The Case Files of Jerry Kat-Onah, Private Eye

The photo shows an intense literary collaboration with Jerry. He's calling our project "Jerry Kat-Onah, Private Eye." Here's the story:

She sashayed into my office, claws clicking rhythmically on the hard wood floor, looking like she owned the place.

She didn't have an appointment, but in five seconds I cleared my schedule to hear her out.

"Are you Jerry Kat-Onah, Private Eye?" she asked, settling in a chair across from my desk.

"That's me. What's on your mind, Miss . . . " I asked.

"Miss Kitty."

"Last name, Kitty."

She looked anxious. "Frisky."

"OK, Miss Kitty Frisky, now we're getting someplace. You wanted to see me about something."

Miss Kitty looked around, fearful to say what's on her mind. Sensing her unease, I said, "This is a private office and nobody will hear what we discuss. It stays between us."

She clicked her claws together and curled her tail into her lap. "Somebody is following me and I want it stopped."

"Do you know who it is? Why's this happening?

"Oh, he's a tomcat in my neighborhood, always prowling. He took a liking to me," she smiled, "that has been known to happen, you see, but he became a nuisance, always yowling and scratching and knocking over the milk bottles to get my attention." 

"Have you taken any measures to keep him away? I take it he's not reasonable."

Miss Kitty jumped up and ran around the office a few times, then rolled around under my desk, a subtle "tell" of anxiety. 

"Do you mind if a scratch your cat tower for a moment?" she asked.

"Please do, that's why it's there."

Scratch, scratch, stretch, yawn. Miss Kitty Frisky was a client who would move at her own pace.

"Yes, to answer your question, I have tried to reason with him, but those efforts always degenerated into, you might say, a cat fight. Nothing is working. That's why I came to you, Jerry Kat-onah. You have a reputation as a private eye who can fix things."

I smiled. "I like to think of myself as a problem solver," I told her as she idly flipped her tail.

"If you can't, I don't know what I'll do!" she burst out sobbing. This happens in my line of business, when clients get rattled by their situation. Part of my job is to calm them down. So I offered her a bowl of milk and a fresh can of liver pate. 

"Thank you, that was very kind," she sighed after she daintily slurped the milk and licked the can clean. "I just want this problem fixed. Or, if it comes to it, 'fixed.'" She made air quotes around the second mention of "fixed."

"So, do you mean fixed in a normal sense or 'fixed' in the other sense? There is a difference, you know."

"Fixed or 'fixed,' so long as the problem goes away," she said, a hard light coming into her luminous green cat eyes.

"'Fixed' carries a higher hourly rate, just so you know, Miss Kitty. That's a special order."

She reached into her purse and pulled out an expensive mouse chew toy. It looked special.

Miss Kitty purred, "Look at it, an Internet of Things-enabled, CBD-infused, top-of-the-line chewy mouse, endorsed by Wirecutter!"

"What's that?" I asked.

"It's the stuff that dreams are made of. Take it, consider it a down payment," she said.

"I like your negotiating style, Miss Kitty Frisky. I'll look into both approaches."

She jumped, stretched and smoothed out her fur coat. I noticed the perfect lacquer on her claws, all of them. "I need to go to the ladies room and powder my whiskers," she said. "Give me a few minutes."

"Take your time." Her shiny claws clicked on the floor toward the door, then stopped.

"When I get back, how about you show me your cat tower? It's ever so climbable."

"That's what it's there for."

"Lovely. Then you'll see why they call me 'Frisky.'"