The Spitfire Detective Agency

Oh, hi.  You again?  Why are you here?  Oh.  The Spitfire Sister Detective Agency?  You don’t know? Have you been napping this whole time? Okay, fine.  I’ll tell you.

The very first mystery was the Bag of Dry Food.  Where was it? Why was it never there when we needed it? The Humans seemed to know something about it but they ignored all our questions.

It took my sister days to figure it out, but she did. She was always fascinated with the humans.  I never saw the point, really, but Smokey’s eyes followed them everywhere.  Sometimes she didn’t even eat her food in her little bowl.  She just sat perfectly still and watched them.

“What are you doing?” I asked, squeezing past her to eat from her bowl.  She told me to shush and turned her ears towards the bang-smack of cabinet doors and cracky-crunch-splush noises of plates and water.  The Humans leaned over their ugly kneecaps to talk to her; garble-garble, mumble mumble, kitty, kitty, kitty.  Some nonsense like that.  She let them pick her up and hold her, which made me want to jump out of my fur.  But not Smokey; she would just lean back in their arms and stare into their lumpy hairless faces, trying to figure it all out.

Even the thought of it now makes me squirmy. In fact, please don’t sit so close to me.  Actually, I think I’ll just move over to this window sill.  Okay, that’s better.

One day, Smokey knew what to do.  It was before meal time, which was always late, so she walked up to one of the cabinet doors.  She stuck her claw in a crack and pulled.  It opened and then snapped shut again.  She sat up on her backpaws and pulled again at the crack, looking more than a little silly.  Looking almost like a Human.  It was so funny, I stopped chasing my tail to see what she was up to. Every time she opened it a little, we got a noseful of chicken feet and fish bones and that’s how we knew were on to something.

She pulled again and this time before it closed, I put my face in the crack and pulled with my chin until there was enough room for both of us to squeeze inside.  And there it was, the tightly rolled bag squeezed in the corner between bags of dirty potatoes and stinky onions.

“But it’s not open!” I cried.  “It’s not filling our bowls.  Now what do we do?”

Smokey suddenly stopped her impersonation of a Human and turned quickly back into a Good Predator. She leaped on the bag and dug her claws in deep.  Crunch! Rip! Chew! Oh, delicious fun. Even with bits of paper stuck in our teeth, we knew this was a great discovery.  Now we could have dinner whenever we wanted it.  Smokey had solved our first mystery.  We were open for business. 

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