The Cat Food Chronicles

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.

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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.