Detective for Hire

During the time in which I have been busy emptying, sanding and painting my kitchen cupboards, Hunter, the oldest version of man's best friend, has been snoring nearby with one eye open, letting out an occasional dream bark for moral support.
Grandma Meow Moses, who is a senior even to Hunter, has simply been scowling at me from the steps when she comes upstairs for her daily visit, while our resident devil cat and Grandma's nemesis, is conked out somewhere behind a door that is closed for safety purposes.
Speak of the devil, here comes Tuna.
This guy, the one in the tuxedo, has spent much of the entire time with his nose and tail in all of my business.

I do my best to work around his schedule and try to paint while he is napping during this frigid time of year, here in the black hole just outside of Harmony Grove. Because every time he gets a new patch of white on his black parts I end up pulling his black parts off my freshly painted white parts.
His curiosity is peaked each day when he comes to and saunters out all bleary eyed and stretches his way toward treat begging duty.
This is when his keen senses kick in and his googly eyes open wide.
"Hey! Something is different around here."
No shit, Sherlock. Considering the innards of various cupboards and drawers have been covering the dining room table and the island at one time or another for the past three weeks and there has been a ladder parked here and I have been wearing the same holy jeans covered in paint nonstop, it should not take a detective to figure out what is going on.
But this particular private eye has been going ape shit trying to do just that, especially the day he confiscated some drugs he discovered in a bag inside a cardboard box on the dining room table along with about fifty spare keys to who knows what and enough scratched up sunglasses to offend a dozen different pairs of eyes.
I do not know much about the law, but it has a always been my belief that confiscated drugs are not to be inhaled by the confiscator. I think they should be labeled and set in a file with a case number stamped on it for future evidence.
Or at least shared with friends.
However, I found this detective rolling around in a pile of evidence on the tiled floor after ripping the bag wide open.
It was shortly after this incident that he began sharing pictures of his kitchen findings on Facebook using my phone. Since I was exhausted every evening, I could not get myself to set down my glass of wine and pick my ass up from the couch to see what he was up to.
I do apologize for his actions.
Tuna knows more than is necessary of the ins and outs of the cabinets that I have been working on.
He has even been up in the hole above the microwave oven that only God knows where it goes.
Well now, God and Tuna.
I too know more about these cupboards than what is considered healthy.
But, I never curled up and fell asleep inside them. And no one never found me sitting on top of the refrigerator in front of the set of doors that were next in line to be painted.
You know how wonderful those corner cabinets are with those turn tables that hold everything?
So do I.
I could not wait to be done painting those mothers.
I wanted to move on over where the grass was greener.
Just as in life there is no greener in cupboards or in drawers.
But I am here today to report that finally I am through with this project from purgatory.
Hold on a minute. My sister is yelling something.
"What's that Louisa?"
She is always interrupting me.
My sins are too many.
You see, when my sweet Sven built this house thirty years ago he put an island with cabinets above it which separates the kitchen from the dining room and Louisa says that according to her shows, they all have to match.
This all could have been avoided and I could have been spending this precious time writing that book of a lifetime and I could have been doing Yoga poses in between the pages.
Unfortunately I did not have the foresight.
I did not understand how the rest of my kitchen was going to look after the fancy new appliances we ordered in September, were installed.
No rest for the wicked and that includes Tuna.
One would think that with all the snooping around he has been doing, he would have cracked this case by now.
It ain't that hard.
But he continues to slither in and out of every single door that opens with his pipe and magnifying glass.
Perhaps he just wants life to be more exciting than it really is.
It is winter in Wisconsin after all.


Thanks for reading my story. The comments do not work on this ancient site of mine, but feel free to leave one on Facebook if you care to.

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