Mr. Yow Goes to the Island (Midlife Cozy Mystery)(Paranormal Women's Midlife Fiction)(Magical Midlife in Retrograde #2)

Mr. Yow Goes to the Island Magical Midlife in Retrograde J.B. Aspen Published by Abracadabra Publishing, 2023. This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental. MR. YOW GOES TO THE ISLAND First edition. July 28, 2023. Copyright © 2023 J.B. Aspen. Written by J.B. Aspen. 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Page Dedication Mr. Yow Goes to the Island (Magical Midlife in Retrograde) Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Further Reading: Mercury Rising Also By J.B. Aspen About the Author This is for my mother who raised me to believe in magic, mystery, and talking cats. Miss you. -J.B. Welcome to Mercury Rodger’s midlife madness, otherwise known as the Magical Midlife in Retrograde series, a Paranormal Women’s Fiction series. Mercury’s life is chock full of magic, menopause, and mayhem, and a bit of classic murder mystery (cozy witch style) with a lack of swear words and some tongue-in-cheek humor. Mr. Yow Goes to the Island is told from the viewpoint of Mercury’s not-so-typical, chocolate point, Siamese cat. It can be read it as a stand alone, but beware! once you start reading you’ll be hooked on Mercury’s midlife adventures at the Phoenix Inn. I love Mr. Yow, and I hope you will too. But, if you’re not into talking cats with a bit of magic solving mysteries, then hop on over to Mercury Rising, Mercury Falling, and Mercury in Retrograde. Those books are told only from Mercury’s point of view—still full of mayhem, mystery, and yes, midlife magic. Enjoy! JB Aspen P.S. Want more magical adventures from Mr. Yow and Mercury? Sign up for the newsletter at: https://geni.us/JB_Aspen_newsletter and get your special, access only, bonuses! Chapter One The bird was something I’d never seen before—a glorious tempting yellow, small enough to fit inside a human hand. I froze, my whiskers quivering. I knew it had to be someone’s pet, knew I should leave it alone, knew that in this new world of Garden Acres Retirement Village run by the almighty Homeowner’s Association, I, Mr. Yow, cat and hunter extraordinaire, was taking a huge risk. I didn’t care. As soon as I saw the chubby little morsel, every predatory instinct I had went on overdrive. I had to have it. The poor thing was oblivious, fluffing its ridiculously bright feathers as it took a bath in a small puddle of water pooling on Mrs. Zang’s patio. The way it fluttered and preened reminded me of Mercury’s mom getting ready for one of her hot Saturday night dates. Martha Rodgers, aka Gram, had more of a social life now in her senior years than her daughter Mercury had at her comparatively young age of just forty-five. The retirement mecca of Garden Acres, with its constant classes, parties, and card games, was perfect for Martha. Not so for myself and Mercury. But then, there were perks—innocent feathered yellow pets being one of them. Mouth watering, I began the hunt. I crept out from under the shelter of Mrs. Zang’s rose bush, steadfastly ignoring the tickling of her perfectly clipped grass on my soft underbelly. I could almost feel the bird locked in my powerful paws, its heart beating faster and faster as it struggled for freedom from my cage. My own heart pounding, I eased closer. Almost there. Tense, tail twitching, ready to unsheathe razor sharp claws, I got ready to pounce... SMACK! The blast of freezing cold water knocked me in mid-leap, sending me off-course and soaking me to the bone. My prey screeched an alarm. Flapping its little wings as hard as it was able, it gave a mighty hop, landing behind the protective curtain of Mrs. Zang’s fuzzy blue bathrobe. “Get away from my Tweety, you rotten cat!” She shook her left fist at me even as she used her right to squeeze the trigger. “Yowwwrrr!” I backed away from the stream of water shooting into my face and took off, leaping over the small dividing fence and fleeing for the safety of Martha’s pocket-sized backyard. “You’d better run. I’ll have you evicted. I’ll have you arrested. They’ll take you to the pound!” I darted for the cat door, icy water chasing me all the way. Safely inside I paused, and began licking water off of my beautiful cream-and-coffee fur, one rough raspy tongueful at a time. To think that I, Mr. Yow, had come to this—stuck in a tiny two-bedroom cottage, chased by a little old lady wielding a garden hose. Yes, this was my life now, and as the children would say, my life officially sucked. Mr. Yow isn’t my true name. It’s just the one Abby and Sarah, Mercury’s girls, gave me when they brought me home as a tiny kitten. I don’t remember much before my three cat lives, but I do remember that I actually have another name. Someday, maybe, I’ll remember it. For now, I’m a cat. And Mrs. Zang and Garden Acres are my reality. It might have been the shock of the water, or the fact that I was distracted thinking of my kitten days, but I was caught totally unawares by the dog. Uncharacteristically silent, bright pink tongue drooling in anticipation, he came flying around the corner and straight for me. At the last second, I leapt. I landed rough, sliding rather ungracefully across Martha’s brand-new granite counter top, heading for the one place in the entire cottage I could take refuge—the top of the refrigerator. I growled, the sound rising into the official cry of the Siamese cat—a high-pitched yowl. “Alert! Alert!” Fluffy yapped as he danced in circles at the foot of the refrigerator. “The cat’s on the fridge, the cat’s on the fridge!” “Oh, you think I shouldn’t be up here?” I hissed. “Well, just try and stop me.” His