Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields who provides us with a photo prompt. Each week’s challenge is to write a 100-word story inspired by the photo. Click here to play along or just read more stories.
I decided I was not going to participate this week. I’m not keeping up with reading stories and commenting. Biggie, the last puppy to leave, was delayed until this weekend. He and his sister, Xero, are constant chaos. He’s learned to escape from everything. He’s a tiny, 11-pound Cavalier. He’s climbing out of crates with two-foot-high walls. He can climb over the divide between the puppy playroom, formerly the living room, and the rest of the house. He gets under, over, or around all barriers. My roommate and I went to a friend’s house the other night and left them in a crate with a lid and locking door. They unlocked the door somehow and got out. House training consists of running around outside eating sticks, rocks, and my grandfather’s rose bushes, then coming in to do their business.
Still, I will be very sad when he goes. He’s become my little buddy. My chair is now our chair. In the evenings, he sits in it and waits for me to watch TV with him. He curls up on my lap and chews on my buttons, zippers, tie strings, fingers, nose, facial hair, and/or ears.
Anyway, I saw Dale’s picture and had an idea right away. So, here it is.
Captain Rupert Wigglesworth
Captain Rupert Wigglesworth peeked out from behind the books. He knew he was safe there. Bill’s books were strictly decorative. Did he even realize he had three copies of Les Misérable?
Mister Fluffers sent him to gather intelligence. Five minutes with Bill told him he was in the wrong place to gather intelligence. He just watched YouTube on his phone.
“Come on, Bill. I only have nine lives,” Captain Rupert Wigglesworth thought.
Bill’s phone rang.
“6:30, dock 42. Got it.”
The next morning, Mister Fluffers and Captain Rupert Wigglesworth spearheaded the greatest tuna heist in the history of tuna heists.