Bogart that Pussy

To be read in a Humphry Bogart voice and Phillip Marlowe grittiness.


The screams were atrocious!
Squealing ear drum piercing sounds that cut through the surrounding noise like a buzz saw ripping through logs at a sawmill.
This was not the way that Me had chosen to awaken; especially after a week of silent mornings where Me could enjoy a cup or three of coffee (laced with just a hint of bourbon that me keeps in the bottom drawer of me desk) without any cacophonous interruption.
Finally the period of peace and quiet had come to an end as all good things do and Me knew that trouble were just around the corner.
For the last ten days or so the reigning queen of me household has been silent, though not of her own volition. This silence were imposed by a nasty summer cold and an infection that affected her vocal cords.
At first Me were worried. She could not tell me what be wrong with her, so the only thing me could do were to worry over her Hoping that she would come clean and gimme the clue that would lead me to finding the one piece of the puzzle Me were missing.
Soon, quite soon, to be honest with you; me started to see this illness as a boon and reveled in it. The fact that she couldn't talk also meant she couldn't spill the beans on me activities of the past few days.
There be some things best kept secret and Me didn't need a moll with a mouth like a leaky faucet spoutin off and ruining what me thought to be the perfect caper.
Now things have changed and she's singing like a canary. To be more accurate would be to say that she be singing like the cat that ate the canary, for now Me Kitty cat who has had a bad case of laryngitis has regained her voice and is determined to follow me around and blow me cover by meowing every chance she gets. Me only hope fer the future be that somehow she gives this wonderful affliction to Mrs. Monster.

STOMP.

Me no detective story writer.