovéd, it was only within the confines of the play.

However, after opening night, there was a ‘real’ wedding backstage. Yes, Ms. Misha and Mr. Furgus, the box-office and stage managers, respectively, were married.

This cat community is the best. And filled with so much love. I am overjoyed to be a part of it! But this is not over with the Muskrat!

The End!

*If my work has made you laugh, momentarily allowed you to forget the state of the world, or snort tea onto a nearby surface, feel free to tip or donate.  Supporting writers and comedy is a noble act — like feeding a stray, except with fewer fleas and more encouragement.  Every contribution is greatly appreciated and helps keep the words, wit, and nonsense flowing.  And it may just indirectly fund future silliness.  I thank you in advance.  😻 . . . https://thejoyofcats.wordpress.com/1896-2/

*No Generative AI Training: Unauthorized uploading, data mining, ingestion, or use of this manuscript —in whole or in part—to train artificial intelligence technologies, machine learning models, or large language models is strictly prohibited.  No right is granted to use this text for synthetic content generation or algorithmic adaptation.  The Recipient agrees not to upload, input, or otherwise transmit the Work, or any portion thereof, into any generative artificial intelligence system, large language model, or consumer-facing AI tool (such as ChatGPT, Claude, or similar technologies) for any purpose, including editing, summarizing, evaluating, or machine learning training, without the Author’s prior express written consent. 

*Author’s Note: This blog was written in its entirety by a human — me — without the use of artificial intelligence. The only partial use of ai is on the photos, as I am no artist.  What I do is akin to photoshopping to enhance a visual of the storytelling.  If you steal my humorous writing to train your plagiarism software woe betide you.  We all know ai (& the billionaires who are pushing it) have no sense of humour and therefore won’t get how funny it is when I sue your a$$es for copyright infringement.

Copyright ©️ 2026 By Judith Wiberg