It’s always a dame. Yes, this truth I have learned many times over, and I’m not catting around. In my case, there are many dames, of course, and they shall likely be the death of me. My main dame, rock of my existence, however, is my babe Sarah, but this tale has little to do with her. Nor my many mistresses, no. This story is about a dame who interrupted my normal sleuthing duties.
It was a dark and stormy night. I was sitting at my normal perch, feet up on Sarah’s computer keyboard, when there was a knock. I could barely see a profile through the translucent pet door, but I could smell her Chanel #5. I set down my absinthe. I don’t always drink absinthe, but when I do . . .well, I really have no idea why. I called for her to enter. The flap wasn’t locked.
I nearly fell off the table. Dressed in sheer blue velvet, with a wide-brimmed hat sporting plumage from several different breeds, she sashayed into my room. I’ll have you know that I am a feather fetishist, but let’s keep that between us. She had curves that wouldn’t stop, a squashed nose that of an aristocat, and enormous blue eyes you could have swam in. Skinny dipping immediately came to mind. Margaret Keane would have drooled to paint them.
“What’s a broad like you doing in a seedy neighborhood like this?” I asked. I was relieved that my maid had recently changed out the litter box.
“I was looking for help,” she purred cattily. “And I heard you were the top.” Oh, what she didn’t know! I played it cool, though, but my whiskers were thrumming like strings on Hendrix’s guitar.
“What should I call you.” There were many names already swirling about the crevasses of my feline brain. But then she stopped my heart.
“Kitty Boo Boo. But you can called me Boo.”
I almost melted. I recognized her now. She had sent me a card. The online photos did not do her justice.
Quickly I was to my feet. I knew we should talk in more intimate surroundings. “It’s late. I was heading over for some Indian cuisine. Wanna join me for some curried tuna and nan?”
A sensuous smile cracked her beautiful face, and she said, “Why not.”
I knew I was being foolish, heading off into dangerous territory, but it was a path I’d take a thousand times just to hold her delicate paw again.
[Join us tomorrow as we continue The Adventures of Duffy Dean, Detective on this radio channel.]
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