January 10, 2003

Chasing Chickens. Just as Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin was planning to leave her office for the day, the phone rang. Now she had to make a decision. Should she answer the phone or just pretend she had already left? Both options had their pros and cons. Of course, it was probably Ruffles Murdog, publisher/editor of the Morning Hairball. He called more than any cat, probably because he was romantically interested in Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin, but also to offer her a variety of editorial options. Perhaps Ruffles Murdog was calling with a really juicy assignment to interview George Croonley, or a concert tour with Eltoon John-John, so maybe she'd better answer the phone this time. Of course, if Ruffles Murdog had another shopping trip to the mall planned with Mama Mothball, Furry Purrloin would just pretend that it was a wrong number, wrong state, and wrong country. The best thing to do was to answer the phone in Spanish just in case. Fortunately, she’d studied Spanish with El Puma, her Puerto Rico-based feline friend.

"Hola," came the voice on the other end of the phone.

There was just silence on the line. This was curious. Maybe she'd try answering in Hawaiian.

"Aloha."

"Is this the office of Furry Purrloin?" the voice on the other end asked a bit sheepishly.

Realizing that the voice didn't belong to Ruffles Murdog, Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin replied, “Yes, this is Furry Purrloin. How may I help you?"

"This is Gizmo. I live in New York, and I'd like to report an incident here that should not go unrecognized. It's unfair, and my mom needs to be brought before some kind of council to make her change her ways."

"Hi, Giz, nice talking with you again. Can you explain in more detail exactly what injustice has occurred?" Furry Purrloin questioned.

"My mom told me that, for my birthday, I was to have chicken. Now, I just love chicken, so she hit on just the right delicacy to tempt me. Then she told me that, before I could have the chicken, I had to chase it down and bring it to her -- feathers, feet, and all. Can you imagine she expected me to go out in a winter storm and chase a chicken?" Gizmo complained to Furry Purrloin.

"This is appalling, Giz. I can't imagine what in the world your mom was thinking. Was she reading a book about cowboys and Indians at the time?" Furry Purrloin wondered out loud to Gizmo.

"And, to make matters even worse, it was snowing outside, Furry Purrloin. I don't even own a warm pair of snowshoes, nor am I tall enough to be seen in two-foot snow drifts. I peeked out all of the windows and couldn't even see a chicken in the yard. What do you think she had in mind?" Gizmo went on to say with a bit of worry in his voice.

"Giz, is there a chance she was just kidding you? Did you smell chicken cooking in the house?" Furry Purrloin inquired.

"As a matter of fact, Furry Purrloin, I did. I smelled chicken, and there was something cooking on the stove and, as it turned out, I did get chicken for my birthday dinner. What a great detective you are to think of these clues! But this still doesn't explain her request for me to chase a chicken," Giz pondered aloud while peeking back at his mom who was laughing in the room behind him.

"I think you that your mom was just pulling your leg. She has been known to kid around with you from time to time, hasn't she? Maybe she was just trying to bring some excitement and levity into her ordinary, dull routine. You can’t blame a human for doing that, since they lead such boring lives. If I were you, I wouldn't give it another thought." And with that, Furry Purrloin shut off her word processor. She must be on her way to find George Crooney before Mama Mothball scored an interview with him.

"Nice talking to you, Giz. Let's get together the next time I'm in New York and have lunch or tea. Maybe even chicken!." Now Furry Purrloin really was on her way out the door.

Talk back to Furry Purrloin at pause4purrs@meowmqail.com.

January 3, 2003

Judge Moody Gets a Pay Raise . Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin had been looking forward to her special guest interview today for many weeks. Just think -- an interview with the famous Judge Moody! When she'd scheduled the interview, she had an idea that Judge Moody would have such exciting news to talk about. Furry Purrloin just knew that Judge Moody was really a sweet and demure lady human that only put on an act when she did her television show. Oh my, wouldn't Mama Mothball be jealous when she found out about this interview! And think of the look on her furry face! The interview would be worth doing for that reason alone, Furry Purrloin thought.

Arriving at Judge Moody's home, Furry Purrloin was welcomed by the petite judge herself.

"Judge Moody, it's such a pleasure to finally meet you. I see you're wearing your long black robe. Do you normally wear it around the house?" Furry Purrloin inquired of the tiny little judge.

"Yes, it impresses anyone who comes to the door, like the mail carrier and the package delivery man, and it gives my husband a good idea of who makes the rules around the house," Judge Moody explained.

"I see, Judge, but what I really wanted to talk about was the fact that you've just received some exciting news regarding your television show. Would you care to discuss this exciting news?" Furry Purrloin asked while she settled herself on the pink satin sofa that Judge Moody showed her to.

"I'd just love to discuss my pay raise and the renewal of my contract. It's all I can think about. I'll now be paid twenty-five million tunas a year to do my show. What makes it even more impressive is the fact that my contract has been renewed for three more years, and I'll be paid a higher salary than even Oppie Wintree paid herself. I'm just trying to think of ways to spend that amount every year," Judge Moody told Furry Purrloin while she poured two cups of catnip tea.

"What is it, exactly, that you do on your television show that would justify such a large amount of tunas?" Furry Purrloin couldn't help but ask. She was sure that only professional football players earned that amount of tunas, and they certainly deserved it by putting their bodies in jeopardy every week during football season.

"I'll explain this to you, Furry Purrloin, but you must not tell the whole world. My main job is to sit up on my bench and yell at humans and tell them how stupid they are. I guess that stupid humans are more entertaining than smart ones because they seem to be the only kind I come across during taping of my show," Judge Moody explained to Furry Purrloin.

"You get paid twenty-five million tunas to yell at stupid people?" Furry Purrloin couldn't help but express her amazement in a shrill voice. "Why, Ruffles Murdog, Publisher/Editor of the Morning Hairball, does the same thing for practically nothing. Except he yells at furs, not humans."

"Well, my dear new friend Ruffles Murdog doesn't have a good agent. Nor does he have his own syndicated television show. And, when you get right down to it, he is a dog." And with this comment, Judge Moody laughed out loud.

Furry Purrloin took a sip of tea and continued to mumble, "Yelling at stupid humans pays twenty-five million tunas a year? Maybe I should investigate finding a new career after I write up this article for Ruffles Murdog."

"Judge Moody, I've enjoyed our chat so much but I have an appointment to get my claws manicured, so I'll have to run. My manicurist, Emery Board, just gets so frustrated when I'm late," Furry Purrloin said while packing up her voice recorder, laptop computer, and slipping the shoes back on her paws. She fully intended to let as many cats know about Judge Moody’s gigantic salary increase as she could and let them figure out why Judge Moody deserved it. Also, she wouldn’t mind getting some of those tunas herself. Hmmmm. Perhaps she should practice yelling at stupid humans, if she could find any. It was just too bad all the humans in her family were as smart and clever as she was. Maybe, for the time being,. Furry Purrloin could practice yelling at Mama Mothball.

Talk back to Furry Purrloin at pause4purrs@meowmqail.com.

November 30, 2002

Shake, Rattle, and Roll

This morning, Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin had to cancel her interview with Tom Turkey, which she had planned for weeks, to fly out to the West Coast for an interview with Sheriff John Wayne. She had been reading recent reports of a lot of movement in the Sam’s Clam Disco area and wanted to be the first to write about John Wayne's new residence. After all, if others in the Sam’s Clam Disco area were moving, then Sheriff John Wayne was moving, wasn't he? That was Furry Purrloin’s thinking, and she so hoped she'd gotten the report right.

Approaching Sheriff John Wayne's door, Furry Purrloin noticed that there was no moving van parked in the driveway. Also, there was no sound of humans packing anything. There was just a nice little rumbling under Furry’s paws while she stood on the porch, and Furry was grateful for thee very nice paw massage.

"Howdy there, Ms. Furry. We are all so happy you could visit. Did you notice that the awful witch was gone from the porch? Well, that don't matter a fig. You just bring yourself right inside and sit yourself down," Sheriff John Wayne said while holding open the door.

"John Wayne, I heard a rumor that you were moving, yet I don't see any evidence of a move in progress. Did I get my information all wrong?" Furry Purrloin asked while she curled up on the nearest sofa.

"You more than likely heard that the earth was moving," Sheriff John Wayne clarified for Furry Purrloin. "Sure ain't got no cause for a moving van with that kind of earth movement, 'cause I doubt there'd be a moving van big enough to fit the entire West Coast. Yep, you heard partly right, Ms. Furry. The West Coast – and, particularly, the Sam’s Clam Disco area – is moving. Can I get you a cup of catnip tea or a snack?" Sheriff John asked Furry Purrloin.

"No, thank you for your offer of tea or a snack, but I do have some questions for you, if you don't mind and you have the time," Furry Purrloin replied.

"Shoot. Just ask all the questions you'd like. I've got things under control here for the time being. Harley is upstairs holding down the bedroom floor so it don't go too far, and Scotty is hiding behind the curtain. He still has hopes of finding that bird he captured way back last year," Sheriff John replied, giving Furry Purrloin one of his typical John Wayne, sideways grins.

"Can you explain to me why the earth has suddenly decided to move, Sheriff John Wayne?" Furry inquired of the silver-furred sheriff.

"Yep, sure can, Ms. Furry. I heard all about it from my mommy, the lovely and talented Barbie. You see, the plates moved," Sheriff John Wayne explained.

"Plates? Do the cups and saucers move also? And how about the silverware? Sounds pretty scary to me, like an invasion by aliens from outer space or something. Are you sure we're safe here?" Furry Purrloin asked while she curled up into the fetal position on the sofa.

"Yep, we're perfectly safe," Sheriff John Wayne assured her. "It's not the plates in the kitchen or the dining room, Ms. Furry, it's the plates under the earth that are moving. But you're partially right, 'cause them plates under the earth do cause the plates in the kitchen to move around some, and the cups and saucers, too. Why, it isn't even unusual for the pictures to move around on the wall. At first, we thought our mommy, the lovely and talented Barbie, had blown up the microwave again or was taking hula lessons from Ms. Snowy. But we checked, and that wasn't happening. That there mommy – the lovely and talented Barbie -- is very big, you know, and she could cause things to move," Sheriff John Wayne tried to explain in his Southern drawl. "We glanced down at the scale in the bathroom the other day, since it's close to our eye level, and it said one hundred and twelve pounds. Can you imagine the shakes and rattles a critter of that size could cause?" Sheriff John Wayne added with a chuckle.

"Oh my gosh! The lovely and talented Barbie must be a giant! Why, it would take six to eight cats to equal that number of pounds. I can see where you suspected it might be your mommy moving the earth. Do the critters around this part of the country take any special precautions regarding this movement of the earth?" Furry Purrloin inquired of Sheriff John Wayne.

"Yep, they usually wear safety helmets when they're in the house. They hold tightly to the handrails when going up or down the stairs. Also, about once a week, they go out on a boat and walk around while it's on the water so they can get the hang of how to walk when the earth moves," Sheriff John Wayne explained to Furry Purrloin while examining his dew claws.

"John I'm trying to focus on all this, but everytime I ask you a question, I seem to move a few inches further down the sofa. In fact, the rocking chair you're sitting in has begun rocking all by itself. I think it's time for me to be going so I can get back to the MeowMail offices in one piece. I'm starting to feel dizzy," Furry Purrloin admitted as she staggered closer to the front door.

"You obviously haven’t taken precautions against seasickness the way Harley, Scotty, and I have. So maybe it’s better if you do leave now. Nice to have seen you again, Ms. Furry. You have a right nice holiday now, ya hear?" Sheriff John Wayne said. He waved out the door to Furry Purrloin as she jumped into her limo to head back to the airport.

Once Furry Purrloin arrived home safely, she wondered whether Sheriff John Wayne had been teasing her. All this nonsense about plates, cups and saucers. Maybe he'd been reading Alice in Wonderland again. Or maybe it was all a dream.

Talk back to Furry Purrloin at pause4purrs@meowmail.com.

November 25, 2002

Bart. Glancing down at her calendar, Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin realized that today was the day she had marked down as her interview with Bartholomeow. This is curious, she thought, since she was told by Mama Mothball that Bart didn't give interviews. Well, it was probably just an oversight on Mama Mothball's part, so she decided that she better get moving in order to be there on time. She had heard that Bart was quite particular about cats’ and humans’ being late for anything.

Entering the front door, Furry Purrloin was greeted by John Wayne, who was an old friend, and they hugged with enthusiasm. "John, my interview is with Bart, so I thought he would be answering the door himself," Furry exclaimed.

"Bart never answers the door himself. He wouldn't lower himself to do such a menial task when he has us Maine Coons at his beck and call. He almost always stays upstairs until he's sure it's a visitor that he wants to entertain," John explained. "I'll just saunter up and get him for you. Make yourself comfortable, because this may take a few minutes."

In just a very few seconds, Bart decended the stairs looking quite royal, tail held high, with just the cutest question mark shape at the very end. Furry had never seen Bart up close and didn't realize how regally he carried himself. Now she wished she had brought her photographer, Snap Upshot, with her.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Purrloin. How charming you look today! I'm so happy to meet you at last. I've read almost everything you've written, which you should consider a compliment, because I had to fit it in between my Astronomy study and the Biophysics class I'm taking. Now what kind of information can I enlighten you with today?" Bart asked.

"Bart, just exactly what is it you do around here? The other guys, John, Harley, and Scotty seem to hold you in the highest esteem, but I'm not sure just what your job description is," Furry pondered with serious wonder.

"There are just too many job objectives to mention in one interview but I'll try to sum up a few for you. Let's see, hmmmmmmmmm, I have to open all the lower cabinets in the kitchen and bathrooms every day. A totally thankless job, however, since my Mom comes right along behind me and shuts them each morning. I've told her that they need airing out, but does she listen? Humans can be so obstinate.

I always screen all the food that we eat. You know Mom will try to buy lots of one kind just because I express pleasure in one can. This goes back to being obstinate, one can does not a feast make you know."

"Do you ever have to cat-sit your younger brothers, Bart?" Furry asked, realizing that Bart was the eldest in the house.

"Cat-sit? Now that you mention it, my duties in that field are enormous. For years, my Mom has brought kittens into my house and fully expected me not only to cat-sit them but also to nurture them if they were very tiny, and this involves washing and lots of cuddling. I've had to show these silly Coons where everything in the house is when they were kittens, what they are allowed to play with and nap on that hasn't been claimed by me," Bart expounded with a silly Siamese grin on his face. "The teaching process is endless in this field. Why just the other day Scotty thought that he got the front row seat to view the birds through the window. I set him straight about that right away by laying down right on top of him. He's actually quite soft and nice to snuggle with," Bart explained.

"Do you give many interviews to other reporters?" Furry wanted to know since Mama Mothball had told her that Bart never gave interviews.

"You are the first to date, Ms. Purrloin," Bart informed Furry. I have too much to much to tend to and learn about to sit around giving interviews to reporters who are only interested in picking my brain for information. As a matter of fact, this is coming up on the hour I have reserved for holding down the sherpa pad on my Mom's bed. She will be so distressed if I don't show up on time. Then she'll whistle and expect be to show up immediately, which I usually do just to pacify her. It has been nice chatting with you and perhaps you would like to join my new language class. I'll be teaching ancient languages to a few choosen friends."

Furry saw John coming back to show her to the door and proceeded to put her notebook and pencil away. She could clearly see that Bart was finished with the interview and she certainly didn't want to sign up for any class in ancient languages. Next time though, next time she would be better prepared to delve into the Siamese mind and come up up with the answers to the secrets of the Universe.

Bartholomeow

1988 - 2002

Talk back to Furry Purrloin at pause4purrs@meowmail.com.

October 24, 2002

What Time Was That Again? Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin's telephone started ringing right after lunch -- a delicious lunch of mousemeat stew, and she was sorry that she'd finished the last of it. She must make more sometime soon, Furry Purrloin reminded herself. She approached the ringing telephone cautiously in order to check the number on her caller I.D. Another call from Mama Mothball in order to berate her for the disaster (well, okay, Mama Mothball had all her lovely fur shaved off because of Furry Purrloin) resulting from their recent trip to the mall was not acceptable today. But no, it was a number Furry Purrloin hadn't seen before, so it was okay, unless…unless Mama Mothball was calling from a pay phone. Or maybe Ruffles Murdog, Publisher/Editor of the Morning Hairball, had finally acquired a cell phone for Mama. Nah, never happen. Furry Purrloin would just take this call. She could always hang up if she wanted.

"Hello. Is this Furry Purrloin?" the caller inquired.

"Yes, may I ask who's calling?" Furry Purrloin responded.

"Furry, don't you recognize my voice? It's Snowy! Snowy from Hawaii," the sweet voice replied.

"Snowy! Of course, now I recognize your voice. How have you been?" Furry asked, stalling for time to pull down her window shades in case Mama Mothball was lurking outside trying to get a scoop.

"Furry, I have a favor to ask of you. I know you have a lot of sources and resources, and I need a question answered. I'm trying to catch John Wayne, MeowMail Town’s swaggering yet loveable sheriff, making his last post on the Meow Mail forum for the evening, and I can't figure out what time he does it. If I call, he might think I'm just being nosy but if you call, he'll consider it an honor to be asked such an insightful question," Snowy explained. "You know how those Maine coons are - especially handsome and dignified ones, like John Wayne."

"Of course, Snowy, I'd be more than happy to help. Let me just give my friend John a call and see what I can find out. I know this will be a simple question and yield a simple answer, so I'll call you right back." And with that, Furry put down the phone and started looking up John Wayne's telephone number.

"Hello, John? John Wayne? It's your old friend, Furry Purrloin. How have you been?" Furry asked, trying to remember the time difference between the west and east coasts to be sure she wasn't calling too early.

"Just fine and dandy, ma'am. Something I can help you with, or is this just a social call? I'd be much obliged to help out anyway I can," John replied in his southern drawl. (No cat knew why John Wayne had a southern drawl. He just did.)

"I'm just trying to figure out what time it is, exactly, that you make your last post for the night on the MeowMail forum, John. That’s just something I was curious about. It’s kind of silly really," Furry stated quite sweetly. She just loved talking to John.

"Ah, shucks, ma'am, that's an easy one. I make my last post right before bedtime. Yep, that's it, almost always the same time or there-a-bouts," John replied.

"And may I ask what time of night that is, John? Bedtimes can be any time at all, especially for felines, and I just don't recall what time your bedtime is."

"Bedtime around here is after the late news as a rule. Ms. Furry. Yep, always 'bout the same time as how I reckon," John answered. "Of course, after the news, we all get treats, or cookies, as our Mommy calls them. She don't like no critters a goin' to bed on empty tummies, she says."

"So John, let me figure this out. After the last news and treats would be about what, eleven thirty or eleven forty-five?" Furry asked, trying to pin John down to a specific time frame.

"Well, let's just see here. I also gotta watch Mommy and be sure she locks the doors before bedtime, and most of the doors are downstairs. That would take another few minutes. Especially if she stops to pick up some cat fur or hang up a coat or pick up a few cat toys," John mumbled, clearly thinking out loud.

"Then right after that, you make your last post on the MeowMail forum, correct?" Furry inquired, getting somewhat frustrated. Goodness! Didn't the sheriff even know what time he went to bed?

"Best as I can reckon, Ms. Furry, that'd be about right unless I mosey on into the bedroom and check to see if all my brothers are upstairs and getting settled for the night. Now this is a big responsibility since Scotty doesn't always respond when Mommy says, 'night, night boys' to us. He often lingers downstairs a huntin' out some vittles that might have escaped from the treat jar."

"Do you really have a definite time you make that post for the evening, John?" Furry asked, getting a little frustrated with John's 'if's, and's and buts' regarding the bedtime issue. At this point, Furry was just going to take eleven o'clock, add a few minutes here and there, subtract time for all cats being accounted for upon John's arrival upstairs, and call Ms. Snowy back.

"Oh, Ms. Furry, I almost forgot. If'n we have guests or our cousin, Moses, is visiting, then the time is all different," John added as a last minute thought.

"That's alright, John. I think I have this figured out. Thank you for your time and all the help you've provided. Bye, now." And with that, Furry hung up the telephone thinking this conversation was almost as frustrating as those little cards they put in magazines.

Talk back to Furry Purrloin at pause4purrs@meowmail.com.

September 27, 2002

Dodging the Mothball. Zoooooooooooooooooooooooommmmmmm! Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin took off down the hallway between her office and Ruffles Murdog's office at about the speed of sound. Ruffles Murdog, of course, is the publisher/editor of the Morning Hairball. Ever since Furry Purrloin had done a tiny favor for Ruffles Murdog - which was to take Mama Mothball shopping for a new hat -- Mama Mothball had been out to get her. And Furry Purrloin hadn’t done anything to incite Mama Mothball’s wrath, either. All she’d done was simply decided to have all Mama Mothball’s fur shaved off so she’d no longer be interested in wearing one of her old-fashioned hats. It seemed like a good idea at the time, since no critters cared much for Mama Mothball’s hats, anyway, and the "Piglet Furless Do" was all the fashion in MeowMail Town.

When her limo picked her up for work at noon today, intrepid reporter Furry Purrloin noticed that the whole inside smelled like bat guano, and one of the tires had gone flat on the way to the Morning Hairball office, causing a delay while her driver changed the tire. Of course, the wait in the limo would have been most pleasurable if the air-conditioning had worked, but that was on the blink, too. Had her limo been sabotaged?

Once in the Morning Hairball offices, Furry Purrloin went straight to her office, walking behind her driver so no other employee could notice her. Plopping down in her new leather chair a loud, rather offensive noise ensued. Ah yes, a whoopie cushion in her chair! Well, good thing she was alone and no one but she had heard it.

Was that stamp pad ink on the keys on Furry Purrloin’s keyboard? Mama Mothball was up to her kittenish tricks again! Furry Purrloin thought to herself. Oh great, now Furry Purrloin would have to make an appointment to have her claws caticured all over again! She realized that she was unable to see the letters were on the keys, and since she only typed with two claws, she’d have to find some way to clean this off, or . . . perhaps get Ruffles to get her a new keyboard. Or, better yet, perhaps he’d buy her a whole new computer. It had been about 3 months since Ruffles Murdog had bought her an extravagent gift.

"Oh dear, I forgot about the computer," Furry Purrloin exclaimed aloud. "Now I'm afraid to turn it on. What could Mama Mothball possibly have done to her computer?" She'd just get a piece of paper out and write down all these mysterious occurrences and take them to Ruffles Murdog's office. After all, Ruffles Murdog simply loved Mama Mothball's new look and her wide variety of baldness-hiding sweaters, so he wouldn't see any reason for Mama Mothball to get even with Furry Purrloin.

Splish! Splat! While zooming down the hallway, Furry Purrloin started sliding and was unable to control her sliding self. Smack into the wall at the end of the hall she found herself. Was that salad oil all over her fur? No, it smelled more like skunk oil! Was that laughter she heard around the corner? It couldn't be. No, Mama Mothball would never be so underhanded. It must have been her hoodlum, teenaged daughters, Merry Mothball and Mimi Mothball.

"Furry, what are you doing up against the wall? Why, dear, you're on the floor!" Ruffles Murdog shouted, looking down on Furry Purrloin in a state of complete disbelief.

"Ruffles, I suggest you help me up and we go into your office where it's safe," Furry Purrloin told Ruffles Murdog while using his paw to help herself up from the greasy floor. "I have a few things to discuss with you, and I just hope I can remember them all. If you ever ask me to do you a favor that involves Mama Mothball, I will never, never consider your marriage proposal in any of my nine lifetimes."

Holding Furry Purrloin close against his chest, and getting smelly grease on his fur, he proceeded into his office, kicked the door shut with his back paw, and placed Furry Purrloin down on the sofa in his office. Oh, oh, Furry Purrloin thought. This might have been a trap by Ruffles Murdog, and not Mama Mothball, to get her right where he wanted her. Now if only the phone would ring. . . .

Talk back to Furry Purrloin at pause4purrs@meowmail.com

September 13, 2002

Purrcy Oh Purrcy. Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin had been looking forward to this day all week. Well, she had been looking forward to this day ever since noon on Monday when she showed up in her office. Having re-negotiated her contract with Ruffles Murdog, Publisher/Editor of the Morning Hairball, her new hours suited her just fine. Working from noon until two o'clock p.m. was just perfect. No work for her today though. Furry Purrloin was invited to lunch with her dear friend, Penny, and she wasn’t going to let mere work interfere with her lunch date.

"Penny, the house smells so wonderful. What have you prepared for lunch?" Furry Purrloin inquired, hoping that the wonderful smells weren't coming from some new herb Penny was experimenting with.

"Shrimp and lobster pot pies, some crab filled biscuits rolled in catnip. That's the menu for today. Purrcy won't be joining us though. I sent him upstairs to watch raindrops while we eat because it's Purrcy I wanted to discuss with you, " Penny explained while she took the pot pies out of the oven. "That’s the reason why I invited you to lunch today. Well, that and the fact that you’re one of my dearest friends in MeowMail Town, and I haven’t seen you for way too long."

"These are delicious, Penny. I've never tasted anything so delicate. I’ve missed you, too, my dear, and I’ve missed your fabulous cooking. Now tell me, what it is about Purrcy you need to talk about? Oh, I do so hope he isn't addicted to yet another herb," Furry Purrloin expounded while stuffing her furry face with a biscuit.

Penny daintily dabbed at her whiskers with her napkin and replied, "No, not another herb addiction for my dear, sweet Purrcy. Purrcy has a Grandmeow - yes, a human Grandmeow -- addiction!" And with that, Penny placed her front paws over her eyes in shame.

"There, there now, my dear," Furry Purrloin purred while giving Penny a much-needed hug, "it can't be all that bad. Just tell me, dear. How did this whole thing start?"

"Well, it started when we moved in with Grandmeow -- our human Grandmeow, of course. She just spoils Purrcy rotten with treats, pets, hugs, and brushing. Every time I look for Purrcy to clean my whiskers for me, he's with Grandmeow," Penny stated emphatically.

"Penny, I don't see anything wrong with this. Maybe you’d better tell me exactly what it is you resent, apart from not getting your whiskers cleaned," Furry Purrloin asked.

"Purrcy has gained so much weight from all the extra treats that he causes our bed to tilt to one side. Then I must spend the night -- and often the afternoons, too -- sleeping smack up against him," Penny explained, putting the cups out for catnip tea.

"That sounds nice and cuddly to me, Penny. I still don't see a problem here," Furry Purrloin said, enjoying the food but confused by the mixed messages she was receiving.

Sipping her catnip tea, Penny explained, "Well, cuddling with Purrcy would be delightful. However, it has its drawbacks. My beautiful fur gets rumpled. It stands up in little peaks making me look like some kind of human rock star. It takes me most of the day to get myself looking normal. Furry Purrloin, this has become a real chore," Penny continued.

"Penny, I really need an article topic for tomorrow. May I write that you are an aspiring rock star?" Furry Purrloin asked while picking up her bag in preparation for heading back to her office.

"Sure, Furry Purrloin, why not? Maybe this will win Purrcy back for me," Penny said while tucking away the leftover biscuits for Purrcy.

Furry Purrloin was beginning to think that Purrcy's weight wasn't related to his human Grandmeow after all. Then she had another idea. Oh Mama Mothball will be so jealous when she finds out that I'm writing about a rock star, Furry Purrloin thought to herself.

Talk back to Furry Purrloin at pause4purrs@meowmail.com.

August 30, 2002

Kittens? Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin's phone was ringing even before her alarm clock chimed in this morning. She really wanted to sleep in, but since she had no assignment for today, she thought she'd better answer the phone in case it was Ruffles Murdog, Publisher/Editor of the Morning Hairball, needing her to cover an important story. Heaven only knows there is no way he could wake Mama Mothball, the regular Daily Scoop reporter, because she slept like a hibernating bear.

"Hello," Furry Purrloin said into the phone.

"Hello, darling, this is your mother, Catarina Purrloin. I'm calling with some wonderful news," blubbered the beautiful Catarina.

"Wonderful news, Mother Purrloin?" Furry Purrloin asked. Her mother almost never called her unless she needed or wanted something, so Furry Purrloin was curious as to what could be the reason for such an early morning phone call.

"Yes, yes. I just had a talk with your dear sister, Catatonia Purrloin. She hasn't been feeling too well lately, so I insisted that she see her catatrician. As it turns out, she isn't sick at all! Catatonia Purrloin is with kitten! Well, actually, she is with nine kittens, according to her catatrician. I'm going to be a grandcat!" Catarina Purrloin burst forth.

"My, my, my," Furry Purrloin mumbled. "I wasn't even aware that Catatonia Purrloin was even married, Mother Purrloin. When did all this happen? Was I out of town or out of the country?" Furry Purrloin questioned the beautiful Catarina Purrloin.

"Well, my dear, you know that your sister, Catatonia Purrloin, hasn't always made the wisest of decisions, and she certainly isn't married. Your father Purrloin and I were just hoping that you would like to adopt several of the kittens to help out, since Catatonia Purrloin has almost no source of income except for her part-time singing job, and she would have a difficult time tending to nine little ones. So let’s get right down to business. Wouldn't you like to hear the pitter patter of little paws around your penthouse?" Catarina Purrloin coaxed her lovely daughter.

"Actually, Mother Purrloin, I don't see any way that I can adopt Catatonia Purrloin's kittens, not even one. I spend a lot of time traveling all over the country, overseas, and I never know a day ahead where Ruffles Murdog may send me. But I do have an idea. How about if Catatonia Purrloin just marries the father of her kittens and settles down to be a good wifecat and Mother to her nine kittens?" Furry Purrloin asked while trying to boil some water for catnip tea, which she really needed today.

"Dear Furry Purrloin, I fear this would be almost impossible. You see, Catatonia Purrloin isn't quite sure which gentlemancat is the father of her kittens. Ever since she got that job singing at the Catnip Tavern she's become rather - well, we should just say unable to keep her fine upstanding morals in tact." Furry Purrloin's mother Purrloin explained.

"Mother, I have a great idea. Just take yourself down to Catatonia Purrloin's place of employment, and ferret out which of the gentlemencats has the characteristics you would like to see in your grandkittens. Which one you would choose to set a good example for those kittens? Find him, and just give him this wonderful news. Inform him that he is going to be a daddy, and I'm sure he'll be more than willing to help Catatonia Purrloin raise her litter of little ones." Furry Purrloin thought this sounded like a good plan and knew that she'd helped solve another dilemma for her mother.

"Great idea, Furry Purrloin," Catarina Purrloin said, "And by the way, when are you planning to settle down and raise a litter of your own?"

"The battery is dying on my phone, Mother Purrloin. I can't hear a thing, and I've got to run now. I'm late for a very important assignment," Furry Purrloin said, thereby avoiding the subject of settling down and kittens entirely as she looked longingly at her bed and decided to finish sleeping at least until the alarm clock went off and Ruffles Murdog called to bug her.

Talk back to Furry Purrloin at pause4purrs@meowmail.com.

August 23, 2002

Bobby Sells His Spots. While glancing through the ads in the morning issue of the Paws and Claws Gazette, Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin noticed an interesting ad, that read: "Spots for Sale. Call Bobby da Bengal Booshay." Furry Purrloin was curious. Bobby da Bengal Booshay was a personal friend ofhers, and she knew he took pride in his spots.

What in the world could Bobby be selling his spots for? Furry wondered aloud, hoping that Ruffles Murdog, Publisher/Editor of the Morning Hairball, wouldn't burst into her office and catch her reading the Paws and Claws Gazette. (Ruffles Murdog never could deal with the fact that the Gazette’s reporters nearly always won Mewlitzer prizes, doggone it all.) Noting that there was no pressing assignment on her calendar for today, Furry Purrloin decided to give Bobby da Bengal a call and check this out. If Bobby da Bengal really did want to sell his spots, perhaps Furry Purrloin had a potential buyer. Her friend, Chita, was always looking for a few extra spots.

"Hello, is this Bobby da Bengal?" Furry Purrloin inquired when a velvety-voiced male cat voice answered the phone.

"Yes, it is. And whom may I ask is calling at this undogly hour? I was right in the middle of my afternoon nap," Bobby da Bengal complained, yawning loudly.

"This is Furry Purrloin, your old friend and one of your staunchest supporters, and I'm sorry to disturb your nap, but I saw something of interest in the Paws and Claws Gazette, and I’m so curious I could just spit," the intrepid Special Guest Reporter explained to Bobby da Bengal Booshay.

"Oh, you mean my ad. Yes, that's me. I am selling some spots, since I have so many of them. You see, I thought if I gave away a spot for each and every vote for Kit Kat in the Cat of the Month Contest. That’s just my way of trying to stimulate some interest in voting," Bobby da Bengal Booshay explained, while nestling the phone under his head so he could recline and talk at the same time.

"Oh, my goodness," Furry Purrloin exclaimed. "What a wonderful gesture. Kit Kat is turning 19 years old on his next birthday, and it would be so nice if he won that contest. I vote for him daily, and I’d probably vote for him twice a day if I were bribed to do so. There’s just one thing I don’t understand. How ever do you go about selling spots? Are they removable?"

"Some spots seem to remove themselves when I shed and, since August is a good shedding month, I thought I might as well make good use of the spots that are being shed. It will also eliminate the need to lick up all that loose fur and prevent hairballs," Bobby da Bengal pragmatically explained.

"So let me get this clear, Bobby da Bengal Booshay. You will give a spot away for each vote? Is that right? And do the cats voting get to choose which spots they want? Or do they just have to settle for whatever spot you're shedding at the time?" Furry Purrloin questioned, rapidly taking notes.

"This is how it works, Furry Purrloin. You see, some spots are more valuable than others. For instance, in order to earn a belly spot ,a cat would have to vote twenty times. The tail spots are only slightly less sought after, so they require twenty-five votes. If a cat wanted an ear spot, well, never mind, those are too valuable to even discuss --- there aren't enough days in the month to acquire an ear spot," Bobby da Bengal told Furry Purrloin while nestling down in his special blanket with his own ear spots plainly visible to any onlookers.

"I think that Piglet would want to get lots and lots of spots," Furry Purrloin offered as she tried to think of potential customers for Bobby da Bengal Booshay. "However, Chita already has quite a few, so she may not want anymore. And then Omar probably wouldn't want any black spots, since they wouldn't show up on his beautiful black fur. Plus, he’s going to the vet today to get his shots, and he’ll probably be in a bad mood when he comes home. Of course, cats of the Asian breeds, like Bart, Joey, Moses, and Frankie, shouldn’t acquire any of your spots since that would ruin their patterns. My goodness. Whether or not to buy your spots will be quite a big decision for some cats, won’t it?" Furry Purrloin asked Bobby da Bengal Booshay.

"I've had quite a few inquiries about my spots already," bragged Bobby da Bengal Booshay. "Would you believe I’ve had more than four hundred phone calls since this morning?

"Bobby, does Kit Kat know of this? Does he know that you are such a devoted fan that you are selling your spots to get him votes?" Furry Purrloin asked while typing up copious notes on her new laptop computer that Ruffles Murdog had given her.

"Of course not! Kit Kat wouldn't expect any cats to barter for votes. Please don't let him know I'm doing this. He is such an upstanding member of the MeowMail Community that he would never, ever stoop so low as to trade something for votes. You won't tell him, will you?" Bobby da Bengal pleaded.

"No, no of course not. My whiskers are sealed. I've got to hang up now, since I have an article to write and lots of ideas to explore. It was lovely talking with you, and I hope you still get your nap," Furry Purrloin told Bobby da Bengal Booshay just before she hung up the phone.

"Now let me see, where could I put a few spots so as to best enhance my lovely fur coat?" Furry Purrloin wondered while inspecting her exotic fur.

Talk back to Furry Purrloin at pause4purrs@meowmail.com.

August 16, 2002

Bobby Sells His Spots. While glancing through the ads in the morning issue of the Paws and Claws Gazette, Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin noticed an interesting ad, that read: "Spots for Sale. Call Bobby da Bengal Booshay." Furry Purrloin was curious. Bobby da Bengal Booshay was a personal friend ofhers, and she knew he took pride in his spots.

What in the world could Bobby be selling his spots for? Furry wondered aloud, hoping that Ruffles Murdog, Publisher/Editor of the Morning Hairball, wouldn't burst into her office and catch her reading the Paws and Claws Gazette. (Ruffles Murdog never could deal with the fact that the Gazette’s reporters nearly always won Mewlitzer prizes, doggone it all.) Noting that there was no pressing assignment on her calendar for today, Furry Purrloin decided to give Bobby da Bengal a call and check this out. If Bobby da Bengal really did want to sell his spots, perhaps Furry Purrloin had a potential buyer. Her friend, Chita, was always looking for a few extra spots.

"Hello, is this Bobby da Bengal?" Furry Purrloin inquired when a velvety-voiced male cat voice answered the phone.

"Yes, it is. And whom may I ask is calling at this undogly hour? I was right in the middle of my afternoon nap," Bobby da Bengal complained, yawning loudly.

"This is Furry Purrloin, your old friend and one of your staunchest supporters, and I'm sorry to disturb your nap, but I saw something of interest in the Paws and Claws Gazette, and I’m so curious I could just spit," the intrepid Special Guest Reporter explained to Bobby da Bengal Booshay.

"Oh, you mean my ad. Yes, that's me. I am selling some spots, since I have so many of them. You see, I thought if I gave away a spot for each and every vote for Kit Kat in the Cat of the Month Contest. That’s just my way of trying to stimulate some interest in voting," Bobby da Bengal Booshay explained, while nestling the phone under his head so he could recline and talk at the same time.

"Oh, my goodness," Furry Purrloin exclaimed. "What a wonderful gesture. Kit Kat is turning 19 years old on his next birthday, and it would be so nice if he won that contest. I vote for him daily, and I’d probably vote for him twice a day if I were bribed to do so. There’s just one thing I don’t understand. How ever do you go about selling spots? Are they removable?"

"Some spots seem to remove themselves when I shed and, since August is a good shedding month, I thought I might as well make good use of the spots that are being shed. It will also eliminate the need to lick up all that loose fur and prevent hairballs," Bobby da Bengal pragmatically explained.

"So let me get this clear, Bobby da Bengal Booshay. You will give a spot away for each vote? Is that right? And do the cats voting get to choose which spots they want? Or do they just have to settle for whatever spot you're shedding at the time?" Furry Purrloin questioned, rapidly taking notes.

"This is how it works, Furry Purrloin. You see, some spots are more valuable than others. For instance, in order to earn a belly spot ,a cat would have to vote twenty times. The tail spots are only slightly less sought after, so they require twenty-five votes. If a cat wanted an ear spot, well, never mind, those are too valuable to even discuss --- there aren't enough days in the month to acquire an ear spot," Bobby da Bengal told Furry Purrloin while nestling down in his special blanket with his own ear spots plainly visible to any onlookers.

"I think that Piglet would want to get lots and lots of spots," Furry Purrloin offered as she tried to think of potential customers for Bobby da Bengal Booshay. "However, Chita already has quite a few, so she may not want anymore. And then Omar probably wouldn't want any black spots, since they wouldn't show up on his beautiful black fur. Plus, he’s going to the vet today to get his shots, and he’ll probably be in a bad mood when he comes home. Of course, cats of the Asian breeds, like Bart, Joey, Moses, and Frankie, shouldn’t acquire any of your spots since that would ruin their patterns. My goodness. Whether or not to buy your spots will be quite a big decision for some cats, won’t it?" Furry Purrloin asked Bobby da Bengal Booshay.

"I've had quite a few inquiries about my spots already," bragged Bobby da Bengal Booshay. "Would you believe I’ve had more than four hundred phone calls since this morning?

"Bobby, does Kit Kat know of this? Does he know that you are such a devoted fan that you are selling your spots to get him votes?" Furry Purrloin asked while typing up copious notes on her new laptop computer that Ruffles Murdog had given her.

"Of course not! Kit Kat wouldn't expect any cats to barter for votes. Please don't let him know I'm doing this. He is such an upstanding member of the MeowMail Community that he would never, ever stoop so low as to trade something for votes. You won't tell him, will you?" Bobby da Bengal pleaded.

"No, no of course not. My whiskers are sealed. I've got to hang up now, since I have an article to write and lots of ideas to explore. It was lovely talking with you, and I hope you still get your nap," Furry Purrloin told Bobby da Bengal Booshay just before she hung up the phone.

"Now let me see, where could I put a few spots so as to best enhance my lovely fur coat?" Furry Purrloin wondered while inspecting her exotic fur.

Talk back to Furry Purrloin at pause4purrs@meowmail.com.

August 9, 2002

Purrfurr Fur and Fuzz Removal Service. Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin’s special guest assignment today was an interview with Pilfer Purrfurr, whose slogan was: "Best Fur Removal and Lint Picking Service in the U.S." Thinking about her upcoming interview, Furry Purrloin was unable to understand why any cat or human would want to remove fur from anyplace or anything. However, she acknowledged, there were all kinds of strange critters in this world.

"Pilfer, can you tell me what method you use in your war against fur and lint removal?" Furry Purrloin inquired of Mr. Purrfurr. She was clearly trying to be open-minded.

"Ms. Purrloin, my preferred method is tape. Yes, tape, and lots of suction. The tape is no problem, and I buy it by the case. However, the suction is becoming a chore for me," Pilfer explained while unpacking a new case of two-inch-wide masking tape.

"I see you have plenty of tape, Pilfer, but why are you having a problem with suction? Can't you just use a vacuum cleaner for suction?" Furry Purrloin asked.

"Actually, no," Pilfer responded. "You see, most critters are scared out of their wits of vacuum cleaners. They run and hide immediately when they see one coming. Only cat I ever met who wasn't scared of vacuum cleaners was John Wayne, but then, he wasn't scared of anything. Nope, can't use a vacuum."

"Well, Pilfer, what have you been using up till now? If I may be so bold and nosy as to ask," Furry persisted, not being able to think of another source of suction.

"Up until now, I've been using anteaters. With their long snouts, they can just suck up the fur and lint. Only trouble is, they are such ornery critters, and they whine all the time about the fur and lint clogging up their works. You see, they aren't able to produce hairballs, so I fired the last one today," Mr. Purrfurr explained to Furry Purrloin.

"Does that mean you'll be going out of the fur, fuzz, and lint removal business?" Furry Purrloin asked, putting away her voice recorder and thinking this interview wasn't going anywhere.

"Absolutely not! I've just ordered thousands of one-inch plungers. Belly button lint seems to be the biggest concern, and I'm thoroughly convinced that these miniature plungers will do the job for all," Pilfer explained, looking for a picture of the tiny plungers to show Furry Purrloin.

Furry was so doubled over with laughter that she dropped her equipment and immediately headed for the nearest litter box area. While there, she was planning to have a look at her own belly button. It did seem rather furrier than usual these days. Perhaps this idea wasn't so crazy after all.

Talk back to Furry Purrloin at pause4purrs@meowmail.com.

July 19, 2002

The Complexity of Shopping. Furry Purrloin’s Special Guest Assignment today was to cover the opening of the new shopping complex located at the tri-corner intersection of Hiss, Purr, and Slurp boulevards near the Morning Hairball office complex. This was going to be exciting. Imagine -- Ruffles Murdog, publisher/editor of the Morning Hairball, was sending Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin shopping! He must have had another falling out with Daily Scoop Reporter Mama Mothball, who would have just loved an assignment to go shopping. But no. The pleasure would be all Furry Purrloin’s today. That warmed Furry Purrloin’s cockles, or at least made her wish that she had some cockles to warm, since it was such a happy occasion and called out for a celebration.

Standing across from the new shopping complex, Furry Purrloin couldn't help but be distracted. What clever names she saw outside of the various shops!

First, located right on the corner, was the largest of all the new shops, "Tommy and Kato's Used Cars," with the slogan, "Special Orders Don't Upset Us." In small print, the sign read, "Most orders filled within twenty four hours. No credit necessary. Terms can be worked out." Furry Purrloin wasn’t at all surprised that Tommy and Kato’s used car dealership occupied the choicest real estate in the complex. "Very appropriate," she mused aloud. "And interesting, too."

The next sign that caught Furry Purrloin’s attention was: "Mama Mothball's Hat Boutique. New, Used, and Slightly Abused Hats for Every Occasion." Ha! So Mama Mothball was moonlighting when she wasn’t working on her columns. That figured! It also went a long way toward explaining why Ruffles Murdog had given Furry Purrloin the plumb writing assignment for the week.

Then, beside Mama Mothball’s shop, there was, "Penny and Purrcy's Photo Shop." And, right next door to that was "Barbara and Dorothy’s Art Gallery." Beside that, of course, was "Bobby de Bengal Booshay’s Bailbonds" with a rather catchy slogan: "We also sell airline tickets." And then there was "Scotty's Tea and Toilet Paper Shop," with the slogan, "Drink it or wipe it up, the choice is yours."

Glancing a little further down the shopping complex she spied "Sadie’s Fresh Berry Store: We personally slurp every berry for cleansing purposes." And Furry could see that Angel King had a storefront called, "Angel’s Bread You Bake Yourself. No Rye Sold Here." Furry Purrloin thought that sounded interesting. Ralphie had a florist shop called "Ralphie’s Red Roses, We always provide eleven to the dozen." Well, Ralphie never could count very well, Furry determined, muttering something under her breath.

There was "El Puma's Computer Repair and Travel Agency," and Furry Purrloin thought this an odd combination but she did think their slogan was catchy: "We only work on toy computers. No tech in residence." There was "Frankie's Pet and Reptile Emporium, Slither On In." The stately looking shop to the right of the pet emporium was "Nala La's Dentures, twenty-four hour service and soft food served while you wait." Oh yes, and beside that was, "Chita's Fortune Telling: If you don't like your fate, we'll make one up for you." Furry Purrloin wasn't sure she completely understood what was going on in there.

There was "Teensy's Baths of Distinction: half showers for the discriminating kitten," and of course, "Kit Kat's Advice and Hearing Aid" store. Tony had an interesting shop called "We're Just Horsing Around, River Trips Available." Snowy had an interesting shop, too, and Furry Purrloin planned to check it out when she had more time. It was called, "Learn to Hula in one Easy Lesson." And then there was PD and Molly's "Diapers and Room Deodorizers." Now that was an odd combination, Furry thought. There was "Boo and Riley's Smokeshop: We import directly from Canada," which was located on the corner. And, of course, there was Magellan's Waterfront Fresh Fish Market. It's slogan was: We specialize in Alaskan salmon.

Upstairs there was a cute little store with a blinking sign named, "Pixel's Eye Patches and Costumes," and right next door was "Clara's Riding Academy, Daily Tours Available." Joey's shop looked interesting: "Fresh Moles for the Particular Cat," and Scooter had a basement remodeling shop called "Scooter's Basement Repair and Tornado Supplies." Furry Purrloin laughed when she saw Wilson's store because it was something he would enjoy running himself most of the time. It was called "Wilson's Trapeze and Exercise," and it looked as if Wilson was interviewing a new employee, Moses, to help him out on the sales floor. Behind the car lot, owned by Tommy and Kato, the Whoda ladies had an impressive looking moving and storage company called "Furs on the Move, Relocation is our Specialty."

Furry was hoping to be able to visit each and every store in the new complex but, at the moment, she was hungry and it was lunch time. Glancing all the way to the end of the complex, she saw just what she was looking for: "Harley's Turkey Sandwich and Deli: Fresh turkey and mouseburgers served on homemade bread." Yes, Furry Purrloin’s tummy was grumbling. She headed right on over to the sandwich shop where, along with John Wayne, Scully, Bender, Sabrina, Freckles, Tigger, Piglet, Snookums, Cassie, Dickens, and other furs, she waited for the turkey to roast. In the meantime, Furry Purrloin and her friends enjoyed some fresh, iced catnip tea.

Talk back to Furry Purrloin at pause4purrs@meowmail.com.

July 12, 2002

Moses, Moses, Moses! Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin was just delighted when she turned over her calendar page and saw that Ruffles Murdog, publisher/editor of the Morning Hairball, had scheduled her to interview a kitten who was currently running the household of two human police officers. The kitten, naturally, was none other than the famous Moses. The intrepid Furry Purrloin had heard that Moses was as active as he was handsome, so she decided to don her paw sneakers in case this should turn into a sporting event. The brave reporter dug deep into her desk drawer looking for the sneakers with Velcro closures since the ones with laces looked somewhat like a cat toy, and she didn’t want to tempt the famous Moses.

When the intrepid reporter rang the doorbell, the famous Moses greeted Furry Purrloin with all four paws, wrapping himself around the lovely journalist with the enthusiasm of a miniature tornado. Then he started to talk in his cute, kitten’s style. "Hello, hello, hello, big kitty. Have you come to play with my toys? I gots lottsa new toys," the famous Moses said, dashing around the room and batting breakable things left and right with his furry paws.

"No, Moses," the intrepid special guest reporter told the famous kitten. "Slow down. I didn't come to play with your toys. I came to interview you for the Daily Scoop. My publisher and editor, Ruffles Murdog, is interested in doing an article about what it's like for a kitten to live with two police officers, and you're the only kitten in MeowMail Town who qualifies." Furry Purrloin was getting dizzy whipping her head back and forth trying to keep it pointed in Moses's direction.

"Okay, whatcha want to know?" the famous kitten asked. "Grandma brought me this mouse in the round-‘n-round thing, and it won't come out. Wanna see if you can get it out?" Moses said as he pulled the toy across the room for Furry Purrloin to inspect.

"Moses, you have to get your mind off of your toys because I have a couple of questions for you," Furry Purrloin explained getting exasperated and thinking she should have worn more than just sneakers. For example, maybe a jogging outfit would have been appropriate.

"Now are there any special rules for living in this house with human police officers? Have they imposed a curfew on you or anything like that?" Furry Purrloin asked as soon as she seemed to have Moses' attention for a brief moment.

"Curfew? What's a curfew? Is that a toy that I haven't got yet?" Moses asked, putting his furry white face close to Furry Purrloin’s face and crossing his eyes in an endearing manner.

"A curfew is a special time that you have to be inside or in a certain place," Furry Purrloin explained to the famous Moses. "It's like, well, let’s say that you are playing. Then your humans get tired, and they want to go to sleep. So you must go to sleep, too."

"Oh, I see. Sort of," Moses said, closing his eyes. Then his eyes popped open again. "Nope. I guess I don't have a curfew. But Mommy does give me something she calls ‘time outs’ that I don't like at all. She puts me in my room and shuts the door. Then she says I have to stay there until I learn not to fly at human legs with my claws out. That ain't no fun at all, even though I do have toys in my room, a nice warm bed, a litterbox, and toilet paper to unroll and jump in all over the floor. Oh, toilet paper is really cool, Ms. Furry," Moses said, quickly regaining his exuberance, "and I think humans invented it just for cats. See, they put it on a special wall thing so we can find it easy. Come on, and I'll show you!" And, with that, the famous Moses dashed off again, headed upstairs, and disappeared around a corner.

Furry Purrloin was getting more frustrated by the moment. Even Mama Mothball's kittens, Merry Mothball and Mimi Mothball, weren't this full of energy. Sure, they were pains in the butts. But, when they got done chatting about trivial subjects, they more or less just laid around grooming their claws and browsing Cattywood magazines.

Furry Purrloin waited patiently for Moses to return. After a few minutes he did, bringing along with him a string of white paper that seemed to extend from upstairs all the way to his paws. "See, Ms. Furry, this is some of it, and it just goes on forever and ever. I've never even found the other end of it."

"Rules. We have to stay on the subject of the interview here. Rules. What are the special rules your humans have for you, Moses?" Furry Purrloin inquired, hoping to gain some information besides how long a roll of toilet paper was. She'd save that for another interview with a cat named Kimberly Klark.

"Rule number one around here is that, when the humans pick you up, you are not supposed to bat at their faces," the famous Moses recited. "I think there is a rule about not clinging to human skin, too, and not going up to real high places where I might fall and scare the humans. There is a rule that I get to sleep in my Daddy's hat and another one that I'm not supposed to wander into the refrigerator when it's open, even when it’s hot outside. Mommy doesn't like me to find the coolest spots in the house all by myself in case she doesn’t know about them." And Moses blabbed on and on, never stopping for a breath of air.

"I should think your Daddy would impose a speed limit on you just to keep things in the house safe," Furry Purrloin said, dashing after Moses who had exited the room chasing after a plastic ball.

"Speed limit? I don't gots no speed limits. But I can swing on the rungs of chairs like a parakeet. That's what my Mommy says I look like when I do that. I'm not sure what a parakeet is, but if we had one, I'd play with it as often as I play with my other toys. Come on, Ms. Furry. Come and play with my toys!. These interview things aren't too much fun, are they?" And, with that, the famous Moses dashed off again, leaving Furry Purrloin standing in the entryway, pen in paw, posed to write something -- but she couldn't think what.

Slowly opening the door and making her exit, an exhausted Furry Purrloin decided to stop and pick up a motor vehicle handbook to see if she couldn't copy some rules that Ruffles Murdog would accept in lieu of a substantive interview with the non-stop whirlwind of a kitten.

Talk back to Furry Purrloin at pause4purrs@meowmail.com.

July 5, 2002

Soggy Keyboard. "Mama Mothball, please come into my office immediately," Ruffles Murdog, Publisher/Editor of the Morning Hairball, yelled out the door of his office.

Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin's head jerked up, her right paw zoomed across the desk knocking her water over into her keyboard. "Oh no, not again," she muttered in frustration. No time to switch keyboards with regular columnist, Mama Mothball, who no doubt had a dry keyboard, since she never used it. "I’ve got to get my ear to the wall and see what Ruffles has his britches in a bundle about now," she mumbled.

Placing her ear to the wall seperating her office from Ruffles Murdog’s office, while pretending to lean against the copy machine, Furry Purrloin overheard the following conversation:

"I have recently gotten wind of the fact, Mama Mothball, that you can't read. What do you have to say for yourself?" Ruffles asked in a rather loud voice.

"Well, er, uh, I don't understand what has gotten you so upset, Ruffles. Of course I can read. How could I write all my wonderful articles, and get all the important interviews I do if I couldn't read?" Mama Mothball inquired.

"I understand, since you do a lot of phone interviews, that it would be possible to tape them. Once the interviews are done, you could have your assistant type them up, hence no reading required," Ruffles barked at her. "Either that, or you don’t do any interviews. You simply make up your stories out of whole cloth."

"Why, Ruffles, I've nearly worn out the keys on my keyboard, I do so much typing. You can hardly tell the N’s from the M’s, since the lettering is all rubbed out. Also, just look at my once beautiful claws. They are worn down to stubs!" Mama Mothball went on to explain. Furry Purrloin could imagine Mama Mothball crossing her toes behind her back.

Furry Purrloin swiveled her head around toward her desk. "Yes, this is definitely the time to switch those keyboards," she whispered to herself as she dashed behind her desk to disconnect some wires. Once she was done, she immediately put her ear to the wall again so she could finish eavesdropping - that is, sleuthing.

"Then perhaps you can explain where this information about your lack of reading skills came from," Ruffles Murdog persisted, now merely panting.

"Yes, now that I've had a chance to think this over, I think I know where this all started," Mama Mothball explained, being the master of fiction and presumably uncrossing her claws so she could relax. "I recently interviewed a psychic. She asked if I could do a ‘reading’ for her. I, of course replied that I didn't read. Now, doesn't that explain everything?" Mama Mothball asked in her smug voice.

"Well, let's see here. How about if we just go check out your keyboard. If the letters really are worn off, perhaps we should order a new one for you," Ruffles Murdog suggested, standing up on two paws and heading for the door to catch Mama Mothball in a lie.

Mama Mothball nearly dropped her fangs. Thoughts raced through her brain. How was she going to divert Ruffles? She couldn't let him see her keyboard with the dust covered keys. Images of losing her job and supporting herself as a model pranced through her mind. It wasn’t such an unhappy thought, after all.

"Well, yes, my dear, I see your keyboard is quite worn and shabby and WET! These things don't grow, Mama Mothball. What did you do to the keyboard -- water it?" Ruffles Murdog barked, once again losing his composure. "But I can see you've told me the truth, and I will replace this keyboard."

Mama Mothball stood in wonder, shaking her furry head, paws on hips, thinking a miracle must have occurred and blessed her.

Furry Purrloin settled down at her desk, preparing to type her article, on her almost new, hardly used keyboard with a big grin between her whiskers. Tomorrow, she'd talk to Ruffles Murdog about getting her an assistant, too, so her lovely claws wouldn't look so shabby. In the meantime, Mama Mothball owed her a big favor. Let’s see…now what did Furry Purrloin need at the mall?

Talk back to Furry Purrloin at pause4purrs@meowmail.com.

June 27, 2002

Shoot! Looking over her calendar, Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin decided to skip the interview proposed with some world leaders. Mama Mothball could handle that one and would most likely fit right in with her unusual and unique hat. Furry Purrloin decided to take the day off and shop for something she needed for a gift when the phone rang.

"Furry, get right over to Kit Kat's house. This is the final day of the shoot," Ruffles Murdog ordered in his Publisher/Editor voice.

"Shoot? Why are they shooting Kit Kat?" Furry Purrloin asked.

"If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn't be sending you. I'd just write the story up myself and save paying you travel time, my little nosy parker," Ruffles explained.

"Oh my, well okay, Ruffles," Furry Purrloin murmured in her most demure voice, "if you're really sure you want me to cover this."

Arriving at Kit Kat's house, Furry Purrloin noticed all kinds and sorts of camera equipment, lights, f-stops, lenses, and photographers. "This must be something really important," she uttered to one of the cats standing around watching.

"Kit, may I ask you a few questions?" Furry Purrloin yelled over to Kit Kat who was sitting atop a velvet settee and posing.

"Let's take a break here guys," Kit said. "My friend, Furry, is here and this could help with the promotional aspects of the shoot."

"Kit, Ruffles Murdog told me to get right over here, that you were being shot. I was so worried that I didn't even stop to grab my voice recorder. What exactly is going on? This doesn't look like they are planning to shoot you; these guys look like photographers," Furry observed with her portable computer propped up on the back of a light stand.

"Furry Purrloin, this is a photo shoot. I've having quite a few photographs taken for a calendar I'm planning to publish next year. You know, sort of like the Playcat calendar, only this one will be all me so I'll be the Cat of the Year each and every month. I think I can make a lot of tunas with this, don't you agree?" Kit stated as he brushed his shiny black fur back.

"Kit, this is a wonderful idea! I'm quite sure that all the cats of the world will want a copy of your calendar. What are you planning to do with all the tunas you make from the sale of your calendar?" Furry Purrloin wondered aloud.

"First of all, I plan to buy Mama Mothball a new hat. Secondly, I plan to buy the MeowMail Twins a car of their choice, to share of course. Harley shall have unlimited turkey sandwiches, and I'm planning to buy a gym where Wilson and Moses can exercise to their heart’s content. I thought about getting a tail for Chita, since she's always stealing other cat's tails, and for Angel King, I'll get a headache specialist. I want to get Bobby the Bengal a Spanish book and Sabrina a diamond necklace so she'll quit bugging Ralphie for jewelry. That's just to start. The rest depends on how many tuna's I make from the calendar," Kit explained to Furry Purrloin. "Won't this be wonderful? Perhaps you can help me select things that my other friends need or want."

"Oh Kit, you are so wise and generous. To put yourself through all this just to buy nice things for your friends. I think you've left yourself out though. There must be something that you want for yourself," Furry Purrloin pleaded.

"Yes, but I don't know where to buy or attain such a thing so I just want to please others. What I really want and need is some peace and quiet from that little pest, Omar. He hasn't quite grown out of his kitten stage yet and often makes me crazy with his unrelenting energy and enthusiasm," Kit stated in his most thoughtful manner.

"Kit I think this is the most honorable, unselfish thing I have ever heard of. I'm going to take this story to the National Catquirer and see if they can't manage to get you some type of award, or at least a role in a hit movie in Cattywood. I see the photographer signaling to you so I'll let you get back to work and I'll just run this story over to MeowMail so Ruffles can put in his many typos and make complete and utter nonsense of the whole thing," Furry Purrloin yelled back as she headed out for the limo and possibly a side trip to the mall.

Talk back to Furry Purrloin at pause4purrs@meowmail.com.

June 21, 2002

Bats! Just as Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin walked into her office at the Morning Hairball offices, the FAX machine was spitting out a message from United Purr International on her secret line. Good thing Regular Reporter Mama Mothball didn't know about this source, or Furry Purrloin would never get any scoops.

"Your secret source reports that Zazu has bats in her belfry," read the FAX.

Furry Purrloin knew she had to sit down, and she did so promptly, placing her cup of fresh catnip latte far out of reach of any machines that might take advantage of the liquid’s proximity to break themselves. Then, naturally, she called Zazu.

"Ding-a-ling-a-ling! Ding-a-ling-a-ling! Ding-a-ling-a-ling!" Furry Purrloin heard Zazu's phone ringing, and hoped he didn’t have an answering machine. Then Furry Purrloin would have to make a trip to Zazu's house to check out the story, and she could get out of the stuffy old office for awhile.

"Hello," came a voice from the other end of the telephone.

Harrumph, thought Furry Purrloin to herself. I guess I’ll have to stay here after all. Then she composed herself and responded, "Hello, Zazu. It's Furry Purrloin, Special Guest Reporter for the Morning Hairball. Or, as I like to say, the Only Real Reporter for the Morning Hairball, since Mama Mothball scarely counts. Have you got a minute for a couple of questions to confirm a rumor I just heard?"

"Sure, Furry Purrloin. My time is your time. I'm just waiting for the photographer to arrive," Zazu explained as he stretched the phone cord to be able to view the front drive.

"The photographer? Are you having your portrait taken today, Zazu?" Furry Purrloin inquired.

"Actually, no. The photographer is coming to take pictures of the bats before they're all gone. You did know that I had bats in my belfry, didn't you?" Zazu expounded while picking a piece of lint off of his handsome black tail.

"As a matter of fact, that's what I called about, Zazu. That was the rumor I just heard. Or, rather, that I read. Are you sure that it is a photographer you're expecting and not a human in a white coat bringing a new jacket for you?" Furry Purrloin asked in her sweetest, gentlest voice, in hopes she wouldn't offend Zazu or that, if she did, it wouldn’t cause trouble.

"Furry Purrloin, your imagination is running away with you. The bats are not in my personal belfry. They are in the attic of my house. You must have heard the rumor second-paw, and some of the information got changed. You know how these things are apt to happen." Zazu didn’t seem the least bit offended. Perhaps he completely missed the suggestion that he had a bit too much yardage between his goal posts.

"Zazu, are any of these bats vampire bats? Is there cause for alarm in that respect? Or are these the kind of bats that the Red Stockings baseball team uses?" Furry Purrloin asked, bubbling over with curiosity and still trying to find a scoop for the day.

"No, no, no. These are just your everyday, hanging-upside-down-flying-around-at-night kind of bats. No vampires, no wood involved, Furry," Zazu explained.

Furry Purrloin wouldn’t give up. "So tell me, Zazu: Why do you want pictures of these bats? Haven't you ever seen them? Maybe they really are 'all in your head,' so to speak, and your human has hired someone from the institution to pose as a photographer. Did you ever think of that?" Furry Purrloin fired off, so full of questions that she could hardly ask them fast enough.

"Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Buzzzzzzzzzzz," the doorbell sounded.

"Furry Purrloin, I have to go now," Zazu hastily said. "The photographer is here, and I must answer the door." And Zazu hung up the phone, tired of all of Furry's many questions even though he was too polite to show it.

Peering through the peekhole to be sure the visitor was a photographer and not some feline intruder - mastermind criminal Bobby da Bengal Booshay, for example -- Zazu noticed that the visitor was carrying a jacket -- a white one with all kinds of ties, clasps, and snaps. "Probably to keep the film clean," Zazu mused, opening the door. "Now that’s what I like to see: A true professional."

Talk back to Furry Purrloin at pause4purrs@meowmail.com.

June 14, 2002

Penny’s Bloomers. Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin put down her paw. It was not an angry paw, but rather a determined paw. No, she would not leave Great Britain without getting some kind of a story. Interviewing the Queen was not good enough by half. She wanted to really surprise and amaze Ruffles Murdog, Publisher/Editor of the Morning Hairball.

Mumbling to herself, Furry Purrloin mused, "What was that rumor about a mouse under a chair? A frightened mouse, at that?"

Using her very best source -- her imagination -- she pictured Ruffles Murdog, leaning back in his desk chair, back paws on his desk, saying, "Furry oh Furry, where have you been?" To which Furry would reply, in imagination only, "I've been to London to visit the Queen."

She must not tell Ruffles Murdog what really transpired there. Missing the anniversary of the Queen's coronation would be far too embarrassing. The fact that she was subsequently able to interview the Queen was of little consequence compared to that.

"Ruffles, I looked under every chair I could find. The palace just has no mice," Furry Purrloin said, swishing her tail aside in order to sit down.

"What! No mice in any of the hundreds of rooms? Wasn't there anything at all of interest under those chairs?" a disbelieving Ruffles Murdog questioned, leaning forward over his desk in frustration.

"I did see a lizard, but it dashed out through a crack in the cobblestones. There were a few dust bunnies, under beds, and in the rooms upstairs, but they wouldn't hop. There was lots of dog hair under the sofas. Oh, and some bloomers," Furry Purrloin expounded while straightening her new jumper she'd bought on the way back to the airport.

"Bloomers!!" Ruffles Murdog barked while standing on his paws and leaning almost completely over the desk toward Furry Purrloin. "Now that could be the story of the century. Tell me more about these bloomers. This is much better than any mice under chairs."

"Let me think here a moment and gather my thoughts,." Furry Purrloin said, closing her eyes to think back over her recent adventure. All she could picture was the quaint shops, the friendly humans, and the delicious crab scones.

"Pink! Yes, they were pink. Oh, and some were lavender, too, I believe." Furry Purrloin blurted out. "Penny would just love them!"

Pacing back and forth now, in deep thought, Ruffles Murdog asked, "So you think these were Penny's bloomers? I didn't realize she was going to the coronation. Why were her bloomers in Buckinghorse Castle?"

"No, no, no. You're being foolish. You're making up facts, Ruffles," Furry Purrloin reproved him, planting her right hip on Ruffles desk and crossing her paws. "The bloomers were pansies, not undergarments!"

"So you've returned with no story. No article for the Daily Scoop. I'll call Mama Mothball and see what she's come up with," Ruffles Murdog told Furry Purrloin with a grimace on his face. "I’d do almost anything to avoid this, since Mama Mothball is the stinkiest reporter on the planet, but you’ve left me no choice."

Just at that moment, the flight attendant began shaking Furry Purrloin to wake her. "Please be sure your seat belt is buckled and your tray table is in an upright and locked position. Did you have a nice nap, ma’am?"

Furry Purrloin realized that it had all been a dream. Ruffles Murdog loved her better than Mama Mothball after all. Whew! What a relief.

Talk back to Furry Purrloin at pause4purrs@meowmail.com.

June 7, 2002

A Royal Treat. Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin had just arrived back in Jolly Ole England (she frequently travels to Europe on assignment), having received an invitation to the anniversary of the coronation of Queen Lizzy Beth. Fifty years was a long time to rule a country, but of course, she didn't run for this position -- she sort of inherited it. There had been three invitations on the desk of Ruffles Murdog, publisher/editor of the Morning Hairball, and a very close personal friend as well as her employer. Furry Purrloin felt sure that this was an event that Ruffles Murdog would not miss. However, she wondered if Ruffles had given the third invitation to Mama Mothball, the reporter whom most staff members at the Morning Hairball didn’t like to think about. No, probably not, Furry Purrloin decided. Mama Mothball would probably find the whole trip boring compared with shopping at the mall. Hmmm. Furry Purrloin was betting that Ruffles Murdog had given the third invitation to Sadie, on whom he currently had a crush, even though she was already promised to another.

Furry Purrloin tried desperately to get the attention of the Royal Guard standing at the palace gate. To whom should she give her invitation? Also, would room and board would be provided, or did she have to deal with that on her own? The streets of London weren’t terribly comfortable for sleeping purposes. Try as she might, Furry Purrloin couldn’t get the attention of any members of the Royal Guard, although she talked right into their faces. For reasons unknown to her, all of the cats were staring straight ahead. Maybe she should just wave the invitation in their faces and walk right on past. Yes, that just might work.

"Furry Purrloin, by special invitation, entering the palace now for the big celebration," the intrepid Special Guest Reporter announced. Yes, that worked as she strolled right past the Royal Guard. Guess these cats weren’t allowed to converse with reporters or didn't speak the language, Furry Purrloin intuited. Walking cautiously down the long stone hall, Furry Purrloin wondered when she would meet the next critter of whom she might ask a question. Oh look! There was a critter. Now who could that be? Furry Purrloin wondered.

"Sir, aren't you Prince Charlie?" Furry Purrloin asked the tall dignified gentleman, who was wearing what looked like polo clothes.

"Yes, ma’am, I am Prince Charlie. May I ask who and what you are?" the Prince inquired of Furry.

"I'm Furry Purrloin, Special Guest Reporter for the Morning Hairball. I have an invitation here for the anniversary of the coronation of Queen Lizzy Beth. Do you know where my room is and what time lunch will be served? Is there room service, or do we dine in a mutual dining room?" Furry Purrloin asked while holding out her engraved invitation so that Prince Charlie could see it.

"High tea will be at four o'clock, but I believe it is at Windsome Castle, not here at Buckinghorse," the Prince informed Furry Purrloin. He still hadn't answered her question about her room.

"I need to know where to put my suitcase and where to change clothes. Sir, can you direct me to someone who can provide this information?" Furry Purrloin asked while putting her invitation back into her large travel satchel.

"I know nothing more than the time of the High Tea, and I really must run. I’m late for my polo match, you see. Ta-ta now, Furry friend!" And off the Prince dashed, leaving Furry Purrloin still standing in the long hall with not a critter in sight.

"Oh, look," Furry Purrloin said, talking entirely to herself. "I think that's Elton James coming down the hall. He'll know where we're supposed to go and where our rooms are. "Hi, Elton. Are you singing for the Queen?" Furry Purrloin inquired of Elton who was wearing the most outrageous outfit she had ever seen, right down to matching earrings.

"Do I know you, ma’am?" Elton inquired. "Are you part of the Royal staff? Are you a char woman or a greeter?"

"Mr. James, I'm Furry Purrloin. I'm a reporter here for the anniversary of the Queen’s coronation. Aren't you here for the same reason?" Furry Purrloin blabbered on, suddenly in a state of nervous confusion.

"No, I'm here to be Knighted. Just plan to drop in on Lizzy for a spot of tea, then off on a whirlwind tour of Scotland. I think the coronation party was last night and that the Queen as left for Windsome Castle," Elton said as he strolled right on past, apparently knowing exactly where he was going.

Getting her invitation out, Furry Purrloin examined it more closely. No wonder she hadn't run into Ruffles or Sadie. The party was last night! Furry hung her head, feeling that she'd really missed the opportunity of her nine lives to see Queen Lizzy Beth in person. To make matters even worse, she had a burning question that she had been wondering about since almost forever.

"Why was Queen Lizzy Beth never seen without her purse?" Furry Purrloin uttered to the wall. There just had to be some secret contents in that purse. Oh, well, back for another go at getting that Royal Guard members to talk, move their eyes, show any sign of life. Must be some kind of story there….

And, just then, who should happen by except Queen Lizzy Beth? Furry Purrloin hugged her with all four of her paws. This was the happiest day of Furry Purrloin’s nine lives, barring none!

Talk back to Furry Purrloin at pause4purrs@meowmail.com.

May 31, 2002

Could It Be…? Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin arrived at the Wayne residence early for her luncheon date with Sheriff John Wayne and his brothers, all prominent residents of MeowMail Town, and was hoping to get information to do an article about how much shedding was going on, considering the fact that three Maine coons were experiencing warmer weather. The door was open, and John Wayne yelled through the screen for the intrepid Furry Purrloin to come in. Furry Purrloin found John, Harley, Scotty, and Bart sitting in a circle pondering something that must have been important since all their furry foreheads were furrowed.

"What’s up, guys," Furry Purrloin asked, hoping they were deciding where to go for lunch. Furry Purrloin was hungry, as always, since she’d worked up a good appetite on her last investigative assignment.

"Our human mommy put a surprise in the bathroom and shut the door. We are all trying to figure out what she put in there," Scotty informed Furry, since he was the talkative - albeit the youngest -- one in the family.

"What did it look like," Furry Purrloin inquired. "I'm sure we can figure out what it is if we have a good description."

"Didn't look like much that we could see," Harley offered. "Maybe about the size of a baseball."

"Perhaps it was a baseball," Furry Purrloin mused. "Does your Mom usually keep baseballs in the bathroom?"

"No, we've never even known Mommy to own a baseball," John explained. "She’s more of a football fan. Plus, she would need a bat if she was planning to play baseball in the bathroom, wouldn't she? And we didn’t see any bats flying around in there." John Wayne, of course, was the intellectual in the family.

"I know purrfectly well what Mommy put in the bathroom," said Bart, the eldest and most experienced cat in the Wayne clan. "I've seen them before, years ago, when mommy used to bring them into the house from under the redwood deck." During his speech, Bart calmly cleaned his left front paw while his brothers took turns licking his three other paws.

"There, you see, there isn't a mystery after all," Furry Purrloin informed the group. "Bart knows what the surprise is, and I'm sure he'll tell us. Right, Bart?"

"No, he won't tell any of us anything," Scotty countered. "He wants us to learn things on our own. Here’s my guess. I think the surprise is a dust rag that mommy is going to use to clean up the bathroom."

"Scotty, hush," Harley admonished with a swish of his red tail across his little brother’s whiskers. "You’re still such a kitten sometimes. Mom wouldn’t keep a dust rag behind a closed door. Don't you have an imaginary bird to chase or something?"

"Bart," a frustrated Furry Purrloin asked, "would you be so kind as to tell your brothers and me what is in the bathroom so we can go to lunch? The limo is waiting, and I don't know if Ruffles Murdog is planning to let me have his driver for the whole day."

"I've already had my lunch," Bart responded. "It was delicious chicken, and I wasn't planning to join you furs for lunch, but I will tell you what mommy put in the bathroom, anyway. It was Moses," Bart said smugly.

"Yeah, right! Like we're going to believe that," John Wayne uttered under his breath. "Moses is a character from the Bible, and there is no way mom would be putting him in the bathroom."

"Did you see the litterbox go into the bathroom?" Bart asked the group. "Did you see a water dish, a food dish, and a furry little bed? Those are things Moses needs when he comes to visit here. Soon the rest of you will be able to see him. I've already washed his tiny little face."

Furry Purrloin, who always reserved judgment until she had all the facts, wasn’t convinced that Moses was actually in the Wayne’s bathroom. However, whatever was in the bathroom was probably alive. And wouldn’t it be amazing if Moses actually were alive and well and living in Sam’s Clam Disco? Furry Purrloin quickly excused herself from the lunch her interviewees had been planning, explaining, "I'm going to grab some lunch on the run and get back to the Morning Hairball offices to write this up before Mama Mothball gets wind of it. Have a nice lunch, boys." And with that, Furry Purrloin dashed out the door into the waiting limo to head back to work.

Talk back to Furry Purrloin at pause4purrs@meowmail.com.

May 24, 2002

Shopping Spree. As Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin entered the world-renowned office supply store, Ink Don't Stink, she heard two very familiar feline voices having a slight altercation about something. Peering around a stack of file folders, the intrepid reporter was able to see Nala La McChew and Chita McChew pulling two different ways at a shopping cart.

"Oh, dear," Furry Purrloin muttered under her breath, "those two are at it again." Digging in her purse, she pulled out her portable voice recorder to get this disagreement down for later submission to Ruffles Murdog, Publisher/Editor of the Morning Hairball. It might do for a column if she could find some flunky, such as Mama Mothball, to transcribe it for her. Here’s what Furry Purrloin captured on her tape:

Chita: "You pushed the cart last time, Nala. It's my turn!"

Nala: "Did not. You can't remember where your own spots are half of the time."

Chita: "Let me push the cart, and I'll let you ride in the kiddy seat."

Nala: "What are you trying to do, make me look foolish?"

Chita: "Oh, alright, push the stupid cart. At least that will leave my paws free to pick up the items we need for our human."

Nala: "Well, I have the list, so you only pick up what I tell you, okay?"

Chita: "I can make decisions. I don't need a list. I know what the human needs At least she talks to me!"

Nala: "The first item on the list is paper clips. They are in aisle sixteen, so let's go." And Nala pushed off with her back paws to send the card zooming toward aisle sixteen.

Chita: "If you plan to drive this cart through the store like a maniac, we will both get thrown out of here by the dog who owns the place. Slow down!"

Nala: "Let’s see here, our human wants colorful plastic paper clips. I like colorful paper clips, too." And, with that, she tossed one dozen boxes of colored paper clips into the cart.

Chita: "Our human never buys the expensive plastic paper clips," and she calmly put all one dozen boxes back on the shelf.

Nala: "Alright, Miss Know-It-All, which paper clips would you suggest?" She placed her furry body in front of all the selections except the plastic clips.

Chita: "Our human wants plain paper clips, not bumpy ones and not colorful ones. She wants to go the practical route. So there!"

Nala: " Okay, you gpt to choose the paper clips, so I get to choose the file folders. and they certainly won't be plain ones."

Chita: "I know where the file folders are, so I'll push the cart, slowly, so we won’t draw any more attention to ourselves than we already have, thanks to you."

Furry Purrloin was having trouble staying out of sight while she remained within close enough range to capture the humorous dialogue on the recorder. She nearly knocked over a whole stack of binders just keeping up with the McChew girls.

Nala: "Here we are! I want these folders that are all different colors of the rainbow. Aren't they beautiful?"

Chita: "Those are for humans who are capable of organizing their files, and our human isn’t, so she won't want those. I think our human uses the vanilla ones."

Nala: "Vanilla? What are you, crazy? File folders don't come in flavors, they come in colors, you nitwit."

Chita: "I am not a nitwit. Our human calls me her precious girl, and I can do no wrong. We are getting these vanilla ones, and that's that."

Nala: "Fine. Have it your way. I know Mommy would rather have the colors. So when it comes time to exchange them, you'll be coming here by yourself, smart aleck. And you’ll have to face the wrath of the canineowner all alone."

Chita: "I’ll ignore that uninformed comment. Now, I'll let you choose the paper, but we're not even considering anything except plain copy paper, okay?"

Nala: "You only let me choose the stinky paper because you know that Snowy already chose the nice paper and sent it to Mommy. See, our human even crossed paper off of the list." Nala pointed a pointy claw at the wrinkled list.

Chita: "I'm heading for the check-out counter. We're done here. Come along, and get our human’s credit card out."

Nala: "Credit card? I don't have the credit card. I thought you had it."

Chita: "I can't believe you sometimes. How do you think we are going to pay for these items. We'll have to put everything back."

Nala: "I'll put the ugly paper clips back. I don't like them, anyway."

Chita: "Nala, look over there. Is that Furry Purrloin? Looks like she's carrying a large purse. Let's go borrow some money from her, and we won't have to put anything back."

Furry Purrloin turned off the voice recorder at that point and headed speedily for the door. She realized that she'd been seen and strongly suspected why the McChew girls wanted so much to see her. And she didn’t want any part of it, since her expense account didn't allow for any such foolishness.

Talk back to Furry Purrloin at pause4purrs@meowmail.com.

May 17, 2002

The Lure of the Drums. The morning hours found Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin getting ready to make a sick call. She had heard through the jungle drums that her friends, Holly and Willow, were sick with the flu, or a virus, or something like that. She'd just packaged up a container of her homemade shrimp-and-fly soup to take to her dear friends in hopes it would make them feel better. She didn't have a worry in the world about catching the flu or virus because she faithfully got her flu shot each and every fall.

Arriving at Holly and Willow's house, the first thing she noticed -- or rather, heard -- was piano music. Must be some soothing music their Mommy was playing to make them feel better and help them get well, Furry Purrloin thought. But wait! The door was open, and peeking in through the screen, the intrepid Special Guest Reporter could see Willow playing the piano. What could this mean, Furry Purrloin wondered. Looking more closely, she saw Holly jumping and dancing around the room to the music. Could her source, the Jungle Drums, be wrong? Could Holly and Willow be well after all? And, if so, then why did the Jungle Drums lie? Of course, it also occurred to Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin that Holly and Willow might be faking.

Knock, knock. "Hello, I'm here to call on Holly and Willow," Furry Purrloin yelled out.

The piano music stopped, and both Holly and Willow came to the door themselves with open paws to greet their old friend, Furry Purrloin. "Hold on a minute, girls," Furry Purrloin begged while backing up a bit. "I don't know if we should be hugging like this since you two have the flu."

"We don't have the flu," Willow said. "We're perfectly fine and enjoying the lovely weather through an open door, while dancing to the piano music."

"But, but, but…" Furry Purrloin stammered, "I heard that you two were sick. I'm bringing you some of my homemade soup to help you feel better. Maybe we should just have it for lunch and decide where this rumor got started," the intrepid Special Guest Reporter said while putting the soup down on the kitchen counter.

"We had a worm," Holly blurted out, looking rather sheepish.

"You mean to tell me you've already had lunch?" Furry Purrloin inquired.

"No, Furry, we had a worm in our computer, and it was eating up all of our words and numbers and pictures and other stuff," Willow explained, getting bowls out for the soup.

"You two should have called me. I know just the person to talk to about worms. He's an old fishing buddy of mine, Mr. Norton, and I think he can cure viruses, too, although I've never had any personal experience with these things," Furry Purrloin explained, getting some spoons out of a drawer.

"That's okay, Furry," Willow said.

"Yes, our the monitor blew a fuse, so we have given up on even getting a chance to see what the worm looked like. We were hoping to capture it and send it to Penny’s husband, Purrcy, because we know how much he likes to go fishing. Might have been good bait," Holly added.

"Let's just enjoy your homemade soup and think up some games we can play after lunch, since we can’t use our computer," Willow said, getting crackers out of the pantry.

"Girls, I'd love to stay and play games after lunch, but I've got to get back to my office and see whether my new computer has been installed. Then I've got to track down my source on this rumor and see how the facts got so garbled. But the most important thing is that you’re well, and you’re willing to eat my homemade soup. When you’re finished, I’ll let you know what the secret ingredient is." And with that, Furry Purrloin, Holly, and Willow all put their napkins in their laps and prepared to enjoy the homemade soup. Ah, it was nice to have trusting friends, thought Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin. Sadie would have insisted on knowing what the special ingredient was.

Talk back to Furry Purrloin at pause4purrs@meowmail.com.

May 10, 2002

Technophobia. Arriving in her office, Special Guest Reporter for the Daily Scoop, Furry Purrloin, turned on her computer to find that she had a hairball. Now Furry herself didn't have the hairball. Her computer mouse had the hairball, and it refused to move any which way.

"I can fix this problem myself," Furry Purrloin stated aloud as she started examining the different keys on the keyboard. Hmmmm, she thought after checking out all the keys. Not a single one was marked, "hairball removal from mouse." Well maybe she'd just start pushing some of the keys and see what happened.

Furry Purrloin was annoyed that she had to go to this trouble. She was sure that Mama Mothball's two kittens, Merry Mothball and Mimi Mothball, had been playing in her office again, and she was determined to speak to Ruffles Murdog, Editor/Publisher of the Morning Hairball, just as soon as he came in to work.

"Let's see," Furry Purrloin mused. "F-1 says ‘Help,’ so I'll try that one first. Surely the help section will cover hairballs in the mouse," Furry Purrloin thought aloud while pressing down on F-1.

"Nope, nothing there about hairballs or mice," Furry mumbled as she looked through the gibberish on the monitor.

"Let’s try Pause/Break. That should break the hairball free. It certainly doesn’t do anything else," said Furry Purrloin, and she once again pressed another key.

"Egad! The whole screen has turned purple now. Must not be the one I'm looking for. "I know, I know!" Furry Purrloin said, in a burst of inspiration, "Delete! That should do it. I'll just delete that silly hairball right out of that mouse's belly." And, with that, she pushed the button while dancing around, knowing this would solve the problem.

"Nope," Furry Purrloin announced with disappointment. She was dejected but not defeated. "Let me just look up the phone number of my friend, Bill Slates, here in my directory. I’ll just ask him. Surely he'll know how to dislodge a hairball, since he works with enough of them." And Furry Purrloin dumped the whole Rolodexter over onto the keyboard.

This was an old-fashioned Rolodexter that contained about 10 pounds of cards. All of the cards fell out of the Rolodexter and hit the keyboard at once.

Lights flashed, various colors flew across the screen, then everything went black.

"Well, this just isn't making my day," Furry Purrloin exclaimed with frustration. "Now the whole computer has gone haywire, and I'll never get my article typed for this week. Unless. . . unless, yes, just let me tiptoe into Mama Mothball’s office and see if I can get her computer to work. It’s a good thing she’s at the mall today."

Upon entering Mama Mothball's office, Furry Purrloin couldn't locate the computer. She opened drawers and cabinets, and looked under the desk, and all she could come up with was a rusty old typewriter and a bunch of parking tickets -- unpaid by the way -- for the Mall parking lot. "What a wonderful discovery," Furry Purrloin said with glee. "No wonder Mama Mothball’s columns are so bad. She doesn’t even own a computer, and she’s living in the Dark Ages. Oh, just wait until word of this gets around. Not that I'd tell a single cat, but you just never know. Cats have a way of finding things out."

And, with that, Furry Purrloin settled down in her own office to write this week’s Special Guest column. Mama Mothball’s office smelled too bad to hang around there for very long.

Talk back to Furry Purrloin at pause4purrs@meowmail.com.

May 3, 2002

Scooter’s Story Goes On. This Morning Hairball reporter woke up in a wonderful mood. "Today is the day I get to interview Scooter, hero of the great Tornado of 2002!" she told herself. She scampered to the Morning Hairball offices where she was met by Ruffles Murdog, publisher/editor of the Morning Hairball.

"Good morning, Mama Mothball," said Ruffles Murdog. "I’m glad I caught you before you settled in to work. You may go to the mall and enjoy yourself today. Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin is handling the Scooter story, and your services are not needed."

This Morning Hairball reporter would have been upset. But, hey, Furry Purrloin can handle the Scooter story. And the mall really is a wonderful place to be, especially if you’re in the market for a new hat.

Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin was not at the mall. She was hard at work, peering through what appeared to be a blown out window at the Bunchies house. She was preparing to knock on the door, only she couldn't find it, when she heard from inside a conversation that made her forget all about the door.

Sauntering up the basement stairs came Princess Scooter, her regal bearing apparent even though her tiara was slightly askew. "Okay, which one of you two guys re-routed the train and let it come through the house?" asked Princess Scooter. "I was trying to hold court in the basement when I heard the most ferocious noise, and it shook the whole house."

"I didn't do it, nope, I sure didn't do it," Wilson chimed in.

"It wasn't a train, dear Scooter," Joey tried to explain. "It was a tornado. A real honest to goodness tornado, and it came right through our house."

"Joey, your imagination has run away with you," Scooter told Joey with her paw placed daintily on her hip. "This isn't Kansas, Auntie Em doesn't live here, and I see no sign of a yellow brick road. It’s Maryland, for dogs’ sakes!"

"I didn't cause the tornado! I didn't re-route no trains! Don't blame me," Wilson added, poking his little pink nose in front of Joey's face.

"Will you just hush, Wilson," Princess Scooter said while trying to straighten her tiara. "Look at this mess. Do you two realize that it will take days, or maybe weeks, to put things back in order? That’s what you get for letting a train come through the house!"

"Princess Scooter, it wasn't a train. I keep telling you: it was a tornado, and you won't listen to me," Joey tried once again to explain. "It nearly scared the fur right off of me and Wilson, and it stole all of our beautiful trees, our woods, our walls, and even our windows."

"You two will make up any kind of an excuse for this mess. The only tornado I've heard about was in Kansas, and this is Maryland. Were you trying to run the vacuum cleaner again?" Princess Scooter asked while trying to pick some pine needles off of the climbing toy.

"I didn't do no tornado, and I don't know nothing about any vacuum cleaners!" Wilson insisted, now looking dejected since Scooter and Joey weren't paying him any attention at all.

"I thought I told you to hush, Wilson," Scooter said once again, shaking her head with all the dignity and regalness she could muster. "Now you two had best help me get this house back in order before Mommy gets here and cries when she sees all of her lovely things in such disarray. This is starting to look more and more like you two were trying some kind of a science experiment, and it just blew up."

"Princess Scooter, I'm telling you the truth," Joey once again tried to explain. "I was so scared, and Wilson was so scared. We thought we even saw a little dog named Toto go flying by the window. It was just whirling and twirling and spinning and blowing and making giant things move. It wasn't a train. We could tell, because there was no engineer, and it didn't leave any tracks." And, with that, Joey put his paws up over his eyes so as not to see Scooter’s reaction.

"I'm going upstairs to hold court in the bedroom and get some belly loves," Scooter told both of the boycats, "and when I get back, I want this mess to be all cleaned up. Do you think you two can do that? Please don't try to sell Mommy on any ideas of Kansas or yellow brick roads, or flying dogs. Being the Princess of this house, I know exactly who is responsible." And Scooter fluffed up her tail, held it high in the air, and proceeded to mount the stairway to the bedroom, looking just as regal as a Princess should.

This article, by Special Guest Reporter Furry Purrloin, is not meant to make light of the awful situation that has befallen the Bunchies family, only to bring a bit of levity into a situation that could have been much worse. The people and animals lives that we care about the most were saved, and that is certainly cause for a smile.

Talk back to Furry Purrloin at pause4purrs@meowmail.com.

April 26, 2002