On vacation for the first time in years a licensed cat hair stylist discovers who really killed JFK

Howdy Toasters,

So i’ve discovered a new creative writing book, because 642 Things to Write About apparently isn’t enough.  The Amazing Story Generator is a whole book of flip fun that takes storytelling to crazytown! Click the link to read about it.

I hope you’re ready for a decent dose of WTF because the first story title i flipped to create is “On vacation for the first time in years a licensed cat hair stylist discovers who really killed JFK” (wow, told you… crazytown)….

Philomeyna Tonkinese is a lady in demand. Every Burmese Persian, Russian Blue and Singapura from Australia to Azerbaijan knows she is the feline style queen and every human companion is clawing to get their name in her diary.

The September issue of Vogue has just been released and, freshly printed, Kitty Claire is about to hit the shelves. Philomeyna of course has features in both… and is the cover of September Kitty. Excited for the exposure, though hardly needed, she was also desperate for a break and felt near ready for the catafalque.

The catamaran cruised smoothly over the bay  when, almost home, she purred her famous, gentle tone at her assistant Caterina. Her creative kitty was empty and it was time for a holiday…. Starting now.

She knew her clients would go into a catastrophic meltdown but her usual Chartreux calm and grace was almost non existent and the bite of a Bengal Tiger was taking control.  She could feel that the fur would soon fly…. and flying fur is not good for business when you’re a cat stylist

Arriving home they packed and headed straight to the Catamite Islands for a month of beachside bliss. There wasn’t much to do on the islands but lay poolside in spectacular catatonia with a parade of marvelously muscled men nearby for every whim, one of the islands proudest features.

It was during the second week that Philomeyna made the cataclysmic discovery. Sitting on the shoreline with the warm sea gently pawing at her feet a bottle washed up beside her. She noticed it’s uniqueness immediately.

The kind of bottle blue you only find on old glass, cleaner than it should be for it’s age, a little weathered but not damaged or worn and tightly sealed like it had never been opened. But the most surprising thing was what the bottle contained… a note. A real life message in a bottle.

With the precision of a Peterbald she pounced on the bottle and with what seemed like too much ease, popped open the top and poured the note onto the sand.

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