Catnip Gray is no ordinary house cat. At first glance, you might be fooled. He sleeps late, stays up all night tomcatting, eats birds, and seems to care less about his human’s shenanigans. However, unlike most cats, Catnip has a taste for Slim-Fast and runs a detective agency. He also has a soft spot for beautiful female cats in distress. In this first novella, we meet him and learn a lot about him and the Grays who own him. He doesn’t spare him his astute observations about their lifestyle. However, he’s more concerned with Tabitha Davenport, a gorgeous “dame” loaded with sardines, who seems only to want him to gather evidence against her cheating husband. More meets the eye in this twisting little puzzler as Catnip uncovers deceit and lies. There’s murder, mayhem, and treachery in the world of cats, mice, and birds. Excerpt: Electra and I had swooned under the influence of the intoxicating air. After Fred’s closed, we were a frisky pair hopping over trash cans, leaping up on fences, peering into windows, and laughing at human’s silly attempts at lovemaking. We’d scream insults through the glass. “Really dude, more hair on your butt would drive her wild...Bite her ear you fool! Stop talking. More yowling ...You call that thing a tail?” We scampered off when a naked bear looking man threw a house slipper at us. As we approached Tuna Boulevard, Electra suddenly darted out and an old sixty-seven Falcon sped up and sent her tumbling into a rosebush. It wrenched my heart watching my lover in death’s bittersweet clutches as the rose’s thorns pierced her flesh and teased me with their red petals and seductive scents. Roses were my and Electra’s favorite flower to paw and nibble. I vowed to avenge Electra’s death one day. So as I stood at the edge of Tuna Boulevard, I got my eyes out for a yellow Falcon. Been watching for it for a year--waiting for my chance. I had all of my parakeets lined up in a row. The Falcon has a vinyl top. A crow told me he and his flock love splattering that top with a potent brand of bird poo. “It’s old and soft as dog guts,” the crow cawed. My plan called for me to sink my claws deep into that vinyl top and cause a lot of havoc. I put one paw forward and stepped into the gutter when my ears picked up the whine of an old V8 motor. It sounded like a monkey with his tail caught in a meat grinder screaming a long, painful, “Eeeeeeee!” The guys at the Rat Trap Mechanic Shop said the noise meant loose belts, but the Falcon’s fool owner likened the disquietude to a scream of death. He experienced many moments of perverse joy as he struck fear into the hearts of dogs, cats, and a few humans as he raced the falcon towards their poor souls. That Falcon had to be stopped.