They say great mysteries aren't solved, they're unlocked. Okay, nobody said that. Well, I guess I kind of just did, but I'm not a "they" and, really, I'm not much of a detective. I'm more of a noticer of things. However, I don't care what Dale and the rest of the gang say, I'm a better detective than Meatball. I'm alert and eager to figure things out. That stupid mutt couldn't unlock a mystery if it was strapped to his flea collar and was also filled with peanut butter.
It started off like most dumb jokes: simple. One rainy night, our van, the Road Rider, broke down outside of an old museum, so we had to take cover inside. In the main exhibition hall, we met a lonely curator named Cathy who was staying late while readying a new display. She said it would be fine if we stayed overnight until old Gus, the town mechanic, could take a look at the Road Rider.
Later that night, Dale's girlfriend Sheena saw a mysterious, glowing figure lurking near a valuable painting of some lady with grapes. I thought it might be old Gus wearing a reflective coat, but Dale got it into his head that the Lurker was a ghost. We all spread out to investigate. I was paired up with Meatball, since dogs aren't very focused or well-behaved, especially meat-headed Meatball. Seriously, on his own, he would have just chewed up or peed on some priceless tapestry before shedding all over an ancient throne that he'd fallen asleep on. Sorry if that sounds judgmental, but only weak links require such constant supervision. Anyway, we eventually spotted the Lurker creeping near one of the museums emergency exits. Meatball, responsive as a wind-up monkey, broke into a cowardly flee, accidentally slipping on some glow-in-the-dark paint in the process. This revealed that our Lurker wasn't a ghost after all.
It's a longer story than I'm making it, but Dale used the valuable painting as bait to trick the Lurker into rushing back into the the exhibition hall, falling down some stairs and into a net. Dale pulled off the glowing figure's mask and revealed the Lurker to be none other than Cathy herself. She had planned to use the theft of the Lady with Grapes painting as publicity for the failing museum, setting us up as a wandering gang of thieves that stole it. However, Meatball couldn't understand the complicated plot, so he began chasing his own tail. Sheena, or maybe it was Grollo, the funny-smelling hippie we picked up outside of Tacoma, said something like, "Nice detective work, Meatball!" and everybody started laughing. I just stood there, dumbstruck. The dog had detected nothing that night, had stupidly lucked his way from one break in the case to another. The mystery wasn't unlocked; it was pried open by the sloppy paws of a moron.
Since the night of the Lurker, I've watched Meatball praised countless times for shrewd skills of deduction which he has never possessed. Whether he accidentally unravels a mummy by catching some of its gauze on his tail (turns out it was an elderly carnival barker) or clumsily knocks a bookshelf onto a nest of vampires (run-of-the-mill larpers), the rest of the gang shouts "hurray" and proclaims Meatball to be our personal Sherlock Holmes. It's always the same, predictably egregious. But the truth as I've seen it is the only thing Meatball seems equipped to detect is bad weather once it's already arrived, and even that small skill confuses him most days.
As I've said before, I'm no great detective, but I'm better than the mutt. More curious, at the very least. I get it though. He's become the gang's mascot. He's goofy, loud, and not completely without ignorant charm, but I fear misplaced recognition will be our downfall. As for myself, I've spent too much time perched on window sills and lounging in sunbeams. Now it's time to sharpen my claws, to raise my purr to a hiss. So ends the age of Meatball, the bumbling beagle; so begins the reign of Cinnamon, Queen Clue Finder.
Yes, I'm a cat.
Nice detective work, Meatball.
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