DEATH ... DRAMA ...
DIVAS ... MEoOOW!
An award winning novel about
two psychic sisters, one psychic cat, an irkily handsome detective,
and a dead celebutante! (Humorous Fiction 16 & up) Some strong
language.
Synopsis:
Following in the footsteps of
Britney, Lindsay and the likes, Callie Bryant, Hollywood's newest bad
girl, comes to town as the lead in the much awaited Romeo and Juliet
... the rock opera.
When Callie actually dies on stage, Lily,
Holly and Spooky
(two psychic sisters and one psychic cat) get
together with the irkily
handsome, yet musically inclined
Detective Richardson to solve the
crime.
Set in San
Francisco, The Cat Food Chronicles is a story of cats, crime,
cuisine, and lol comedy.
Read More:
Chapter One
Spooky
I know this sounds weird, but I can read lips. Of course, you're
probably thinking, why would a cat want to read lips? A fair question
and the answer is I don't. The fact is, I can't hear so great. I
can read minds though; how's that for a wing-dinger? Yep, I'm
telepathic, so really the hearing impediment thing isn't much of a
problem, and well, actually I tend to only read lips if I'm
preoccupied. Guess who was preoccupied?
I was all curled up on
the Lazyboy under the big palm watching my favorite show on the boob
tube. Lily was on the phone, imagine that, and things were getting a
little nutty for Batman and the Boy Wonder.
It seems Batman
and the Boy Wonder were just about to be sawn in half when I happened
to glance up to see Lily say that she needed a CAT Scan. At first, I
thought she said 'cat scam'; I mean, who would she need me to
scam? I'm not that kind of cat anyway, how dare she even insinuate
such a thing. But then she said it again.
"Yes, I'm sure,
Holly, a CAT Scan!"
Holy scantonese noodles, Batman, what
the hell do you think I need to be scanned for? I've got all my
shots. I've been de-wormed twice this year, and this is the fourth
time I have made my claws grow back.
I can make my claws grow
back. I have serious mental powers, plus I read a book by Ernest
Holmes called The Science of the Mind, which gave me some
great ideas like growing my claws back. I'd recommend it to
Oprah.
I hopped off the Lazyboy and went into the kitchen and
circled around Lily's legs, but Lily just kept blabbing away about
scanning me. I glanced at the TV where a giant maniacal saw was
whirling steadily toward the dynamic duo. It was too much; I couldn't
concentrate; CAT Scan overload--so I beat it out of there.
I
sprinted out into the cool night air, glad to be away from even the
idea of a scanning. I was hungry, as usual, which meant I needed a
San Francisco treat, and let me tell you, I wasn't thinking about
Rice a Roni. I licked my soon to be grubby little paws and made my
way down the north-face fire escape.
I live in an area that
many years ago housed dockworkers and fisherman. The area is called
Telegraph Hill, and there are a lot of cats in the neighborhood.
The
building I live in is called The Old Brown. Lily and Holly
inherited it. They're lucky as hell too, boy, because this is prime
San Francisco real estate. We more or less remodeled The Old Brown
ourselves. It took us about twelve years. Holly lives up top and Lily
lives bottom side.
I was thinking that it's always nice to
get out of the house when I came to The Greenwich Stairs. I looked
around really good; the coast seemed clear but, just in case, I shot
down 'em like a rocket.
The stairs are The Greenwich Street
Stairs, and they're famous. About three months ago, some ass-lip
kicked me down them and my ribs still hurt from the tumble. Humans
are often cruel. Anyway, I don't want to think about that. I want
to think about Batman.
.
