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The case of the missing herring

Since the turn of the last century, my peeps have always had pickled herring for supper on New Year's day. They would continue the tradition this year. The herring was bought on sale months ago and kept on the top shelf of the fridge.

We had ham for the big meal and I was promised raw fish—herring—for supper. Yum, that sounded good. My appetite was whetted. The time finally came and the table was set. But, wait, where was the herring? The main attraction had disappeared from the fridge. Both peeps denied throwing it out even though Pop got the evil eye since he'd tossed yogurt from the top shelf this a.m. The peeps then turned their attention to me, of course, just because I'd had some anipals over to climb the tree and on another occasion to keep me company. I AM NOT GUILTY BY REASON OF MY INNOCENCE! I want my mouthpiece. I KNOW what happened to the herring and I didn't do it.

It was THE MEXICAN CAT! Ma has this gray cat who looks a lot like me what sleeps on her bed. His name is Hernia Hernandez Guttierrez (pictured w/me), or HHGut. It just happens he had a New Year's Eve party last night. Put 2 + 2 together and you'll see where I'm heading. I get blamed for a lot of things that he does, like biting the peeps.

Anyway, they ended up with cream cheese on the special party rye that Pop bought specially for the herring. I ended up hungry and angry that I was not only denied fish, but I was accused.

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