Chapter 1: An Introduction of Sorts

719 31 40
                                    

     So there I was, trapped in the narrow confines of a cat carrier, waiting helplessly for what was inevitable to come. How I came to be in that situation is sort of a funny story, that is, if you are one of those strange people who finds cats with too many toes, really suspicious cat food factories, and nefarious characters following you around humorous. I certainly don't. But I digress; I have a story to tell, and my opinions regarding the matter are beside the point.

       It all began with a note. Technically, I suppose it began with me waking up and eating breakfast, as I normally do. But there were a lot of boring events that occurred on that fateful day before the interesting things started happening, so I will spare myself the pain of trying to remember all the details that occurred before I found the note, since it was the details that occurred afterwards that are much more interesting.

     It was mid-afternoon, and I was walking up the front steps of my Uncle Fry's house, with whom I was spending the summer in a very boring town in Georgia, while my parents summered in Egypt (and no, you do not detect any jealousy there, none at all). I unceremoniously dumped an armload of groceries onto the counter and hurried upstairs in pursuit of a chocolate bar that I had left on my bed.

     But when I entered the bedroom, I stopped short. The chocolate was there, all right, but it was not alone. Beside it was a note, if you could call it that. It was on my Uncle's special note paper, the kind that says 'From the Desk of Albert Fry' in curvy letters across the top. But instead of words, the only thing on this piece of paper was a single paw print in dark blue ink. I instantly recognized it as being that of a cat. This was odd since Uncle Fry and I are both terribly allergic to cats, so there was no reason why one would be in the house. I wondered if one had gotten in through a window carelessly left ajar, but upon investigation, I discovered they were all sealed, and that Uncle Fry was nowhere to be found.

     I returned to my room and carefully scrutinized the paw print. It had the marks of seven cat toes. Seven! I had heard of six toed cats, but seven was something else entirely. And the ink was still wet – the cat had been here recently. There was also a spot of blue paint on my window.

    This was by far the oddest event of my rather uneventful summer (thanks Mum and Dad!), so, naturally, I decided to investigate. I grabbed my side bag and filled it with all the essentials one needs when one goes investigating: a pair of binoculars, a tiny notepad, pencil, fingerprinting kit, tape recorder, and, of course, my chocolate bar. In retrospect, I should have grabbed the bottle of allergy meds off my bedside stand, but I of course had no idea at the time how many cats would be involved in this adventure, so I left them behind.

     First I went outside and around the side of the house until I was directly below my window. Sure enough, there were a few blue splotches on the ground, trailing in the direction of the Morgan estate.

      I sighed dramatically. Why did it have to be the Morgans? Certainly they thought I was crazy enough as it was, what with me being Fry's niece. Oh, and there is the fact that I speak in a British-Bostonian cross–accent that no one can ever identify and wear large thick glasses that magnify my eyes to a very unflattering size (though that's not my fault!). And there's the fact that all my jeans have so many patches in them that they look like they were made out of old quilts, since I can't stand how stiff and awful new jeans feel and just keep altering my old ones. I've been wearing the same pair for three years now.

     Also, I am a vegetarian, which, in this particular town in Georgia, happens to be synonymous with 'freak', making me something of a pariah.

    I digress once more. Enough about me. As strange as I am, the events that occurred on this fateful day were far stranger than even I.

     Swallowing what remained of my pride, I hopped the fence, marched up to the Morgan's front door, and knocked.

Something FishyWhere stories live. Discover now