Hey Dad,

Percy here, just saved Thanksgiving in Spencerville! Uncovered Button the cat’s sabotage, turned her into a parade artist, and now we’re all feasting as one big, furry family. Who knew a dash of feline flair could spice up dog town traditions? #MayorOfMischiefMakesGood

Happy Thanksgiving!
– Perce

Listen to the story here

There I was, Percy, the unofficial “Mayor of Mischief” in the canine utopia of Spencerville, watching the town bustling with preparations for our annual Thanksgiving Day parade. It’s the kind of event that turns every fire hydrant into a gossip podium and every doorstep into a stage where we, the pups, would rehearse our show-stopping wags.

Everything was gravy until, like the worst case of fleas, trouble started itching its way through town. Decorations started looking like my chew toys post-enthused gnaw, floats were as deflated as my mood when the fridge is empty, and food—oh, the turkey and trimmings—vanished like it was doing a magic act.

Now, if there’s one thing you need to understand about me, it’s that I’m a dog of action; I should have a cape with a giant “P” on it. So, naturally, I rallied the pack. There’s Reginald, a bulldog who believes every mystery can be solved with a deep snort, Whiskers, a perky terrier with a nose for news, and countless others, each more quirky and lovable than a basket of mismatched socks.

We sniffed our way through clue after clue, our tag-team of tails wagging a symphony. That is, until we caught the scent of the real surprise—our villain was none other than Button, a sour-faced cat who seemed to believe the whole parade was a canine conspiracy.

“Well, well, well,” I woofed, strutting up to my feline naysayer with the smoothness of peanut butter on a lick mat. “Planning a little holiday hissy fit, were we?”

Button, all twitchy whiskers and indignant meows, had felt excluded. “Thanksgiving has gone to the dogs,” she spat out bitterly, and not in the charming metaphorical sense.

Now, here’s where the story could trot down the usual dog-chases-cat alley, but we in Spencerville are a cleverer breed. We realized something profound: Thanksgiving wasn’t just about preening on floats or scoring the juiciest bone—it was about community, fur and whiskers alike.

So, we did the most Thanksgiving-y thing imaginable. We wagged our tails not in anger, but in invitation. We asked Button to channel her sabotage savvy into sprucing up the parade. Swapping her bitterness for a craftsman’s apron, she became our chief float decorator, and paw to heart, those floats had never looked more puuurfect.

The day of the parade, Spencerville gleamed with a renewed sense of belonging. We celebrated with more than just our habitual gusto; we celebrated with heart. As we marched, bark by bark, paw in paw, I realized we were not just thanking our humans, but each other for the wonder that was our life here.

And Button? There she was, feline overlord of the turkey-shaped float, basking in the glow of admiration. Who knew that behind those narrowed eyes was a kitty yearning for a bit of warmth from the hearth of community?

As we feasted together, every dog, cat, and human, the meaning of Thanksgiving wrapped around us like a cozy blanket. There were moments of blissful silence, punctuated only by the soft sounds of contented munching and the occasional purr or chirp.

We had come full circle. We’d gone out as a search party and returned as parade royalty, with a cat in tow, to a feast that tasted better than any dreamt-up kibble banquet. Because in Spencerville, it turns out, even when a few bad cats—or rather, misunderstood party planners—get thrown in the mix, it just adds to the flavor of this wild, wagging, wonderful life.

This year, as the stars twinkle over Labradoodle Lake and the moon glows like a giant, celestial tennis ball, I’m thankful for the messy, beautiful, furry tale we all scribble together in Spencerville. And hey, for the midnight turkey sandwich sneak, because some things never change.

The End.