by Nic Saint
The butch black cat shrugged. “Looks all right to me.”
Just then, Gran caught sight of our newly arrived friends and came trotting over. “I need your help,” she told Harriet, then without further ado picked her up and carried her over to where she was duking it out with Tex and Marge. “I’ve got an idea!” she cried.
“Oh, my God,” said Tex.
“What is it?” asked Marge a little uncertainly.
“We’ll let a neutral party decide,” said Gran, and held up Harriet as if this was a scene from the Lion King and she was introducing the new king to the world.
“You’re going to let a cat decide what kitchen we choose?” asked Tex with a touch of incredulity.
“She has to live there, too, right? And everybody knows that cats have great taste.”
The salesperson, whose smile had fallen off his face by now—no one can train those facial muscles to keep working so hard for that long, not even a seasoned kitchen-hawking pro—glanced at Harriet, and nodded his acquiescence. “Why not?” he said.
In other words: if you people are crazy enough to trust the word of a cat, I’m perfectly willing to indulge you. Or also: never argue with a crazy old cat lady.
“So what will it be, Harriet?” asked Gran as she showed Harriet some of the designs they’d put aside. “Just pick a number—one to twelve—for the one you like best.”
“Seven,” Harriet said immediately, and placed her paw down on its corresponding design.
“Not that one!” Tex said, looking as fed up with this whole kitchen-choosing process as we were.
“I told you!” said Gran triumphantly. “Good job, sweetheart.”
“I’m not sure,” said Marge, wavering.
“Why not? It’s light, it’s modern—”
“And timeless,” the salesman interjected.
“It’s also the most expensive one of the bunch,” Tex added, an objection immediately brushed aside by his wife and poo-poohed by his mother-in-law.
The salesman was fully on board with the decision, for he was beaming again, and said, “Shall I wrap it up or are you going to have it here?” And laughed heartily at his own joke.
Chapter 9
We’d just arrived home when we came upon Odelia giving us a look of determination.
“What is it?” I said immediately.
“I have an idea, Max.”
“You have?”
“An idea to catch this catnapper of yours.”
“Well, he’s not my catnapper, per se,” I countered.
“It’s a foolproof plan,” she assured me.
Even through our recent kitchen saga, the thought of a person catnapping cats and murdering homeless people hadn’t been far from my mind. It was a very strange tale.
“We need to stop this person,” Odelia announced. “And also, if this is the same person who’s killed and buried our John Doe, he needs to be stopped before he kills more people.”
“Do you really think he’ll kill more people?” asked Dooley.
“I don’t know, Dooley. As long as we don’t know why he did what he did, we have no way of knowing what his next move will be.”
“So weird,” I murmured. “A man who kidnaps cats and murders homeless people then buries them in the woods for some reason.”
“It is a very strange business,” Odelia agreed. “So I’m going to run my idea by you.”
“Shoot,” I said, perhaps a little injudiciously, considering our John Doe had been killed with a firearm.
“I was thinking: why don’t you let yourselves be taken by this person, and that way we’ll know exactly who’s doing this, and we can catch him in the act.”
Both Dooley and I stared at our human in visible dismay. “We have to allow ourselves to be taken?” I asked, wanting to make sure I’d heard her right.
“You’d wear a tracker, of course,” she said, “and Chase and I will be close by, so that when you’re taken, we’re right on that catnapper’s heels.”
“Um… sure,” I said, though I wasn’t entirely convinced of their scheme. Don’t let my robust appearance fool you, I’m not exactly the world’s most courageous cat. Still, it seemed like a good plan, so I decided to go along with it.
“So what exactly is it we’re supposed to do, Max?” asked Dooley.
“Odelia is going to put a tracker on us,” I explained, “and so when we’re taken by the catnapper she’ll know exactly where we are at all times.”
He nodded intelligently, then said, “What is a tracker, Max?”
“A tracker is exactly what the word says, Dooley: it is a small device that tracks our every movement. In fact the full term is GPS tracker, and it sends a signal to a satellite, which sends the signal back to an app on Odelia’s phone pinpointing our exact location.”
“You mean like the GPS on Odelia’s car?”
“Exactly like the GPS on my car,” said Odelia with a reassuring smile. “That way whatever happens to you, Chase and I will know where you are, and we can come and save you.”
“And catch the catnapper,” I added, “which is what this is all about.”
“Since all five cats were taken in the same area and around the same time,” Odelia explained, “I think it’s best if you roam around that area around that time—assuming the catnapper hasn’t changed his MO—and hope he’ll take the bait.”
I nodded, seeing the soundness of her scheme.
“What do they say, babe?” asked Chase.
“They’re going to do it,” said Odelia.
Chase nodded. “Good boys,” he said, giving us both a pat on the head for our trouble. He’d crouched down so he was at eye level. Then suddenly, and completely out of the blue, he put a collar around my neck!
“What are you doing?” I asked, slightly alarmed. I trust Chase, of course I do, but no cat likes to be outfitted with a collar. I mean, we’re not dogs, okay?
“It’s the GPS tracker I was telling you about,” Odelia said.
“Oh, right,” I said, only mollified to a minor extent.
“Are you sure this is safe, Max?” asked Dooley as Chase repeated the procedure with my friend.
“Yeah, I’m sure it is,” I said, though to be perfectly honest I wasn’t entirely sure myself.
Harriet and Brutus had entered the house through the pet flap and now halted in their tracks when they caught sight of the recent additions to our costume. “Why are you wearing a collar, Max?” asked Harriet.
“It’s not a collar,” I told her. “It’s a GPS tracker.”
“We’re going to nab the nabber,” Dooley announced.
“Nab the nabber!” said Brutus. “And how are you going to do that?”
“You’re going to know exactly how they’re going to do that because you’re going to be nabbing that nabber along with your friends,” said Odelia. And before Brutus and Harriet knew what was happening they, too, had both been outfitted with tracking devices!
Harriet blinked and said, in a plaintive voice, “I don’t like the color. It doesn’t become me.”
“There isn’t much choice in tracking collars, unfortunately,” said Odelia. “So these will have to do I’m afraid. How do they feel?”
“Weird,” I said, grimacing and pulling at the collar.
“A little tight,” said Brutus in a tight voice.
“So if these give off a signal that transmits to a satellite,” said Dooley, “isn’t that dangerous? I mean, doesn’t that kind of thing give you cancer?”
“Don’t worry about that, Dooley,” said Odelia, getting slightly annoyed with all these objections to a plan that must have seemed perfect in her mind when she thought it up.
“So what’s going to happen now?” I asked.
“Now you’re going to walk around where the others were all taken,” said Odelia.
“And where is that?”
And as she told us where she was going to drop us off, and even was so kind to show it on a map on her phone, Harriet said in a
low voice, “You guys, it’s the Bermuda triangle.”
“The Bermuda triangle?” asked Brutus.
“You know, the place where everything disappears.”
“Oh, right.” He produced a low chuckle. “It’s the Bermuda triangle of cats—the place where all cats disappear into thin air!”
“Oh, God,” I said, liking this whole endeavor less and less as time went on and the hour of putting ourselves in the path of this crazy nabber/killer drew closer and closer.
“Max?” said Dooley as Odelia and Chase talked the plan through a little more, “I don’t like this.”
“I don’t like it either, Dooley, but I’m sure it will be fine.”
“But we’re wearing a cancer-inducing collar, and Odelia is going to drop us right in the middle of the Bermuda triangle for cats. This is very dangerous, Max!”
“Just think of it this way, Dooley,” I said. “Soon we’ll have this catnapper behind bars, and then all cats of Hampton Cove can finally breathe a little easier again.”
He took a deep breath, then said in a small voice, “I just wish I could breathe a little easier now.”
Chapter 10
Marge was not in a good mood. Though she should have been in a great mood, she wasn’t, and it was all because of her mother. “Look, this is still my kitchen,” she said, “and I’m the one who has to pay for it, so I think it’s only reasonable that I’m the one who decides.”
“Excuse me, but I live here, too,” said Ma, “and also, I’m paying from my pension, so I have as much right to have the deciding vote as you have—if not more!”
Marge looked at the design her mother had chosen on the computer tablet, and shook her head. “I don’t like the cupboards,” she said finally. “They’re too small. My tableware is never going to fit. And besides, I always wanted a kitchen island.”
“So what?”
“So where is my kitchen island? There’s no kitchen island in this design.”
“If you want a kitchen island, Marge,” said Ma, sitting next to her at the computer in their cozy little living room, “you should get a bigger kitchen.” She threw up her hands. “There simply isn’t enough space for the kind of kitchen you want.”
Marge knew that her mother was right, of course, but she was loathe to admit it. “I’m sure that if we measure things again we can create enough space.”
“You can measure all you want, but as long as that measurer you have isn’t one that belongs to Harry Potter you’re not going to create more space, Marge. You knew when you bought this house that you were getting a small kitchen, an okay living room and a small sitting room.” She paused. “Though if you really want a bigger kitchen there is a solution.”
Hope surged in Marge’s bosom. She really had always wanted a bigger kitchen. In fact it was her main gripe ever since they’d moved into the place. “There is?”
“Of course. All you have to do is knock out a wall, or better yet, two walls.” She pointed to the living room walls. “If you knock out that wall, and that one, you create one big space. And then you’ll have an open kitchen, with kitchen island, and you’ll also have a lot more light in here.”
“You’re right,” she heard herself say.
Ma’s jaw dropped. “What did you just say?”
“I said you’re absolutely right.”
Ma smiled a beatific smile, which was a rarity for her. “I’m glad to hear you say it.”
They should have done it a long time ago. The living room, which was located in the center of the ground floor, didn’t get any light at all, and the sitting room, where they didn’t spend all that much time, got all the light, as did the kitchen.
“How much is this going to cost, though?” she asked, immediately putting a damper on these ambitious plans.
“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” Ma suggested.
“Tex is going to—”
“Tex will be happy as a clam! He wants this as much as we do. He just doesn’t want to pay for it, even though he can easily afford it.”
“It would mean remodeling the entire downstairs,” Marge pointed out.
“So? You only live once, Marge. And didn’t you tell me when you moved in that this was the original plan all along?”
“It was,” Marge admitted ruefully.
“So why not finally put it in motion?” Ma got up. “This is the way to go, honey, and you know it as well as I do. Now all you need to do is convince that Scrooge husband of yours to take out his checkbook and get this show on the road.”
“Where are you going?” she asked as Ma grabbed her purse from the table.
“Better don’t ask,” said her mother curtly.
“Better don’t ask what?”
“Exactly,” said Ma with a slight grin, then skedaddled before Marge could ask more.
“You’re not going to pull any crazy stunts, are you?!” she yelled after her aged but sprightly mother, but the only reply she got was the door being slammed shut. “Oh, dear,” she said, then glanced at that mockup on the screen again. It did look pretty wonderful, she thought, but only with the addition of a kitchen island. And bigger cupboards. And more of them, too. And maybe even a second kitchen island. And for once in her life she had to agree with her mom: if they could pull this off, they’d all be a lot happier, and could live a lot roomier. Now all that needed to be done was to convince Tex.
Chapter 11
We’d arrived at cat choir, and I have to admit I wasn’t feeling entirely sanguine about the plan Odelia had outlined. But she was right: what could possibly go wrong? Nothing!
Cat choir was where all the cats that had been taken had set out from, and from there they’d roamed around the downtown area, at which point they’d been taken, so this was the exact route and timetable we’d adhere to, hoping we’d get taken, too. Yikes!
“I just wish Clarice was here,” said Dooley. “She wouldn’t be scared like we are.”
“I’m not scared,” said Brutus, always the butch cat.
“You look scared.”
“Well, that’s just your imagination, Dooley,” said our friend. “Cause I’m not afraid of anything. In fact if you just stick close to me nothing will happen to you—I promise.”
“If you’re not afraid, Brutus,” said Dooley earnestly, “then why is your tail quivering?”
“My tail is quivering because I’m happy,” said Brutus, promptly tucking in his tail.
“Oh, just admit it, Brutus,” said Harriet, “you’re just as nervous as the rest of us.”
“I am not!” said Brutus, managing to sound indignant.
Cat choir was happening as it always does: in a boisterous way, with cats shooting the breeze, greeting each other as if they hadn’t seen each other in ages, even though we’d all met the night before, and some even that afternoon, like Kingman and us.
“What is that thing around your neck, Max?” asked that same Kingman now as he studied me intently.
“It’s a GPS tracker,” I said, and explained Odelia’s plan in great detail.
“A GPS tracker, huh?” he said, nodding. “Always wanted to get one of those myself, actually.”
“You did?”
“You never told us,” Harriet pointed out.
“Well, it’s just one of those cool hip things, isn’t it? In fact in this day and age of modern technology I think every cat should have a tracker. That way when something happens their owner can easily track them down. Isn’t that right, Shanille?”
Cat choir’s director had joined us, and was staring at Harriet’s collar. “Yeah,” she said after a moment’s pause. “Yeah, you’re absolutely right, Kingman.”
Harriet, who’d noticed that Shanille was eyeing her with a touch of envy, now thrust out her chest and lifted her chin, to make that tracker collar stand out even more. “Nice, isn’t it, Shanille? Top-of-the-line GPS tracker. It’s the latest fashion. With this cool little gizmo Odelia can find us anywhere, down to the inch. Isn’t that so, my precious angel?
”
“Yeah, she can even hear what we say, and see what’s going on around us,” said Brutus.
“I don’t think she can,” I said, but Brutus quickly shut me up with a glance.
“Latest high-tech gadget,” said Harriet, shoving her collar in Shanille’s face. “All the It cats are wearing it these days. So where’s your tracker, Shanille?”
“I… don’t have one,” said Shanille, then added, “and I don’t need one. Father Reilly knows exactly where I am at all times. He doesn’t need a tracker to keep track of me.”
“Yeah, but what if you’re taken, like those other cats?” said Kingman. “A tracker would come in darn handy. In fact I think I’ll convince Wilbur to get me one of those.”
“And how are you going to do that?” Shanille sneered. “You’ll talk to him, will you?”
“I’ll ask Max to ask Odelia to tell Wilbur to get me one,” Kingman explained. “You’ll do me that little favor, won’t you, Max?”
“Oh, sure,” I said, suddenly feeling pretty cool with my brand-new tracker. We were all basking in the attention of a dozen cats now, all gaping at the nice gadgets around our necks, and I could tell they all wanted one. The story of those catnappings had spread through our community like wildfire, and the only thing standing between us and being left behind in the middle of the woods by a crazy catnapper, with not a bowl of kibble in sight, was this tracker, so it just stood to reason everybody now suddenly wanted one.
Cat choir proceeded as planned: we all sang our hearts out, and Harriet sang her solo, and when all was said and done, and we’d been subjected to our fair share of shoes being thrown in our direction by irate neighbors who had the misfortune of having bought a house that faced the park, we decided to follow the route the missing cats had taken, and place ourselves knowingly in harm’s way. Pretty counterintuitive, I know!
“Did you see the look on Shanille’s face?” said Harriet with a wide grin. “She couldn’t stop looking at my nice new tracker.”