The Gozo Cat Detectives: Trilogy 2

By FARAXA Publishing (USA)

The Gozo Cat Detectives: Trilogy 2, by Sarah Springham and illustrations by Ryan Galea and Philip Taliana, are stories about courageous, curious cats and the animal friends they meet in the course of their adventures, as they travel around Gozo solving mysteries and bringing happiness and understanding wherever they can.

The Gozo Cat Detectives: Trilogy 2 is a contribution to the body of useul literature, populated by animals, that helps us all to get through life's difficulties with tolerance, bravery, humour, mutual support in problem solving, understanding and love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: FARAXA Publishing (USA)
• Release date: Feb 26, 2019

Book preview

1. A Prickly Problem

It was hot. It was very, very hot. It was the hottest summer since summers began. Apart from the occasional rumble of traffic, the hawkers tooting, the sparrows cheeping and the cicadas buzzing, Gozo was silent. No cement mixers rumbled, no angle-grinders ground. The air felt like soup, warm and wet.

The cats lay on the stone floor in the kitchen with the ceiling fan ruffling their fur slightly, and they slept and slept.

It’s too hot for mysteries, thought Whistler, or did he dream he’d thought it? No one could have a mystery, you need to have energy for a mystery. He went back to sleep, or maybe he still was asleep. He was too hot to care.

It was well past dinner time when the cats eventually bestirred themselves. Their stomachs were rumbling, but the people they looked after hadn’t come home. Max went up to the roof to see if he could see them walking down the street. As he peered over the low wall there was a fluttering noise above his head. He turned in a flash, poised to leap, and then, with a shade of disappointment, saw that the bird was Arthur, and therefore strictly out of bounds.

Is that Whistler around? gasped Arthur, who looked for all the world as if he was sweating, though Max wasn’t sure if birds did that sort of thing.

He’s downstairs in the kitchen, said Max.

Rustling up a nourishing meal, I expect, said Arthur, with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

It’s possible he might have to, said Max. The people we look after haven’t come home, and we’re a bit worried about our dinner ... and them, of course, he added hastily.

Cats ... always the same, Arthur chuckled. I can explain that. You have a mystery coming into your very own house this evening. It’ll arrive in a cardboard box, in the arms of the people you look after. I shall say no more. Madam sends her regards – she’s on a whale-watching cruise at the moment, but she’ll be in touch as soon as she gets back next week.

What are whales? asked Max.

Big, replied Arthur, in fact, enormous. I must fly otherwise some upstart will steal my perch. Good luck with the mystery.

With that he was gone like a feathery bullet speeding through the sky towards the trees in the square.

Max ran down the stairs to relay the news to the others, who were sitting in a row gazing mournfully at their empty bowls. None of them knew what whales were, which was rather disappointing, though Whistler was of the opinion that they sang very well and in close harmony. Missy believed that whales were, in fact, very wet and part of a place called the United Kingdom, but Whistler, who came from London, assured her that this wasn’t the case. It had dissolved, apparently, so it could not be what Madam was watching at all.

The sound of a key turning in the lock interrupted them. They ran into the hall and threw themselves onto the floor and furniture in attitudes suggesting exhaustion, starvation, deprivation and general neglect. The people they looked after entered, preceded by a large cardboard box which one of them was carrying very carefully. It was placed in the corner of the kitchen and dinner was speedily served with profuse and gratifying apologies. Ziggy was disturbed to note that an extra sachet of chicken and liver cat food was put into the cardboard box, along with a small bowl of water.

What’s going on? he asked Whistler, rather indistinctly, as his mouth was full of food. That’s not a cat in there, I can tell.

"Don’t speak with your