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Spring is a très intéressant time of the year. The world begins to thaw as it awakens from its wintry sleep, and the air is filled with the delicate scent of lilac and hyacinth. Trees stir and yawn, and as they extend their stark brown limbs, tiny green badges of life appear. This particular spring, the famous (and brilliant) detective Furcule Purrot was continually drawn to a warm sunny spot on the back of the sofa near the picture window in his purrfectly furnished flat at Cathaven Mansions. Although he enjoys overseeing the Mansion grounds at any time of day, dusk is his favorite time because that is when the criminal element begins to emerge. As the sun begins to fade, Furcule can often be found peering out across the mansion’s grounds observing every whisker that either twitches or stays still for too long. The eccentric Belgian has an active imagination, and he thrives on any form of study that will keep his little grey cells exercised.

On the evening in question, he was intrigued by the antics of a tiny grey mouse that flitted anxiously from the sidewalk to the flowerbed to the driveway, never completely coming to rest. Purrot, having a particular interest in the order Rodentia, leaned forward to study the specimen further and to formulate questions that might result in an interesting hypothesis. Was this wanderer lost? Was its errand as dodgy as its movements? What were its hopes and dreams, its wants and worries, its political affiliations? Why was Monsieur le Souris  not sur la table? But most important, would this particular souris be a suitable déjeuner for a bachelor detective if it were properly cooked and served with a savory sauce? If so, should it be followed by a cup of tisane?

Just as his mind had begun to slip further into gastronomical musings, his attention was drawn to the sight of a predator stalking the preoccupied mouse. Purrot moved so close to the window that the ends of his impressive mustache tickled the glass. At that very moment, the predator pounced and with one deft stroke severed the mouse’s body from its head. The stunned detective recoiled in horror. As many times as he had been called to examine a murder scene, he had never been witness to a victim’s demise, and the sheer gruesomeness of it all proved entirely too much for his little grey cells to process. He bounded off the couch, scampered through the living room, lurched through the door to the hallway, and then bowled his entire body weight against the door, closing it to put another layer betwixt himself and chaos. As much as he hated closed doors, he hated danger even more.

Upon hearing this disturbance, Miss Lemon (who looks suspiciously like the caretaker) rushed into the hallway. The level of noise led her to expect a gang of roving thieves to mow her down. Instead, she found a wide-eyed Purrot, panting and pacing. Speaking in her best matter-of-fact voice, she attempted to calm him down as she opened the hallway door and moved slowly into the living room. Seeing no danger, she called the trembling detective back into the room, and he followed her cautiously.

But just as he crossed the threshold, he spied a grey felt mouse that he had used for previous experiments, and he returned to high alert. The resemblance of this creature to the one he had so recently seen murdered unhinged the poor Belgian a second time. He began poking and batting the felt mouse as though assuring himself that it would not be able to add to the evening’s contretemps.

Miss Lemon allowed him to conclude his experiment with the felt mouse while she repaired to the kitchen to assemble a light meal. Having convinced himself that his home was safe again, he heartily consumed his repas and settled down to rest. His only regret was that he would never know whether the mouse was tasty or not. As an honorable detective, he could not disturb the scene of a crime, nor could he allow Miss Lemon to do so. Quel dommage!

Furcule Purrot

Furcule Purrot au repos

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