Maggie Pill Mysteries

We didn't really have pets when I was a kid. We had animals that lived with us and did work in return for bed and board. That doesn't mean we didn't love them, but they earned their kibble. Me, my sister, Laddie, & Ching-a-Ling The cats were there to keep the mice away (probably rats too, but that never occurred to me. Ick!) Each of our two farmhouses had a "house cat" that lived inside and was quite pampered compared to the "barn cats" who lived in the barn and multiplied freely. Each new batch of kittens was a treat for us girls, and we hunted them down in whatever spot their mothers chose to hide them by listening for their mews.What fun to move a bale of hay and find four or five little balls of fur to play with. We didn't even mind that their tiny claws were sharp enough to leave bloody trails down our forearms. The family dog was responsible for helping to herd the cows from and back to the barn. Looking back, I realize that our be...

Perils, Plots, and Puppies By Maggie Pill: Review/Giveaway/Guest Post IN THE April 21 ISSUE FROM THE 2018 Articles , and Cynthia Chow , and Mysteryrat's Maze , and Pets SECTIONS by Cynthia Chow & Maggie Pill This week we have a review of Maggie Pill’s latest book Perils, Plots, and Puppies, along with a fun pet related guest post by Maggie. Details at the end of this post on how to enter to win a copy of Perils, Plots, and Puppies. There is also a link to purchase it from Amazon, and from an indie bookstore where a portion of the sale goes to help support KRL Perils, Plots, and Puppies : A Sleuth Sisters Mystery by Maggie Pill Review by Cynthia Chow Few know that retired Assistant DA Barbara Ann Evans has been staging “Correction Events” in the town of Allport, Michigan. Unable to bear the sight of grammatical errors public and private building signs, Barbara dresses up like a cat burglar to “tag” storefronts with corrected spellings. When she i...

Over the course of their adventures, the Sleuth Sisters have collected two dogs and a cat. When I include a pet in a book, it's always a pet I've known, and they're included as a sort of tribute to their individuality. Styx, Retta's dog, is a combination of two Newfoundlands I've known. Big (of course), friendly, and overzealous, he gets in the way a lot and does exactly what he's told not to do, but he's so lovable it's okay with his mom. Retta needs Styx. She's a widow who lives out in the country, and he provides company, security, and lots of entertainment. Faye found her dog hurt alongside the road (in the second book, 3 SLEUTHS, 2 DOGS, 1 MURDER) and took him in. He's a bit grumpy, but he's probably got good cause to be. A one-person animal, Buddy would die for Faye. For most other people, he'd just as soon pass. Faye's heart is big enough for all the animals in the world, but she and Buddy have a special bond. Barb gaine...

Making coffee: fill your coffeemaker with cold water and the correct amount of coffee. Explain to cat that you aren't doing anything she should worry about. For the 9 millionth time. Fill cat's water dish. Set it down carefully, avoiding cat's attempts to bump it with her head. Making the bed: straighten the fitted sheet, moving cat gently aside. Smooth top sheet over bottom, at which point cat will hurry to the center and crouch down. Wait for cat to get bored with being covered up and squirm her way out the side. Smooth sheets again.  Pull spread over sheets, being careful not to upset cat, who is now tumbling along with spread. Ignore her glare at the very idea that blankets should be flat and smooth. Clean catbox. Get in and out as fast as possible. Cat is waiting to use it. Work at your computer, making sure cat has a comfortable spot where she can monitor your accomplishments. Make lunch. Explain to cat that a running can opener does n...

Earlier this year, we became the proud owners of a new camper. The plan is to do some traveling in the months to come, but we struggled with the problem of what to do with Old Cat. As our only remaining pet, she's become a bit of an obsession with us, and we both act completely silly as we try to do whatever she wants us to do, even though she's quite senile and doesn't know herself what she wants. In the past we've tried boarding, which she hated, but at least she had Alice, her companion cat, then and they could reassure each other. We also tried taking them to relatives' homes, which worked pretty well. Right now, however, all the relatives who would take her have their own pets, and at her advanced age (she's 21) she doesn't adjust well to strangers. We've also left her in the house alone, having a relative stop in every day and check on her. (She seldom saw the cat and judged she was okay solely by the fact that the litter box needed attention.) ...

They're not very big, and they have no words to tell us what they want, but we make all sorts of adjustments for our furry little friends. Why? Because we love them, and maybe a little bit because they'll get us if we don't. Before: "Not yet happy w/arrangement" After: "This works for me" A few months ago I chronicled the search for the perfect napping place for Old Cat. She wants to be with me as I work, but her preferred place was between me and the keyboard, which didn't work well for my writing. We compromised on a second chair at the desk, where she's sleeping as I write this. Still, it took two pillows and a couple of different blankets before she attained the desired effect. Downstairs, Old Cat has her own section of the couch (protected by her own blanket--note the strings from her kitty claw push-ups) where she spends her afternoons in pretty much the same position as she spent the morning. Evenings are spent either in my...

If your dog were an actor, who would he be most like?* If your cat went to college, what would she major in? If your horse got to decorate the stall, which colors would he choose? If your guinea pig rented a movie, what would he want to watch? If your parakeet had a purse, would it be designer, practical, or casual? *Burt here strikes me as an Abe Vigoda type. Just wondering... For my regular readers, I've decided to move the blog to Thursdays and see if I'm better able to keep up with stuff that way. (Peg's still on Mondays)

First of all, let me admit that certain people of my acquaintance are beyond animal lovers. They're more like animal enablers. Not me, of course. My cat does NOT rule my life, and I NEVER talk to her. Honest.       Anyway, one member of our family tames whatever comes into the yard, and since they live in a city, that's mostly squirrels. If you sit on their porch, the squirrels will come up and glare at you, because you're supposed to know they get a peanut if they do that. They've been known to come inside if the sliding door happens to be open a tiny bit, and the male in the household tends to leave it that way. I mean, we wouldn't want the squirrels to starve because they can't get in to get a peanut.       What's odd is that their cat, who's as big as a lynx and quite the hunter when allowed outside, tolerates the squirrels and vice versa. The other day, I'm told, a squirrel came up for its peanut, and the cat pounced on it, h...

1. A dark science room                                                   ____Chow Chow 2. Teutonic minder of ewes                                             ____Black Lab 3. Colorful insect chaser                                                 ____Papillon 4. Pugilist  ...

Those of you who keep track of me might recall that about a month ago, my cat decided she needed to sleep on the computer desk, between me and the screen. It made her happy, but me not so much,  since she'd playfully reach down every once in a while and swipe a claw at my swift-moving fingers.  Someone suggested I bring a second chair to the computer desk and make it hers. At first she wasn't sure (note the look on her face). You want me this far away? Really? Okay, I guess this is good It took a procession of pillows and blankets before I found one that suited her, and I had to block the chair so it doesn't swivel and make her feel insecure. Now she spends most of the day there, even if I get up to do something else. Of course, there's a caveat. I have to lift her onto the chair. If I'm not around, she gets up there just fine, but if I'm working, I have to listen to her cry until I stop typing and settle her in. So toda...

They've started again with the cruel season. They put toys all over the house and then freak out when I play with them. There's a tree full of shinies and danglies in the corner of the living room, but "NO! Don't touch!" happens when I get anywhere near it. I managed to get in a few minutes of exercise with several of the things they hung on it while everyone was somewhere else. First I had to un-stick the nice things from the tree, which was hard. Then I had fun chasing them around on the floor--at least until Dad came in and bellowed like an angry bull, "Mary! Come see what your cat did!" They put pretty things on end tables and shelves too, but again, I'm just supposed to look at them. A grouping of half a dozen figurines in a little wooden shed sits on the coffee table. I knocked them onto the floor to see if they'd roll nicely on the carpet. Only one of them did, but that one was fun to bat around until it went under the piano...

A peccadillo is a behavior that is a little odd and particular to one person--or in this case, pet. I've listed some pets we've had and their idiosyncrasies, and I invite you to share your list. *A cat named Fred who went hunting with my husband, following at his heels like a hound whenever he left the house with a gun. *A horse named Dolly who guarded the water trough and only let the cows and other horses drink when she felt they deserved it. *A cat named Ching-a-ling who (somehow) climbed to the top shelf of a floor-to-ceiling bookcase and sat as still as a statue until just the right moment and then scared the bejeebers out of guests. My sister & I with Laddie and Ching-a-ling *A dog named Laddie who stayed under the bed as long as there was thunder outside. *A dog named Gertrude who slept on our bed without permission but never got caught. When you started up the stairs you'd hear a thump, and on the bed there would be a small imprint, but she'd ...

If you know the Sleuth Sisters, you've met Buddy, Faye's mongrel, and Styx, Retta's Newfoundland. You know Barb has formed a tenuous relationship with a stray cat. Book #2 had some horses join the family, and Book #3 took us to the family farm, where there are reindeer and peafowl. In the 4th Sleuth Sisters book, chickens are an inciting factor--Bet you never heard that in a mystery before! All this brought to mind a question for today's post: If money, space, and other possible drawbacks were somehow taken care of, what animal would you choose to get for a Christmas gift? (to add to the ones you already share space with, of course)

Today I'm challenging you. Tell me: Is your pet on Santa's Naughty List or his Nice List? A sentence is fine. A paragraph is better. A photo is awesome. This is Burt. He's on the Nice List because he's so patient with his little pet girl.

They never judge. They forgive, even when you pull their tails. If you want to play with a toy, okay, they will too. When you laugh, it makes them happy. If you don't want the rest of that cookie, they'll take care of it for you.

   I've finally started writing the fourth Sleuth Sisters (Remember, there's another author in my head who has obligations too). Though a title isn't required for the writing part, my mind is toying with the possibilities. A lot of cozy titles are plays on words and that's okay, but I don't like them to be too cutesy. Since this mystery has to do with water rights, I'm wondering if A Long, Tall Drink of Murder is a good title. Be warned: tomorrow I might have a whole different idea, and to be honest, titles with "dog" or "cat" in the title sell extremely well. Maybe I should get Styx or Buddy or Barb's stray cat into the title, because of course they'll all have a role. Opinions?

Right now there's a lamp nestled in the corner of a stair halfway down our staircase. It's there for the cat...and maybe to save our lives. In her dotage, Old Cat wants to nap on the stairs, possibly to keep track of where I am (usually upstairs) and where my husband is (usually downstairs) at a given time. She chose the darkest spot, where the upstairs light doesn't reach. (The downstairs light isn't left on because it's a chandelier and therefore terribly inefficient--though workable for avoiding cat traps. There are two possibilities for terror: First, one of us might trip over her and hurtle to our death. Second, one of us might kick her and injure her old, brittle bones. She doesn't seem to care, though I have explained the perils to her very patiently, several times. Hence the lamp. It lights that central area just enough that we can see her there, and she actually seems to enjoy its little glow. She doesn't have to sleep on the stairway. ...

Here's a challenge: List all your childhood cats/dogs/whatevers in order. Now I can't do ALL our cats, because we lived on a farm and there were cats everywhere, but the first cat I recall was Chocolate Bar, an adopted barn cat who let me carry him around like a baby. He was followed by Ching-a-ling, a temperamental Siamese who had no intention of letting anyone carry him anywhere. Ever. (His opinion was overcome for the picture at left.) Our longtime collie dog was Laddie (also in the photo), who was useful for herding cows and as lovable as a dog can get. When I was really young there was a workhorse, Rowdy. Later there were two ponies for the two of us to ride, Molly & Rusty, and an assortment of horses from Mackinac Island we boarded over the winter, notably Danny, who had his own mind about where you would go on a trail ride, and Dolly,  who became a permanent resident at some point. (Photo below) I never got close to the chickens, pigs and cows on the farm. I...

This is Bert, our new Basset Grand-dog. He's 8 weeks old, and pretty much all he does is sleep. When he is awake, he likes Mommy G best (because she spoils him) and Grandpa J second best (because he'll sit and hold him for hours). I apparently fall into the "I'm sleeping under your chair so be careful not to rock" category. He did roll off J's lap once and onto the couch. Didn't make a lot of difference to Bert.

I came across these photos recently of Taz, who was my daughter's beloved cat for many years. He'd had a terrible life when they met. He'd been kept in a box and apparently tormented, so he'd developed a tendency to attack first. He was Persian, with long, gray hair and very sharp claws. The shelter (in Bahrain, where cats are not beloved) had intended to put him down until my daughter showed up one day and decided he was the cat for her.   It turned out that Taz was exactly the cat for her, though not for anyone else. After spending the first few months in a closet in her bedroom, he finally began venturing out, but she was the only one who could deal with him. Anyone else who invaded his territory got a snarl and a swipe, often even if you were just passing by. The maid who came once a week would knock on the door and immediately ask, "Madam, where is the cat?" She was terrified of Taz, and that was just the way he liked it. When they were ready to move...