I feel sorry for Inkwell and Poe 🙁The squirrels don’t like them! 

On you next visit to the vet, buy lots of Wellness treats and feed them to your pets when needed. Don't remember if they are cheaper than vet visit, but at least you don't need to travel there so often. 

✏️ Clara’s Chronicles: The Wrath of the Gnome Gods (and Poe’s Ongoing Skunk Saga)

Sul sul, readers!

The Gnome gods - well at least one liked pie.

This week in my ongoing saga of “why my life feels like a sitcom written by llamas,” I somehow managed to offend the Gnome Gods. Yes, those gnomes — the ones that mysteriously appear around Harvestfest, stare into your soul, and demand tributes like tiny judgmental overlords.

Naturally, I thought, “Hey, who doesn’t like pie?” Pie is the friendliest of all pastries! Flaky, warm, comforting… practically a hug you can eat. Apparently, however, the gnome gods consider pie a grievous insult. The moment I set it down, ZAP! Lightning straight to the fingertips. I yelped, “Frabbitty noo!” and begged forgiveness, but alas — the gnome gods are not merciful. Their only response? A chorus of “Hooba noobie floo!” before vanishing into thin air.

Meanwhile, Poe continues his ongoing feud with the local wildlife. He’s now been sprayed by skunks twice this week, and as if eau de skunk weren’t enough, he’s also collected two more squirrel bites for his growing medical résumé. At this point, the squirrels must be running a secret fight club in the yard. “Dag dag, Poe,” they whisper, before launching themselves at him.

On a brighter note, thank you to my dear readers who suggested Wellness Treats and pills for my poor, accident-prone fluffballs. Genius idea! I just have one question: do they home-deliver them? And, more importantly, can I set up a recurring monthly subscription? Because let’s be real — with Inkwell’s dramatic vet visits and Poe’s “squirrel-snack” tendencies, I’ll need them in bulk.

Until next time, wish me luck with the gnomes, the squirrels, and keeping Poe from becoming Eau de Skunk #3.

Dag dag,

—Clara

P.S. If you hear maniacal laughter in Willow Creek, it’s probably the squirrels. Or the gnomes. Or both. Shooflee wumplesnort.

🌸Relocation, Renovation, and a Whole Lotta Hydrangeas

Sul Sul, Readers! 👋

It has come to my attention (because I was forcibly moved) that I am now a resident of a brand-new town. Yes, my handler—Mikkimouse the Great and Sometimes Questionable Builder—decided to catch the dreaded “gardening-decorating bug.” Instead of just deleting the offending plant like a rational human, she bulldozed my entire house and plopped me into a neighborhood where I know no one. Absolutely no one. I mean, honestly—would you move Beyoncé to a random cul-de-sac because you didn’t like her azaleas? Shoo flee!

She insists she’s “rebuilding my dream home.” And, okay, it does look almost like my original house. Almost. But let me tell you, readers, “almost” is doing some heavy lifting here. The kitchen sink is on the wrong wall, the wallpaper makes me look sallow in selfies, and there’s a window directly behind my toilet. (Yes, directly. Behind. My. Toilet. The drama.)

On the bright side, Poe has miraculously gone more than three minutes without a skunk attack. That’s a new household record, and I’m considering framing a certificate. Meanwhile, Inkwell has maintained his reputation as the laziest cat in the Simiverse. He is in excellent health, which means I can finally vacate my timeshare at the Brindleton vet clinic. Dag dag, waiting room coffee machine—I won’t miss you.

But don’t worry, your favorite bestselling author and influencer (that’s me, in case you forgot) is still thriving. New town, new house, same fabulous me. I’ll continue to chronicle my glamorous struggles and dramatic triumphs, so stay tuned for more chaos, tea, and Simlish exclamations that EA never bothered to subtitle.

Until next time—Dag dag, ooh be gah! 💋

—Clara Whitmore

Clara Whitmore’s Blog #3 –

The Case of the Missing Mudroom

Greetings once again, dear readers. It is I, Clara Whitmore—mystery novelist, reluctant traveler, and apparently the Sims equivalent of a garden gnome, forever being uprooted and plopped down somewhere new.

For those keeping track at home, let me recap my rather dramatic history of forced relocations:

• I began in Windenburg, nestled among quaint cottages and ivy-covered ruins, convinced I would spend my days writing happily ever after.
• Suddenly, poof!—off to Oasis Springs, where I was promised “inspiration in the desert sun.” Instead, I got heatstroke and sand in places I care not to mention.
• Just as I found my footing, I was whisked away to Henford-on-Bagley, which, I’ll admit, was charming—though I never quite recovered from the trauma of being stared at by oversized chickens.
• And now? Back to Windenburg. Same lot, same town, different house.

And the reason for this epic tour across the Simverse? Was it divine intervention? An urgent mystery needing my sleuthing skills? The wrath of the cowplant? No, my dear readers. The culprit was far less glamorous: a mudroom.

Yes, after all the drama of crossing biomes, climate zones, and postal codes, my handler decided my life needed… a glorified coat closet. A mudroom. To hang jackets and muddy boots. I suspect Mikkimouse has the attention span of a toddler on a sugar rush. First it was “Clara needs a greenhouse for inspiration!” then “Clara must have a pool for wellness!” and now it’s “Clara cannot possibly function without a mudroom.”

At this point, I half expect my next novel to be interrupted by yet another rebuild—perhaps for the installation of a llama yoga studio or an “emotional support laundry room.”

Still, I must admit, Windenburg does suit me best. And if a mudroom is the price I pay for returning to my true home, then so be it. After all, what better backdrop for a mystery than a cozy Windenburg cottage with a suspiciously overemphasized mudroom?

Until my next untimely demolition, I remain your faithful chronicler,

Clara Whitmore

Novelist, accidental nomad, and four-time victim of sudden household reconstruction