Misty Hollow Cat Detective (Darcy Sweet Mystery) (A Smudge the Cat Mystery Book 1) by K.J. Emrick Page A
Authors: K.J. Emrick
Ads: Link
to spring straight up in the air like this just as high as I can. I grab the trunk with my claws and then look back down at the ground. About nine feet. Not bad, but I've done better. Scooting up a little bit at a time now, digging in with each inch, I make it to the lower branches and stop to lick my front paw. This one's been bothering me. Can't say why. Maybe it's going to rain milk.
Cat joke.
Leaping gracefully from one branch to the other I get to the one Corvin and I use for our clandestine meetings. He's already there, cleaning out his wings with his beak. I flop down on the branch, one leg hanging over into space, tail flicking back and forth. "All right, Corvin, I'm here. What's up?"
He holds up his one wing, still preening the other with his beak, telling me to hold on until he's done.
Oh, for Pete's sake, as Darcy would say.
" Corvin, I'm not hanging out with you all day while you take a beak bath. What was so important that you had to come get me off my own lawn?"
"It's gone!" he screeches, hopping toward me, no warning, just there in front of my face and screaming.
I'm not afraid of heights. No cat is, really. We've got an internal sense of balance that makes one hundred feet up in the air no different than five.
What I am afraid of, is falling. From a tree branch. With a crow jabbering away like a lunatic. That, I'm afraid of.
I scrambled to keep my hold. I'm pretty sure I was upside down at one point and hanging on for dear life. Corvin had nearly scared away another one of my lives, and I've only got eight left as it is. The branch I was on is narrow, but thankfully strong enough to hold a cat desperately clawing himself back upright.
When I got back up, I wrapped my arms tight around the branch, claws sunk in deep, breath heaving in my chest, and glared at Corvin. "Do that again, and I'll eat you for breakfast."
He had the good sense to hop backward away from me, but he was still screeching at the top of his bird lungs. "Sorry. Sorry! Just upset. So upset. It's gone it's gone it's gone!"
"Corvin!" I snap at him. He stops as I scream his name, my heart just starting to calm down, the angry frustration that's sweeping through me pushing aside the fright I'd just had. With a deep, slow breath, I lower my voice and try to speak calmly. "Corvin. Tell me what's wrong. What is gone?"
"My sparkly!" he cries, throwing back his head and shaking himself all over. "Someone took my sparkly!"
Oh, for the love of catnip.
Crows collect things. That's why I can pay Corvin with junk I find on the ground. Give him a sparkling piece of pyrite from the creek, he'll do anything you ask. Bring him a lost earring, and he'll be your friend for life. I found that out the hard way. They're very possessive about their collections, too. Kind of like that dragon Smaug in The Hobbit with his gold.
Hey. Darcy owns a bookstore. Some of us cats can read, you know.
Anyway, if one of Corvin's "sparklies" has gone missing, it's no wonder he's so upset.
"Did you maybe drop it?" I ask him. "That hole in your tree doesn't have a door or anything. Did you check the ground around the tree?"
He hops a little bit this way, then a little bit that way, obviously upset. "Thought of that. Thought of it! Not in the grass. Didn't bounce away. Didn't fall. Someone took it!"
"All right, all right." I can see I'm not going to get anything else done today unless I help Corvin with this. "Let's start over. What did you lose? What did this sparkly look like?"
He goes on to describe it, in halting details like a crow will, and with lots of questions from me to clarify what he's talking about. "Sparkly string" could mean anything.
In the end, I've got a pretty good idea of what he's looking for. A necklace (people feather, Corvin had called it) made of diamonds (star stones). There was something else about it, too, something that looked
Cat joke.
Leaping gracefully from one branch to the other I get to the one Corvin and I use for our clandestine meetings. He's already there, cleaning out his wings with his beak. I flop down on the branch, one leg hanging over into space, tail flicking back and forth. "All right, Corvin, I'm here. What's up?"
He holds up his one wing, still preening the other with his beak, telling me to hold on until he's done.
Oh, for Pete's sake, as Darcy would say.
" Corvin, I'm not hanging out with you all day while you take a beak bath. What was so important that you had to come get me off my own lawn?"
"It's gone!" he screeches, hopping toward me, no warning, just there in front of my face and screaming.
I'm not afraid of heights. No cat is, really. We've got an internal sense of balance that makes one hundred feet up in the air no different than five.
What I am afraid of, is falling. From a tree branch. With a crow jabbering away like a lunatic. That, I'm afraid of.
I scrambled to keep my hold. I'm pretty sure I was upside down at one point and hanging on for dear life. Corvin had nearly scared away another one of my lives, and I've only got eight left as it is. The branch I was on is narrow, but thankfully strong enough to hold a cat desperately clawing himself back upright.
When I got back up, I wrapped my arms tight around the branch, claws sunk in deep, breath heaving in my chest, and glared at Corvin. "Do that again, and I'll eat you for breakfast."
He had the good sense to hop backward away from me, but he was still screeching at the top of his bird lungs. "Sorry. Sorry! Just upset. So upset. It's gone it's gone it's gone!"
"Corvin!" I snap at him. He stops as I scream his name, my heart just starting to calm down, the angry frustration that's sweeping through me pushing aside the fright I'd just had. With a deep, slow breath, I lower my voice and try to speak calmly. "Corvin. Tell me what's wrong. What is gone?"
"My sparkly!" he cries, throwing back his head and shaking himself all over. "Someone took my sparkly!"
Oh, for the love of catnip.
Crows collect things. That's why I can pay Corvin with junk I find on the ground. Give him a sparkling piece of pyrite from the creek, he'll do anything you ask. Bring him a lost earring, and he'll be your friend for life. I found that out the hard way. They're very possessive about their collections, too. Kind of like that dragon Smaug in The Hobbit with his gold.
Hey. Darcy owns a bookstore. Some of us cats can read, you know.
Anyway, if one of Corvin's "sparklies" has gone missing, it's no wonder he's so upset.
"Did you maybe drop it?" I ask him. "That hole in your tree doesn't have a door or anything. Did you check the ground around the tree?"
He hops a little bit this way, then a little bit that way, obviously upset. "Thought of that. Thought of it! Not in the grass. Didn't bounce away. Didn't fall. Someone took it!"
"All right, all right." I can see I'm not going to get anything else done today unless I help Corvin with this. "Let's start over. What did you lose? What did this sparkly look like?"
He goes on to describe it, in halting details like a crow will, and with lots of questions from me to clarify what he's talking about. "Sparkly string" could mean anything.
In the end, I've got a pretty good idea of what he's looking for. A necklace (people feather, Corvin had called it) made of diamonds (star stones). There was something else about it, too, something that looked
Similar Books
