Ruby had a long-standing reputation in the neighbourhood: fluffy, fierce, and frighteningly good at finding out who took your tuna. She wasn’t just a housecat…  oh no she was the pet detective. The Sherlock Holmes of fluff. The Poirot of paws. The feline fury in a fur coat from aisle 5 of PetSmart. Her mornings … More Whiskers Sting

It all began on a tepid Tuesday morning, the kind where the sun can’t decide if it wants to shine or have a nervous breakdown behind a cloud. The neighbourhood of Puddingstone Crescent was unusually wet, not the good kind of wet, like when you find tuna juice in the recycling bin, but the soggy, … More Whisker Whaaat?!

Ruby, the neighbourhood’s only certified* feline detective (*certified by herself, through a rather illegible certificate she clawed onto the living room wall), was not amused. The flowerpots on Oakley Crescent were upside down. All of them. Again. She adjusted her imaginary deerstalker hat (really just a crumpled paper from under the couch) and trotted across … More Whisker havoc

Ruby was not your average cat.She did not purr for pats or chase laser dots like a plebeian. No, Ruby was a professional. A detective. A shadow in the garden hedges. A pouncer of truth. Also, she was stunningly orange. Like traffic cone orange. Like “is that cat radioactive?” orange. But that was part of … More Sockageddon Meow

Ruby, a cat of suspiciously high intelligence and a dramatic flair that could rival Judi Dench during mating season, sat on her windowsill in a brooding squint. She stared at the house opposite. Mr. Henderson’s. There was trouble afoot. Not the kind involving birds or squirrels or cucumbers (the holy trinity of household terror), but … More Sunbeam sabotage

Ruby, tortoiseshell diva, backyard queen, and self-appointed Pet Detective, sat on Mrs Davenport’s fence, flicking her tail like a metronome of doom. The wind chimes on old Mr Peabody’s porch clanged an odd rhythm: ting‑ting‑clang‑ting… pause… ting‑clang‑clang. To the untrained ear it was Tuesday’s breeze. To Ruby it was a criminal communiqué. “Oi, whiskers!” squawked Gary the … More Fur Frenzy

Ruby isn’t like other cats. Sure, she has the usual feline features, whiskers, sass, an Olympic-level disdain for humans but she also has a nose for nonsense and a tail that twitched whenever mystery was afoot. This particular Tuesday, the mystery came in the form of absolute pandemonium. Yarn had gone missing. All of it. … More Purr lock

I always knew the neighbourhood was going to the dogs, quite literally. Ever since that spaniel moved in on Sycamore Street, there’s been more barking than sense. But today, things went too far. The birdseed was gone. All of it. And so began my descent into the seed-obsessed underbelly of suburban wildlife. *       *       *       … More Feathers, fur and felonies

There was something not quite right on Växjö Lane. Ruby, sleek, black, and notoriously uninterested in anything not involving tuna or naps, lifted her head from her favourite sunspot on the windowsill. She narrowed her green eyes. The garden across the street looked suspiciously…gnomeless. Again. “Third one this week,” she muttered, hopping down with a … More Whisker justice

It started, as all great crimes do, with a scream and a fruit bowl.“WHERE ARE MY BANANAS?!” Mrs. Pimm, again. Her daily contribution to neighbourhood peace was 7:04 a.m. yelling, but this? This was louder. More urgent. More… potassium-related. Ruby was mid-stretch on the windowsill, one back leg elegantly skyward, when the scent hit her: … More Peel and run