“Dad, had quite the adventure in Pawsburg tonight! Went for pizza, got caught in zombie cat fog (terrifying!). Turns out, they hate Lemonheads. Saved the day, but it was a close one! Another scare in the pawsome world of Pawsburg. We go again!” – Growlbert

Listen to the story here.

Well, Albert, my wrinkly old chum, and I had been twiddling our thumbs when we decided to sneak off to Pawsburg after dark for a spot of adventure. Now, you have to understand, Pawsburg is no ordinary town. It’s a magical hideout only accessible to dogs when their owners are out or asleep.

We started with a brisk trot through the Eastern White Westie Woods, with Albert leading the charge. His white-striped face and fawn body blending in with the environment, almost like a camouflaged commando on a secret mission. “Keep up, slowpoke!” he playfully teased. Amidst our frolicking, he spotted Baker and Lilly near Poodle Pond. Lil Rosie was there too, with her tail wagging uncontrollably like someone had switched on a furry mental metronome. A quick catch up and off we were to the famous Paws-A-Latte for a coffee break.

Albert, being more foodie than canine, suggested a detour to Pup-Tastic Pizza for a well-deserved round of deluxe chicken pizza. He firmly believes, every dog should abide by the Bulldog Lifestyle mantra – eat first, exercise later.

Suddenly, we noticed an eerie fog enveloping the town from the direction of Westie Woods, as if a chilly hand had descended upon Pawsburg’s collar. Restaurants and shops, even The Canine Cafe and Pawsitively Purrfect Pet Store – our ToyTown, vanished beneath the misty onslaught.

A sense of horror seeped into Albert’s usually cheerful eyes. “Do you think it’s the…” he gulped, “…the Cat-pacalypse we were warned about?” Through the fog, a chorus of zombie-fied meows echoed forth, sending Albert into a panic. It was like watching someone trying to put an ornery octopus into a box. His fear of cats ramped up to unprecedented levels.

Mumbling a prayer to Grogu, his toy god, he dug out of his backpack a Lemonhead, his secret weapon. He tossed it into the fog and suddenly a loud, a sour yowl echoed through the fog, and then a curious silence. The mist retreated like a defeated army, revealing a pack of cats, their faces screwed up comically, licking their paws with distaste.

For a moment, cuckoo chaos reigned in Pawsburg like an amplified day at the office. Then mirth blossomed. Canines laughed, barked, howled. The cats, looking embarrassed, scampered off.

Albert, my rather heroic and not-so-timid English Bulldog, was hoisted as the knight of Pawsburg. As we headed back, he mumbled to himself, “Just another day in the life.” I just grinned at him, thinking to myself, ‘you can’t write this stuff!’

Back home, tucked in our cozy beds, tending his jittery nerves, Albert made a mental note – tonight’s horror will be tomorrow’s slapstick comedy over a crumpet at Paws-A-Latte. But deep down, we both knew, there would always be another scare lurking around the corner in the mysterious world of Pawsburg. That’s just how the dog bone rolls.

The End.