Ruby twitched her whiskers. The street signs were wrong again. “Catnip Avenue” had somehow become “Doggo Lane”. Again. This was the third time this week, and Ruby, self-appointed neighbourhood detective and terror of the local squirrels, was not amused.
From her perch atop the mailboxes, she surveyed the scene. Mrs. McGinty’s poodle was staring blankly at a street sign that now read “Snail Street”. Ruby narrowed her eyes. Too slow. Suspicious.
“Alright, fluff factory,” Ruby muttered to herself, “time to sniff out this sign-swapping scoundrel.” She batted her tail in a manner that said I’m serious, but also adorable.
Her first stop was Mr. Puddleton’s bakery, the unofficial HQ of neighbourhood gossip.
“Morning, Ruby!” Mr. Puddleton said cheerily, holding a tray of croissants shaped like little mice. “Care for a…”
“No,” Ruby hissed. “I need information, not carbs. Who’s been swapping street signs?”
Mr. Puddleton gasped, flour puffing from his beard. “I… I thought it was the wind! Or maybe…”
“The wind?” Ruby’s tail lashed. “That’s absurd. Last week, it made Cheeseburger Crescent into Kale Alley. The wind doesn’t even like kale.”
Mrs. McGinty, the nosiest neighbor, waddled over with her squeaky walker. “Ruby! Ruby! I saw a shadowy figure last night! Tall, thin, suspiciously wearing socks on their hands. Very suspicious.”
Ruby’s ears perked. Socks on hands? Amateur move, but promising. She jotted it down in her imaginary notebook. Suspect #1: Sock Hands. Possible human. Definitely weird.
Next, she patrolled the streets. Ruby jumped from trash can to trash can, startling a very nervous pigeon. “Excuse me, feathered informant. Spill the seeds.”
The pigeon cooed nervously. “I… I didn’t see anything… except that guy with socks on his hands eating a hotdog… upside down… at midnight…”
Ruby squinted. This was serious. She might have to deploy her ultimate weapon: the pounce of terror.
She crept along the back alley, ears flattened, whiskers forward. Suddenly, a flash of socks! Ruby’s muscles tensed. She leapt, claws out, nails polished for maximum intimidation.
“HA! I HAVE YOU!” Ruby yelled. Or at least, she tried to yell. It came out more like mewl-hiss-snort. The suspect turned and Ruby’s heart nearly stopped.
It was Benny, the neighbourhood raccoon. He was perched atop a trash bin, wearing a ridiculous pair of neon-striped socks on his tiny hands.
“Benny!” Ruby exclaimed. “I knew it was you. How dare you…”
Benny looked horrified. “I… I was just… redecorating! The humans are too boring. Street signs are so… predictable!”
Ruby blinked. “Predictable? You’re stealing our addresses. I have personally had to explain to three lost delivery drivers that ‘Pizza Parkway’ is still the same street, you absolute furball.”
Benny’s eyes widened. “I… I… I didn’t think anyone would notice!”
Ruby flicked her tail with theatrical horror. “Notice?! I am Ruby, terror of the streets! Sleuth supreme! Queen of alleyways! I notice everything, from missing tuna cans to… yes, even socks!”
Benny shuffled nervously. “Uh… so… what now?”
Ruby crouched, eyes narrowing to tiny slits. “Now, you fix it. You put the signs back where they belong. And you… retire the socks. Permanently.”
Benny gulped. “Permanent retirement… understood.”
Ruby, satisfied with her victory, strutted back through the neighbourhood, tail high, paws clicking like tiny cat stilettos. She paused dramatically at the top of a fire hydrant, surveying the restored street signs.
“All is right in the world again,” Ruby announced to no one in particular. “Pizza Parkway is safe. Catnip Avenue is untarnished. And Doggo Lane… well… let’s just never speak of that one again.”
As the sun set, Ruby curled up on the mailbox, a hero among humans, feared among pigeons, and mildly terrifying to squirrels everywhere.
And somewhere in a nearby tree, Benny hung up his neon socks with a sigh, forever traumatized by the legendary cat known simply as: Ruby, the Terror of the Streets.
The end
Ruby Forensics 