by Patricia Fry
As I continued walking toward Rags, I suddenly saw his head go down and his tail puff up. When his ears went back, I began to panic. He’s going to attack that man, I thought. I hastened my pace but before I could reach him, Rags leaped into the man’s chest, knocking him off the wall. Terrified and maybe hurt, the man scurried to his feet and ran off down the street.
I was in shock. I felt awful. Not only was I pregnant and stressed about Craig’s disappearance, now my cat had attacked an innocent man. I was shaking by the time I got close enough to pick up Rags’s leash. I had started to scold him, when my aunt caught up to us.
“That’s him!” she shouted, while gasping to catch her breath. She pointed in the direction the man had sprinted. “That’s him—the guy I saw arguing with Craig!”
All I could do was stare after the man. “Are you sure?” I asked, my voice an octave higher than normal. Once she’d convinced me that she was at least pretty sure he was the one, I called the sheriff’s office.
After ending the call, I realized that Rags was pulling impatiently in the direction the man had fled. We could still see him off in the distance. We didn’t want to lose sight of this important suspect, so I let Rags have his head and Auntie and I followed.
Unfortunately, by the time the officers arrived, we’d lost the homeless man. From the way Rags was carrying on at the end of the leash, however, I was pretty sure he knew where the man was hiding. The sheriff’s deputies agreed with me. One of the officers knew Rags’s reputation for identifying criminals and finding clues, and he asked if he could take the cat. Only slightly reluctantly did I relinquish the leash, hoping that Rags wouldn’t somehow bamboozle the deputy into turning him loose.
Sure enough, the cat flushed out the suspect and they took him in for questioning. As it turned out, the only crime he was guilty of was getting a little rough with our detective. He was cleared in the kidnapping. Rags did ultimately help to find Craig. Continue reading for that exciting rescue story.
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Yes, Rags can be a fierce attack cat. I’m sometimes surprised he hasn’t been arrested or at least quarantined. I’m equally surprised that I haven’t been sued for his violent behavior. I guess it’s because, in all of the attack cases, Rags was the good guy. He’s the darling of local law enforcement, that’s for sure. But it’s still a puzzle how Rags knows the good people from the bad.
Do criminals emit a specific odor that can be picked up by a cat? Now there’s an area of science that probably hasn’t been studied. Perhaps Rags reads a criminal’s mind-pictures and recognizes his intentions. Other times a bad guy’s intentions are quite clear. Like the time a man broke into our house and held me at gunpoint. When Rags saw what was happening, he attacked the man and caused him to drop the gun, saving my life. In that case, he could see or sense that I was in trouble and frightened. I believe he knew, at some level, that the man was going to hurt me. And Rags did what any well-trained watchdog would do.
Don’t underestimate cats. While some of them will slink away and hide when there’s a threat, others will stand their ground and protect themselves, their young, or their favorite human.
I’ve learned that if Rags distrusts someone, I should pay attention. Not only does he remember people who have impressed him either positively or negatively, but he also seems to recognize someone with ill intentions. Like the time he reacted rather rudely and roughly toward a photographer who was helping with a photography class I was teaching for at-risk children. Everything with the class went along smoothly until Rags met this man. The cat tried his darnedest to show me the man’s true colors, but it took a near tragedy before anyone realized why Rags was behaving the way he was.
As it turned out, the man did have ill intentions. He was not to be trusted. And Rags ultimately led the way toward proving it. But how did Rags know? And why was I reluctant to trust the cat’s keen instincts? Maybe because he uses unconventional methods of displaying his emotions, or trying to show us what he sees, or attempting to expose someone he senses is bad or a danger.
Rags probably loses patience with us as often as we do with him. In my defense, Rags’s method of communication—through quirky behavior—is difficult to rely on. He sometimes conducts himself in a rather off-the-wall manner. He can be totally inconsistent and erratic. With Rags, you never know what’s coming at you.
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For example, Rags was the star in a documentary because of his work with the local sheriff’s department, which I’ll tell you more about in subsequent chapters. The producer of the documentary, Rob, took quite an interest in Rags, and convinced wealthy cat devotees, James and Henrietta Peyton, to open their San Francisco mansion for a premiere showing of the documentary. We were invited to be there, along with any of our friends who could make the trip. And Rob insisted that we bring Rags. He said that people were being asked to pay a good price to see the documentary and the prospect of meeting Rags would probably sell tickets.
I, on the other hand, feared that Rags would cause some sort of commotion, but resigned myself to the fact that I’d have to be vigilant. I needed to stay one step ahead of my often unruly cat. It would not be an easy task. In fact, as it turned out, it was an impossible one.
So we traveled down to the big city from Northern California with Auntie and Max. Craig and Iris met us there and we all stayed in spacious bungalows on the mansion grounds, as did Rob and his girlfriend, Cheryl.
Rob thought he knew Rags pretty well because he’d observed him in many situations. He’d done a lot of interviews. He was certainly aware of the cat’s level of desire for adventure. So he arranged for one of the Peytons’ servants to be Rags’s personal concierge.
The first night we were there, the Peytons invited all of us, including Rags, to an elegant sit-down dinner in the mansion. One of the butlers, Rupert, had been assigned to cat duty. Upon our arrival that evening, Rupert offered to take Rags to a specially designed cat room upstairs. Michael, Auntie, Max, and I went with him to check out where Rags would be staying. We were quite astounded to see the amazing playroom the Peytons had created for cats. It was so intriguing that Rags didn’t even seem to notice we left him alone there. He was too busy doing what he loves best—exploring new territory.
But Rags didn’t stay in the cat room for long that evening. Henrietta Peyton thought he should eat his gourmet meal alongside us in the atrium, which was nice, but a little unnerving for me. Yeah, I knew that Rupert had been assigned to Rags and it appeared he was doing a pretty good job of watching him. But I didn’t begin to relax at dinner until I saw Rags sprawled across a cat bed sound asleep. Rupert sat nearby. All was well, until it wasn’t.
I had just finished my delicious dinner and was enjoying the lively conversation around the table, when I glanced in Rupert’s direction. Darn. He was looking at something on his cell phone. I quickly looked at where I’d last seen Rags. He was gone. I must have seemed like a hysterical mother as I leaped from my chair and started searching for my errant cat. The Peytons insisted that I relax and let Rupert take care of finding Rags. I was clearly irritated with their choice in cat-sitters.
As it turned out, Rupert could not find Rags, which didn’t surprise me. By the time the man returned in defeat, I was already upset. I’d lost interest in the table talk, and all I wanted to do was find Rags. The Peytons tried to distract me and console me, saying that Rags would turn up. But I knew what the cat was capable of and I was determined to search for him. How could I go traipsing through this home without permission, though?
It took Rob speaking up on my behalf to generate a search party for Rags. When James Peyton finally acquiesced, he quickly became the leader, pointing each of us in a different direction. While some of us searched the downstairs west wing, some went into the kitchen, others looked in the east, north, and south wings, but Rags was nowhere to be found.
Finally I heard a noise. It sounded like a cat to me and it appeared to be coming from the second floor. The rest of my searc
h group had wandered away by then, so I walked up the stairs and down the long hallway, calling for Rags. Again, I thought I heard a cat, so I slipped into the cat room we’d visited earlier and switched on the light. Rags wasn’t there. As I prepared to leave the room, I heard a door close. This time when I entered the hallway, there was Rags walking toward me as if he’d appeared from thin air. I suspected that someone had imprisoned him in the room behind the green door at the end of the hallway and let him out when they heard me calling for him.
But how could that be? Rupert had told us that no one stayed on the second floor of the mansion. However, he had mentioned in a somewhat tongue-in-cheek way that there might be a spirit or two hanging around up there. A spirit that takes cats? I wondered if Rags had been lured up there and held captive by a ghost.
There was something else strange about the situation. When I found Rags he was no longer wearing his harness, which I’d put on him that evening before we arrived for dinner. When I complained about this to the Peytons, James assured me that no one would remove the cat’s harness. He was certain that Rags was simply more clever than we gave him credit for and that he’d managed to slip out of it. He said he would replace it the following day, which he did. That was nice of him, but I believed he was missing the point. Rags could not possibly have removed his harness, unless maybe he spent an hour or so chewing through it. And why would he? Whether Rupert was lying or ignorant to the fact, I was convinced that there was someone staying on the second floor of the mansion and that person removed Rags’s harness.
That was not the end of our adventures that weekend. More chaos was to come and more secrets were to be revealed.
The following night, Rags was to stay in the cat room during the cocktail party and film showing. Afterward, I would sit with Rags and talk to people who wanted to meet the starring cat. Everything went pretty much according to plan until my worst Rags nightmare was realized. I thought Michael was watching him and he thought I was, until the awful truth came out. Rags was in no one’s sights for a period long enough that he managed to disappear. I feared that he’d been catnapped. I mean, he was a unique cat and the documentary genuinely showcased his personality and his abilities. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that someone would take him.
I was frantic. I felt that awful knot in the pit of my stomach. After checking every nook and cranny inside the mansion without success, including the wonderful cat room, I talked my aunt into changing her clothes and joining me in a search for him outside. We planned to limit our search to the immediate grounds, until we found his new blue harness—the one Mr. Peyton had bought for him—out near a swampy area. I was pretty sure that we were on his trail and I urged my reluctant aunt to continue the search with me. Before we knew it, we were at the point of no return. Not only had the tide come in and blocked our way back to the mansion, but our flashlight had given out and Auntie had been struck by something. She was hurting and we were lost and frightened. And wouldn’t you know it—neither of us had thought to pick up our phone before heading out into the dark unknown.
I was scared out of my wits. We called out, but there seemed to be no one around. All we could do was hope and pray that someone would hear us.
Finally it happened. A woman heard my call for help and she reluctantly came to our rescue. Why reluctantly? She was a bit of a recluse. Pearl lived alone and without a phone in a small house on the other side of the swamp. It was obvious that she really didn’t want to bother with my aunt and me. But we must have looked pitiful, because she agreed to take us to her home, where we’d have shelter for the night. She helped me treat Auntie’s wound, provided us with some clean clothes, and gave us something to eat. We were ever so grateful.
Pearl had cats, but said she had not seen Rags, so I was shocked when I saw one of her cats wearing the harness Rags had lost the day before. Gads, things were getting spooky—and they were about to become even more bizarre.
The following morning a friend of Pearl’s, who happened to be a local ranger, stopped by her house, and he called to let Michael and Max know that Auntie and I were okay. I was awfully glad to make contact with Michael, but I wasn’t happy to hear that Rags was still missing. In fact, I was beside myself with worry. Where could he be?
As it turned out, I could have walked away—gone back to Hammond without Rags—and he would have been just fine. But I didn’t know that and neither did the Peytons. In fact, they offered a reward for his safe return and Michael and I decided to stay on and wait for Rags to be delivered to us.
But we’re talking about Rags, not an ordinary cat with a predictable lifestyle. As it happened, Rags had not run off and become lost. He had not been catnapped by a money-hungry opportunist. But he was being held captive right under our nose.
His rescue began when I thought I saw evidence of a cat or cats inside the mansion, even though I’d been told that there were no cats on the property. I was convinced that Rags was in the mansion somewhere, and I wasn’t going home without him.
Ultimately, we found Rags, who had stumbled upon a terrible secret—one that was robbing a young man of a normal life. It was Rags who exposed the serious wrongdoing. The young man, Arthur, had been badly burned as a child and his mother thought it would be in everyone’s best interest if she told the world he was dead. Henrietta convinced Arthur that there was no hope of his burn scars ever being repaired and that she was protecting him from ridicule and shame by keeping him hidden. There was also the little issue of an inheritance that would go to Arthur when he turned eighteen. With the boy out of the picture and presumed dead, the inheritance would be put into Henrietta’s hands. Those were the wishes of Henrietta’s first husband, Arthur’s father.
Arthur lived a life of luxury in his basement quarters. He and his beloved caregiver, his former nanny Ruth, had everything they could want, except for freedom. Arthur loved cats and he’d even managed to accumulate some, which is probably how Rags got involved with Arthur. Either Rags sensed that there were cats in the mansion and he wanted to get acquainted or Arthur caught a glimpse of Rags and lured him into his domain.
Because of Rags and our determination to help the young man emerge from the bowels of the mansion forever, we made a dear friend and we had the pleasure of helping Arthur to flourish outside of his undeserved prison.
It was around that time that I began to recognize my growing interest in investigative work, and I realized that it may have been fostered by my brazen, inquisitive cat. Certainly, that incident helped to ignite my fascination with suspense and mystery. For that reason, Rags seemed to be the perfect animal companion for me. This was not the first nor would it be the last mystery Rags participated in solving. That experience just reconfirmed my knowledge that if there was a can of worms, Rags would discover it.
****
A year or so later we returned to the mansion to help Arthur with an estate sale. He had received his inheritance by then as he’d turned eighteen and his mother and stepfather were in prison for some unfathomable crimes against Arthur and his younger sister, who did not survive the awful ordeal.
Arthur planned to transform the mansion into a wonderful sanctuary for children, but when Rags and Arthur’s cat, Koko, made a grisly discovery there, that idea went out the window. The authorities weren’t sure what to do with the findings, which involved human remains that had been hidden away in the most bizarre and eerie manner. So they simply designated the mansion a crime scene and went to work on the mystery. By then we were all in shock about what the cats had found and our nerves were nearly shattered. So, one afternoon Arthur and his future wife, Suzette, along with Michael, our infant daughter, Lily, and I, took some time away from the place. We left Rags and Koko safely in our bungalow. We had a nice time, but we sure didn’t expect what we found when we returned.
It was surreal. As we drove toward the mansion around dusk that evening, we could see an orange glow along the horizon. We fully expected to see the moon looming from behind the
formidable structure once we hit the rise in the road. Instead, to our horror, we saw flames. Some of the bungalows and the mansion were on fire. It was soon clear that Rags and Koko were gone; there was no way they could have escaped. I could not believe that the decision I’d made to keep Rags safe had actually killed him. If I’d just taken him with us that day.
Arthur was also in mourning. He loved Koko. I prayed that Rags and Koko would find the rainbow bridge. “Wait there for me, Rags,” I whispered. My heart was broken.
A little while later, Michael thought he spotted an animal trotting in our direction. “Is that…?” he asked hesitantly. He spoke quietly, not believing what he was seeing. “Arthur, that looks like Koko!”
Sure enough, Koko had somehow made it out of the inferno without a singe. Arthur was beyond relieved. He picked up the Siamese beauty, buried his face in her fur, and cried tears of joy. This made me hopeful that I’d see Rags again and I strained to catch sight of him. But he did not appear. Knowing Rags as I did by then, I imagined that if there was a chance for one of the cats to flee the flames, he would have helped Koko. That thought brought on another onslaught of tears.
Michael held me as we watched the nightmare before us. By the time two fire engines had screamed past us, we knew that the structures could not be saved, and we all agreed that it was just as well. It was an appropriate end to an evil that had taken place long ago in the mansion—something that should never ever have been revealed.