Friday, 23 January 2009
The Curious Case Of The Missing Alleycats - An Intrigue (Part The First)
Editor's Note: As some of you may already be aware, amongst the many feathers I count in my cap* is that of curator of the Greater Kirkian Archive. The vast majority of these holdings are the various writings, scribblings, etchings and daubings of my somewhat infamous ancestor, Squire Kirk The Elder. A tantalising enigma of a man who disappeared in mysterious squirrel-related circumstances**, the good Squire left a substantial record of his remarkable life. As much as is possible, I have been able to verify portions of his tales; the rest we will have to trust to the veracity of the good Squire himself.
Presented here for your edification is the first part of a recently catalogued tale which he has entitled, "The Curious Case Of The Missing Alleycats". Further parts will follow.
Part The First - A Rude Interruption
My tale begins - as so many of them often do - within the confines of the Old Actonian Gentlemans Club. I was ensconced within my usual fireside repose, giving young Hardiman a thorough tongue-lashing for his usual dunderheaded incompetence, when a fearful hullabaloo in the entrance hall roused my brandy-soaked attention.
The afternoon tranquillity of the club was shattered by the whirlwind arrival of Inspector Malcolm "Sleddy" Edgars , trailing Andrews the footman in his wake. Having made the good Inspectors acquaintance on several occasions previously, I attempted an impersonation of a small mending patch on the arm of the chair. However, he had me in his sights and was not to be distracted by my (admittedly feeble) attempts to appear inconspicuous.
My protestations of innocence were cut short in Edgars customary terse fashion.
"Stop your wretched snivelling, man, and drag your sorry hide out of that chair. Much as it pains me to admit it, I have need of your weaselly skills," growled Edgars.
I like to believe that his harsh words were there to hide the obvious deep and heartfelt respect that he harboured for me. I could feel it as he gently coaxed me from my comfortable hearthside seat with a rough hand about the collar.
On departing the club, Edgars explained the situation that required my expert assistance. At the mention of a suspicious number of missing cats all being discovered deceased, I chose that moment to depart swiftly at high speed in fear for my very life, shouting a fond farewell to the good Inspector over my shoulder. As he grappled me to the floor and subdued my screaming form with gentle blows from a cudgel about the head and torso, I realised that this was going to be one of those days...
To Be Continued
 He had earned the nickname Sleddy in a rather unfortunate case involving myself, a toboggan and a young nun - a rather sordid affair, the details of which I shall not encumber you with at present
* Metaphorical feathers - I don't actually have a cap with feathers in it. That would be somewhat pretentious, even for me...
** As alluded to in his last writings, The Furry Doom