Chapter 2
It was Tuesday in Waterford, which meant the town's only traffic light was set to "random," the cows were holding their weekly debate (topic: "Is grass greener on the other side?"), and the mayor was attempting to launch her new initiative: "Bring Your Pet to Work, Even If It's a Squirrel."
Colonel Mustard and Lieutenant Pickle sat at their usual booth in the BK Lounge, sipping questionable coffee and watching the morning chaos unfold. The big sign above the counter still read, "BJ's: Coming Soon!"—a promise as empty as the suggestion box at City Hall.
Pickle was reading the Waterford Gazette, which today featured the headline:
"LOCAL WOMAN CLAIMS CAT RUNS CONDIMENT CARTEL—CITY COUNCIL DEMANDS PROOF"
Pickle snorted. "Sir, listen to this: Mrs. Peabody says her cat, Mr. Whiskers, is running a secret underground sauce ring from her garage. She claims he's got the cartel cats working for him, smuggling relish in tennis balls."
Colonel Mustard leaned in, eyes sparkling. "And what does the council say?"
Pickle grinned. "They want a PowerPoint and a urine sample."
Mustard nodded. "Classic. In Waterford, the more unbelievable the story, the more paperwork they demand. Remember the time Earl claimed his toaster was spying on him for the Russians?"
Pickle shuddered. "He still won't eat bagels."
Just then, Mrs. Peabody herself burst into the BK Lounge, clutching a suspiciously lumpy tote bag and looking wild-eyed. "It's true!" she cried. "Mr. Whiskers is the kingpin! He's got the cartel cats on speed dial, and he's been laundering catnip money through the laundromat!"
The room fell silent. The mayor, who was trying to teach her squirrel to file paperwork, looked up. "Do you have any evidence?"
Mrs. Peabody pulled a tiny, paw-printed ledger from her bag and slapped it on the counter. "He's been charging me rent in sardines!"
Colonel Mustard stood, clearing his throat. "Ladies and gentlemen, in Waterford, we must remember: the most unbelievable stories are sometimes the ones we most need to hear. Dismissing them outright is how the cats take over. And trust me, you don't want to live in a town run by cats. They nap through every council meeting."
Pickle nodded solemnly. "And the litter box budget would be out of control."
Pelosi with the Clues appeared from behind the soda machine, holding a crossword puzzle and a magnifying glass. "The answer is hidden in plain sight," she intoned. "Check the alley behind the laundromat. And bring a can opener."
Mustard grinned. "You heard the lady. Lieutenant, assemble the team. We're going on a stakeout."
As the townsfolk buzzed with excitement, Mustard and Pickle donned their best disguises (Mustard: sunglasses and a fake mustache; Pickle: a trench coat and a monocle over his monocle) and slipped out the back.
In the alley, they found the cartel cats in the middle of a high-stakes poker game—using packets of relish as chips and betting on which customer would ask for extra napkins first. Mr. Whiskers, wearing a tiny fedora, looked up and meowed menacingly.
Pickle whispered, "Sir, this is the most unbelievable thing I've ever seen. Should we call for backup?"
Mustard shook his head. "No, Pickle. In Waterford, you don't call for backup. You call for a musical number."
He snapped his fingers, and suddenly the alley was alive with music. The cats began to dance, Mrs. Peabody sang backup, and Mustard led the way with a Disney-style parody:
Musical Parody:
"Under the Mustard"
(Parody of "Under the Sea")
The ketchup's crazy, the mayo's mean,
But down here, mustard keeps it clean.
Why live in chaos, confusion, and strife?
When common sense can spice up your life!
Under the mustard, under the mustard,
Darling, it's better,
Down where it's clever,
Take it from me!
Up on the surface, they think they're so smart,
But they're missing the sauce, and that's just the start!
As the last note faded, the cartel cats scattered, Mr. Whiskers tipped his fedora, and the townsfolk cheered.
Colonel Mustard turned to Pickle. "Remember, Lieutenant: Sometimes the wildest stories are the ones that matter most. Listen to the unbelievable, or you might miss the truth hiding in plain sight."
Pickle grinned. "And never underestimate a cat in a fedora."
As they walked back to the BK Lounge, the mayor's squirrel finally filed its first piece of paperwork (it was a napkin), and Waterford returned to its regularly scheduled weirdness—one unbelievable story at a time.
Colonel Mustard's Clue:
When someone tells you their toaster is spying on them, check for crumbs. And maybe for bugs.