Katz Pajamas Series Boxset

by Jack Lugar

  It’s my understanding that the fame and fortune he boasts today is in sharp contrast to his humble beginnings on a farm just outside of Catlanta. It was a cat community where they didn’t have a lot of money, but they had the run of a farm and all the food and shelter they needed. Moving from the barn to the big city, he created his first show of singing and dancing acrobatic cats, which we call acrocats. The original show was met with rave reviews and the opportunity to make the show bigger. Now it’s the biggest traveling carnival in the world, featuring performers, rides, and games galore and is called C. T. Barncat’s Catastic Carnival.

  After hanging up my phone, I made my way to the carnival, which was less than a minute’s walk away. You see, it’s hard for me to miss knowing when the carnival comes to town because they always set up in the empty lot across the street from my office. So for a week, the light pouring in my lone window is filled with reds, oranges, and greens from the rides and midway instead of the usual white from the street lights. In addition to the lights are the endless sounds of organ music, kittens’ screams of joy from the rides, and the cries of carnies trying to lure players to their games.

  I’ve never been one to go to carnivals; at least not recently. When I was a kitten, my mom and dad would take me and my litter mates every summer. It was like a dreamland with all its thrilling rides, impossible games, and sugary deep-fried food. I could ride the Tilt-a-Whirl the whole day long if I had the chance and eat endless elephant ears or cotton candy. And the midway held the biggest fascination for me with an endless row of games like the Ring Toss, Ball in a Bucket, and Ring the Bell. My favorite game though was Balloon and Dart, where the contestant had to pop three balloons to win that elusive prize. I never did win.

  I can remember my anticipation the night before going to the carnival. It was the one night a year when I was eager to go to bed early so the next day would come quicker. The cruel result was that I couldn’t sleep because of my excited energy. I would lay awake for what seemed like hours hoping to doze off without success. In contrast to the endless night, the day at C. T. Barncat’s Catastic Carnival went by so fast it made my head spin, and that wasn’t because I’d been on the Tilt-a-Whirl for too many whirls.

  This time, instead of going to the main gate of the carnival with the eager guests, I was guided to a side entrance. There I was greeted by a couple of burly brutes who were to usher me to a tent near the back of the carnival grounds. One fellow was exceptionally tall and wide and sporting a cattoo on his left bicep that said “MOM” in all caps, surrounded by a heart. The other cat was equally tall but muscularly trim offset by his menacing goatee and a scar on his right cheek.

  As we walked along the outer edge of the carnival behind the barriers that kept the paying crowd inside the boundaries, I attempted to engage the two fellows in a simple conversation. I wanted to see if there were any details they knew that would shed even a little light on why C. T. Barncat was in need of my service. “It must be pretty exciting to work for a carnival,” I offered.

  “I guess,” said the one with the cattoo.

  “How long have you worked for Mr. Barncat?” I asked.

  The bearded cat was silent. Apparently, he wasn’t a talker. And the cat with the cattoo was very selective with his words. “A while,” was all he shared.

  It was going to be a little more challenging to draw out quality information from either of them, but I’d faced more difficult situations. For the moment, as we walked, I let the sounds of calliope music and rattling roller coasters fill our space and observed what the backside of the rides and game booths looked like. We passed the House of Fun which was merely six trailers strung together and looked nothing like the enticing front side, which boasted bright colors and bold signage. The same could be said for the back side of the game booths that lined the midway. In many ways it was reminiscent of the backstage at The Fat Cat Café, which was dark and dingy in contrast to the opulent, sparkling stage.

  Passing along the backside of the midway, I stopped for a moment as I caught a whiff of something familiar yet vague in my mind. I knew the smell, but couldn’t place it. One thing I knew for sure about the aroma was that it was pungently unpleasant. A lingering smell like that would scare off any crowd. But as quickly as the smell hit me, it disappeared with the light breeze that blew through the air.

  My two escorts stopped a few steps after I did when they noticed I’d stopped following. “Is something wrong?” the cattooed cat asked.

  “I thought I smelled something,” I replied.

  “Like rotten eggs and dirty socks?” he inquired.

  “I guess,” I said in response. “But there was something different and somewhat familiar.”

  “Yep. We’ve both smelled it,” he confirmed. “It comes and goes.”

  I nodded as I looked around one last time to see if I could locate a source, but there was nothing, at least not to the naked eye from my vantage point behind the game booths.

  They continued walking and I followed. It seemed like the right thing to do. As much as I wanted to start snooping around the area, I felt obliged to meet the famous C. T. Barncat first. Not to mention helpful since I still didn’t know what mystery I’d been called upon to solve.

  At the back of the traveling amusement park was a row of white canvas tents that must have been the living quarters for the crew of workers that traveled with the carnival from town to town. At the end of the row of tents was a lone, larger version of all the other tents. It was essentially the same as all the other plain white tents except it was about triple the size. While it dwarfed all the other tents in the row, it was nowhere near the size of the red and white striped performance tents where the sideshow of cat oddities, the clowns, or the acrocats performed.

  Seeing it at the end of the row, I could only guess that was C. T. Barncat’s quarters, and my hunch was confirmed as I followed my escorts into the practically palatial tent.

  In my profession, there isn’t much that surprises me. And knowing the type of showman C. T. Barncat built his reputation on, the interior of his workspace didn’t fail to impress. The exterior plainness of this temporary structure was offset by the grandeur of the interior, which featured a mixture of brown leather and red velvet.

  You would think for a temporary space, it would be decorated sparsely to make it easy to pick up and move at a moment’s notice, but this tent felt more like a palace. While there were no windows, there were pictures framed to look like windows and hung on two of the tent walls that made it appear that you were looking out on the beach. In addition, they were surrounded by silky window treatments to finish the look.

  There were couches and fluffy chairs, a fancy desk that looked like it was formed from airplane parts, a large framed map on an easel, a hairball in a glass case with a label that read “World’s Largest Hairball”, and a display case of trinkets and knick-knacks that appeared to be from places around the world. Everything about this tent said that C. T. Barncat had a lot of money and he wasn’t afraid to spend it.

  “Has our guest arrived?” asked a resonant baritone voice from behind the back wall of the tent.

  “Yes, sir,” replied my tall and wide guide.

  I had been so distracted by the other attractions of the tent, that I hadn’t realized that there was a second room in the back. My guess was it was the bedroom and I could only speculate that it, like the main area of the tent, was nothing like any other tent I’d seen.

  With the fling of a tent flap hiding the back room, C. T. Barncat charismatically appeared in the opening like he was stepping on stage. He too was tall like my guides, but much more slender and spry despite being fifteen years my elder. He was dressed in a red coat with tails, white shirt and cropped pants, tall black boots, and a red bow tie. Even if you’d never heard of C. T. Barncat, just the sight of him would affirm that this was a cat of prominence.

  He stood with his shoulders back, expressing a joyful confidence, which matched his smile. He strode across
the room toward me with his paw extended.

  “Detective,” he said welcomingly.

  “Please, call me Katz, Mr. Barncat,” I requested as I shook his paw.

  “Of course, Katz,” he smiled. “Thank you for coming over so quickly.”

  I assumed that Mr. Barncat was aware of my office being right across the street, but I didn’t know for sure. It may have been mere chance that he called me or maybe one of my past clients had referred me. It didn’t really matter except that because my office was so close, I could come over so quickly.

  “I assume Barkley and Saber have treated you well,” he stated.

  “They have,” I confirmed.

  But before I had the opportunity to ask which one was Barkley and which one was Saber, Mr. Barncat looked at the two burly cats standing just inside the tent’s doorway and said, “You two are dismissed for now, but stay close by.”

  Barkley and Saber nodded and stepped out the entrance of the tent, leaving me alone with Mr. Barncat.

  “Have a seat, Katz,” he offered as he pointed to an ornate chair in the middle of the room. He walked over to the adjacent matching love seat and sat. “Now, Katz, you’re probably wondering how you can assist me.”

  “I figured you’d let me know when the timing was right,” I replied.

  Mr. Barncat shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he glanced suspiciously over his shoulder. It seemed odd that he would look behind him when the entrance to his tent was in the direction he was facing, which was behind my back. On a side table next to the loveseat, he grabbed a small wooden box and lifted the hinged lid. Inside there a was miniature carousel. He twisted a pin on the side of the box for a few turns and set the box down. The carousel began to turn as tinny pipe organ circus music played. Then he scooted to the edge of the seat and leaned closer to me. I reciprocated and leaned toward him.

  In a hushed tone, Mr. Barncat said, “Someone is trying to ruin my carnival.”

  It was then that I realized he was afraid someone was listening, and he wanted the music to interfere with any listening devices. I raised a single eyebrow as I processed what he had just said. As a detective, I’ve made it a rule to be quick to listen and slow to speak. I’ve always assumed that was why I was given two ears and only one mouth. And like usual, my new client was telling me more without any prompting.

  “Strange things started happening a few stops ago when we were in Saint Pawl. Rides started breaking and crew members have been hurt. Just yesterday, our high walker, Caterina, fell from the wire and injured her hind leg, which brought an investigation of our safety practices. Before that an accident occurred when our strongcat had a moment of weakness and dropped the barbell on Bobo Bananas’ big toe.”

  “Bobo Bananas?” I questioned.

  “One of our clowns,” he informed me. “Now he can’t fit his paw in those big shoes.”

  “Are you sure these aren’t just accidents?” I asked.

  “I guess it could just be a string of bad luck, but nothing like this has ever happened in all my years,” he stated. “Sure, we’ve had accidents, but never so many at one time. I pride myself on safety.”

  “You mean there are more?” I questioned with surprise.

  “Several more,” he confirmed. “You can imagine what happened at the Balloon and Dart game when an errant dart ended up in the backside of our two-headed goat.”

  I nodded and grimaced at the thought.

  “The left head still won’t talk to me,” Mr. Barncat continued.

  “Why would someone want to harm you or your performers?” I pondered out loud.

  “I have my suspicions, but…” I held up a paw rethinking what I’d just asked and stopped him from responding.

  “Let me do a little investigating first before you answer that,” I told him. “I want to see what I can find without any bias.”

  I wasn’t sure how he would respond to my request because cats like C. T. Barncat like to have control. Not allowing him to tell me the full story gives me the power to truly develop my own narrative, but his response was cordial and gracious as he said, “You’re the expert, Katz. I will trust your intuition.”

  Standing up, Mr. Barncat picked up the music box and walked toward the back of his tent, however, before exiting, he looked back at me and warned, “You can’t let anyone know you’re investigating this matter.” His joyous demeanor was gone as he said, “Secrecy is of the utmost importance.” And with that, he disappeared into the back room of his tent as the carousel music box stopped playing. The tent was silent.

  At that moment, I wasn’t sure whether his flair for drama was getting the best of him or he was as serious as his tone indicated. Either way, he was the client; and if he wanted me to keep a low profile, then that’s what I’d do. How hard could it be to blend in at a carnival?

  Playing dress-up was never one of my favorite activities. I never liked to pretend I was anything other than a detective. So as a young cat, I pretty much dressed in my fedora and overcoat with a magnifying glass to look like a detective for every Halloween.

  With the help of Barkley and Saber, I figured I could gather the necessary wardrobe to effectively blend in long enough to gather enough clues. What I needed first was an outfit that would to help me get close to Caterina the tightrope walker.

  Apparently, it wasn’t a difficult request because it only took the silent cat a couple minutes to return with an outfit that was a shimmering lavender, embellished with sequins along every seam. If I hadn’t already been opposed to wearing costumes, a skintight lavender tightrope walking costume would have done it. Instead I was obligated to squeezing my not so slim figure into an outfit designed for a cat half my age and size.

  Using C. T. Barncat’s tent as my dressing room, I was spared the pain of having to see myself in a mirror because despite all the items that filled his palatial tent, a mirror was not one of them. However, I was plenty aware of how foolish I appeared when I saw the look on the burly cats’ faces. In fact, the silent one had been expressionless until that moment when I caught a glimpse of him trying to hold in a laugh. It made me wonder if he’d chosen an outfit a size or two too small on purpose.

  Knowing it would be suspicious for me to be going in and out of Mr. Barncat’s tent for each disguise, we agreed to meet at one of the smaller, less conspicuous tents two spaces down for my next costume change. The plan was for me to meet up with Barkley or Saber after I’d met with Caterina. Now all I had to do was come up with a way to introduce myself to her without drawing suspicion.

  Giving myself a quick mental pep talk I reminded myself that I am a great detective, and I can do anything I set my mind to in order to solve a case. If I had to dress in a ridiculous outfit or in this case, more than one, I could do it. And with that, I stepped out from behind the scenes and entered the carnival world of guests, rides, games, and the scent of deep fried confectionaries.

  I spotted the top of the large performance tent on the other side of the carnival grounds and began to walk that direction. As I walked, I attempted to ignore the stares and snickers and told myself to remember that I was an acrocat and that the stares were probably the result of appreciation and awe.

  I had almost made it to the performance tent successfully, feeling pretty confident I’d convinced the park goers that I was a carnival employee. In fact, I’d practically convinced myself too when I caught a glimpse of a mirror outside the House of Fun. It may not have been so bad except that it wasn’t a normal mirror. Instead, it was one of those distorting mirrors that over accentuated my belly, which already protruded a little bit in real life. With the unwanted help of the carnival mirror, I looked shorter and wider and more like a potbellied pig than a cat.

  I made it a point to not linger too long in front of the mirror, but it was hard to look away. I already knew I looked ridiculous, but this mirror only made it that much worse. It was so bad that I had to laugh. It certainly was funny, and I guess that was the point. Being back at the carnival for th
e first time in so many years was refreshing. It brought back so many great memories.

  Pulling myself away from the mirror, I hurried inside the performance tent and started my search for Caterina. My expectation would be that I would easily find her because she’d be the only cat with her foot in a cast. And I was right. There she was on the other side of the ring sitting on the first row of the stands. Her leg was covered in a plaster cast boot and a pair of crutches were propped up by her side. As the other performers practiced their routines on the high wire and trapeze, Caterina watched and occasionally applauded from her seat.

  From this distance I wasn’t 100 percent confident in her breed, but I was guessing she was a Singapura, which is known for its petite size and love of heights. Her features were highlighted by her large eyes and ears. And even though she was in no condition to perform with her injured leg, she was still dressed in a shimmering pink leotard and matching tights.

  After a moment of contemplation about how I would approach her, I made my way across the circus ring to her. She was so focused on the other performers that she didn’t see me coming and jumped when I asked her, “Where’d you get your designer boot?”

  She clutched her chest in surprise as she looked up at me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “It’s all right,” she replied. “I’ve been a little jumpy lately.”

  “Oh.” I waited to see if she would share more about the accident and if that was why she was jumpy.

  Instead she referred back to my original question and asked, “Did you say designer boot?”

  Because I had already mentally moved on from my opening line, it took me a moment to realize what she was asking. After a beat, my memory was jogged and I picked up where I’d left off. “Yes, that’s a fancy boot you have there, but where’s its match?”