The cryptic text read, “Or-fey Oona-te Ache-say, ELP-Hey E-May! Ank-Hey.” There was a grainy photo attachment. Recognizing that the message contained Hank’s (the IT pig) special code, Purdy entered the message into the decoder and was alarmed at the message.
The results, right after the rules.
The Message — For Toona Sake, Help Me! Hank. Purdy didn’t recognize Hank in the photo. His pale office cubicle complexion was replaced with a sun baked and mineral-mud bath shade of awful. And, what was up with that weight?
Purdy called the one person that could possibly answer the questions at hand. Psychic Shirley held a speed dial number on Purdy’s iPhone. Surely, Shirley could figure this problem out.
The decoded message was anxiously read and Shirley asked for the photo to be forwarded.
“Zip that pic over here, Dear” Shirley said, “I’ll hit you back in 10 and we’ll chat then.”
A blink of time passed and Purdy’s phone rang again. She tapped “on” before looking at the incoming number. The high pitched squawk of Pete the Pigeon said, “Turn on Entertainment Today! I think your former mail carrier is scandalized. This may damage the campaign.”
The phone went blank, the TV went hot. Blah, Blah, whatever the words were, were ignored by the photo behind the newscaster’s head. This photo dominated the screen.
The scrolling text on the bottom of the screen read, “… ignoring social distancing guidelines set by the mayor, one popular singing star decided to display his disdain for authority by copulating in public.”
“In other mews”, the talking head on the TV continued, “There have been closings of many meat processing plants across the country due to corona virus deaths of employees.” also “ The White House announces plans to restructure the US Postal Service ...”
Disgusted at the media reports, Purdy hit mute on the remote. The phone had an urgency in it’s vibration so Purdy grabbed it up. It was Shirley. “Something big is up with your Pig!” she blurted, “Get to the Bait, Beer and Gas Shop NOW and I don’t care how.” “Keep me on the line and all will be fine.” Shirley’s trademark flare for rhyme remained constant.
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Prudy’s driver had the limo ready when she scrambled out of the office. She gave him directions (per Shirley’s instruction) to the store shown in the title photo. Hank’s bulk was barely hidden by the weeds near the phone booth. He had been able to rig up a modem to transmit his message through Ma Bell’s antique device. He had to be helped into the limo due to his deplorable condition.
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“They running an illegal Fat Farm at that spa” he said, slobbering out his words. “I was bound, force fed and destined for some butcher’s block before I escaped.” Purdy let Hank ramble on until they dropped him off at his apartment. She headed back to the office to inform the candidates of the day’s events.
Ginger was in the middle of a photo shoot when she received the memo.
Andy was unavailable for comment. It seems he is still enjoying the company of aliens, destination unknown and future status uncertain.
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With apparent disaster avoided, Purdy spent the afternoon absorbing UV rays and Vitamin D from the Sun with her personal masseuse / gourmet chef in attendance. A quiet and uneventful calm ended the day. The weekend ahead may hold new troubles, but toona was on the menu and all was well.
Stay tuned for more “mews”, two weeks from now. Things are certainly going to be different.