Whiskerful Thinking

by Patricia Fry

  "Well, it's funny," Margaret insisted. She quieted down and pointed. "Vannie, look at your cat. I think he got some of that sparkly stuff in his mouth. That can't be good for him."

  Savannah watched Rags convulse for a moment, asking, "Are you okay, boy?" She put a hand on him and asked her aunt, "Do you think he inhaled some of that glitter? Maybe I should get him to drink some water."

  Margaret shook her head. "I'd just watch him for a few minutes and see if he can handle the situation himself before interfering. You might make it worse."

  "I think he's just urfing one of those disgusting fur tubes they cough up," Gladys said, shuddering.

  "I hope so," Savannah said. She smiled. "Yup, that's what it was. Thank heavens." She petted Rags as a comforting measure, then snatched a paper towel, wetted it, and prepared to clean up the mess.

  Margaret laughed. "He wants to examine it. Look, he's proud of what he made there."

  "Yeah," Savannah said, "he's never urfed anything that had all those colors in it. See, he made a sparkly fur ball." She petted him. "Glad you got that stuff up. Good timing, boy."

  "Can I have it?" Lily asked.

  Savannah frowned. "That gross thing? What in the heck for?"

  "To glue onto Daddy's card," she said.

  The room roared with laughter. Finally Savannah said, "No, honey-bun. We're going to throw it away."

  "Wait!" Teddy called, squirming out of his chair and rushing to where Savannah stood. He stared down at the furball. "Pretty," he said.

  Savannah rolled her eyes. "My children have a warped sense of art." After depositing the furball in the trash, she asked, "Auntie, want coffee?"

  "Sure," Margaret said. "Hey, I saw you on TV this morning." She looked intently at Rags, who was giving himself a lick bath. "He actually saved your horse from a snake?"

  "A rattlesnake," Savannah confirmed. She frowned. "I forgot they were going to show that this morning."

  "I know you're busy, so when I saw it pop up on the TV, I recorded it."

  "Good," Savannah said. "How'd we come across? I mean, you never know how reporters are going to slant your comments and use their video clips."

  "Good. It was entertaining and interesting," Margaret said. She nudged her niece. "You're really becoming quite the stage queen."

  "Stage queen?" Savannah repeated, laughing. "It wasn't supposed to be about me; it was about Rags."

  "Well, you did a lot of talking while they showed some of Rags's antics," Margaret explained.

  "Oh, gosh. I don't like it when they do that. I'd rather stay in the background."

  "You'd never know it," Margaret said, chuckling.

  "I wonder who that is," Gladys said peering out the kitchen window. When Rags jumped up onto his windowsill perch next to her, she petted him and asked, "Do you know that guy?"

  "Who?" Savannah asked, joining them. After watching him for a moment, she said, "I sure don't know him. I wonder what he wants."

  "Maybe he's lost," Margaret said, straining to see the stranger.

  "Wait, there's Damon. He's going around to the front door." She winced. "I'd better go see what he and his friend want. Hi, Damon," Savannah said, opening the door. She glanced at the man standing behind him.

  "Hi," Damon greeted. "Do you have a minute?" When he saw Margaret and Gladys enter the room behind Savannah, he said, "Oh, sorry, did I interrupt something?" He gazed at Gladys's apron and asked, "Are you doing some canning or baking?"

  "No," Savannah said. "Just visiting. Come in."

  Damon stepped into the living room and the stranger followed. "Good to see you, Maggie," Damon said, nodding. He acknowledged Gladys, then said, "Ladies, this is Colonel Cedric Bowls. Savannah, he's interested in buying a copy of your book."

  "Oh?" she said, acknowledging the robust, mustachioed man of about forty wearing a rather gaudy plaid suit, complete with a vest.

  "That's right, ma'am," Col. Bowls said.

  Savannah was surprised by the richness of his voice. She listened with interest as the stranger continued.

  "Further, I'm fairly certain that your cat—Rags is his name, I believe—is my long-lost Puff."

  "Puff?" Margaret repeated.

  "Oh…well," he stammered. "His name's Thomas." He tittered. "The wife and daughters assigned that ridiculous name to him when he was a wee cat." He stood straight and insisted, "His true name is Thomas. May I see him?"

  Savannah looked at Damon, who shrugged and said, "I didn't know about this." He turned to the colonel. "You didn't tell me; I thought you said you wanted to buy a copy of Savannah's book."

  "I do, young man," Col. Bowls said. He grinned. "And I'd like to collect my cat." He called out, "Thomas! Thomas!"

  "Well, I can tell you right now, sir, that Ragsdale is not your cat. I've had him since he was young and I've actually traced his history back to his birth. I know everyone who has owned him from the time he was a kitten."

  "I beg to differ, madam," he huffed. "I've looked high and low and far and wide for this cat, and my search has brought me directly here. As a matter of fact, I have read parts of your book and that is where I found the information I needed to be sure. I intend retrieving Thomas and returning him to our home where my wife and daughters await."

  Margaret frowned. "How old are your daughters?"

  "They're teenagers," he said. He appeared to be glaring at Savannah when he said, "They were six and eight when Thomas was taken from us."

  Squirming under his stare, Savannah asserted, "And you think I took him?"

  The colonel put his hands up defensively. "Oh no, that isn't what I'm saying. I'm sure that you acquired him quite honestly. I'm truly sorry to disrupt your life, but I must, and that's all there is to it. You have Thomas because of an unfortunate mistake, and I've come to collect him and return him to my family."

  "Are you crazy?" Savannah spat.

  When she sensed that her niece was losing her cool, Margaret moved closer and asked, "Sir, can you tell us what happened to your Thomas? How did you lose him and when was it?"

  "It was actually quite a number of years ago," he admitted. "Thomas was still young then and he wandered off. He was right around six or seven months old. Beatrice and Christina—my daughters—had me looking for him after I returned from escorting them to school. I thought I saw him about a mile from our property and I stopped, but not in time. In the distance I saw a woman lure Thomas into her car. I chased her down, but I lost sight of her. I was quick enough, however, to get her plate number." He chuckled. "I have a thing for numbers, so it was easy for me to memorize. By the time I caught up with her a few days later, though, she had already turned Thomas over to a shelter and they told me he had been adopted. That's all they would tell me, no matter how I pleaded with them. The only solace they could offer was that if he were returned to the shelter, they would contact me. They never did. And now, what—eight years later—I've finally found him and I intend taking him home to my family." He looked at Savannah. "According to your book, you adopted your cat from a pet store and he'd been in a shelter before that. He was eight months old, right?"

  "Yes," Savannah said, "but, as you must have read in my book, I have traced Rags's earlier years with all of his previous owners and I've even met most of them. I'm afraid, Mr. Bowls…um…Colonel Bowls, that Rags is not your cat."

  As if he hadn't heard her, he said, "Did you or did you not get him from a pet store in Los Angeles?"

  Savannah nodded and stuttered, "Yes…but…"

  "Well there you are," he boasted. "I live outside of LA, and from what the shelter director told me, Thomas was ultimately adopted through a pet store when he was about eight months old. Now, may I see him Mrs. Ivey?"

  "No!" Savannah spat. "As I told you, I happen to know Rags's background. In fact, I just returned from Los Angeles last month with a cat-DNA expert and we traced Rags's genealogy and his life path from the time he was a kitten until I adopted him. You and your family were never mentioned."

  "
I have done the same—well, with certain accuracy. I didn't have the advantage of the DNA results, but I spent some weeks five or six years ago attempting to unravel his past and determine his whereabouts. The path has finally brought me here. I stopped in at the local newspaper office thinking someone there could point me in your direction, and I ran into this young man." He faced Damon. "You have been most helpful."

  "Yeah, but…" Damon stuttered. He appeared shaken, saying, "Savannah, I had no idea he was going to pull this stunt."

  "It's okay," Savannah said. "He's way off track, and I think he knows it." She turned away dismissively.

  "Maybe not so far off track," he said. "His mother is Angel, a ragdoll cat."

  Savannah turned sharply toward the man and stared at him. "What? How do you know that?"

  "I told you, I did my research. Now will you let me see my cat?" the colonel insisted.

  "He read your book, Vannie," Margaret reminded her. "Of course he knows Rags's mother's name."

  More forcefully, the colonel said, "I can show you my research findings, which have nothing to do with your book. Your book, from the little bit I read, simply confirmed what I know. Now let me see the cat!"

  "No," Savannah said. "I'd like you to leave. Damon, please take him back to wherever you found him."

  "You can't dismiss me that easily," Col. Bowls said. "I have proof that you have my cat, and…"

  "Okay," she said, writing something on a piece of paper. "This is my attorney's name and number. Have your attorney contact her with the proof you say you have, and we'll go from there. Good-bye, Mr. Bowls."

  He bowed slightly, saying, "It's Colonel Bowls. Good-bye, madam."

  Savannah held the door open for the men, and the colonel stepped out onto the porch, while Damon hung back. "I'm so sorry, Savannah. I had no idea."

  She smiled weakly. "It's okay, Damon. We'll take care of this." She patted his arm. "No worries, now. It's okay." More assertively she said, "Just get him off my property."

  "Will do," he said, trotting down the stairs behind the man.

  After closing the front door, Savannah slumped into a chair. "What just happened?" she murmured.

  "Yeah, that was odd," Margaret said.

  "What happened?" Gladys asked, walking in from the kitchen with the children. "When I saw you getting a little hot under the collar, I thought I'd better distract the children." She chuckled. "They helped me frost the cupcakes we made this morning."

  Savannah smiled weakly and took Teddy onto her lap. "Thank you, Mom."

  "That el-jerko is trying to say Rags is his cat," Margaret explained.

  "I heard that part," Gladys said, frowning.

  "Yeah," Margaret continued, "he just comes in here pompous as all get-out, and tries to get his hands on Rags. Who does that?"

  "I don't know," Savannah carped, "but if there's going to be drama around here you can bet it will relate somehow—in some big or small way—to that cat of mine." When Teddy scooted off her lap, she stood up and paced. "Where did that one come from, anyway? I mean, we've run into and been approached by a lot of different weirdoes trying to get their hands on Rags—some wanting to do him in, some wanting to exploit him." She faced the others. "Some of those crooks simply thought they wanted to own such a unique and entertaining cat, but I've never had anyone as brazen as that gent come in here and try to claim him like that. What is he thinking? Did he actually expect me to believe his fairytale story and just hand Rags over to him?"

  "Well, he didn't get away with him," Gladys soothed, rubbing her daughter's shoulder.

  Margaret joined her. "No," she insisted, "you handled yourself just fine, Vannie."

  "What's wrong, Mommy?" Lily asked.

  "Oh, Mommy's okay," Savannah said, taking a deep breath.

  "Was that man mean to you, Mommy?" the child asked.

  "Yeah, he tried to be, but Mommy's okay." She picked up Lily. "We're all okay. Hey, how about we have a cupcake? Anyone want a cupcake?"

  "This close to lunchtime?" Gladys asked.

  "Sure," Savannah said. "We'll have dessert first, then our veggie and rice bowl."

  "Why not?" Margaret agreed.

  Savannah put her arm around her aunt. "I'm so glad to see you. We haven't hung out in a while."

  "Yeah, Maggie," Gladys said, "are things slow at the shelter?"

  "No," Margaret said. "Things are hopping at home. I just needed some time away."

  "Good," Savannah said.

  Margaret raised her eyebrows. "I didn't expect to witness such a display here this morning, although I guess it's not uncommon. There's always something going on around here." When she saw Rags walking into the room, she said, "There he is, the source of all the drama in the neighborhood."

  Rags looked at her and yawned.

  Savannah laughed. "Looks like he slept through the whole ugly scene."

  "Yeah, he wasn't about to come out in the midst of it," Gladys said.

  Margaret chuckled. "And get caught up in a tug-of-war with that phony colonel."

  "How do you know he's phony, Maggie?" Gladys asked.

  "Oh, he was phony through and through," Margaret said.

  The women had just sat down with the children around the kitchen table where Gladys had placed a tray of cupcakes, when Savannah's phone chimed. She looked at the screen. "It's Rochelle. I'll call her back." She smiled. "Okay, which cupcake do you want, Lily?"

  The child looked the tray over, stood up in her chair to get a better look, and finally chose a pink one with chocolate sprinkles.

  "Ohhh, that's the one I wanted," Margaret whined. When Lily looked at her wide-eyed, she said, "Not really, sweetie. Auntie was just teasing." She asked the toddler, "Which one is yours, Teddy?"

  "The big one," he said.

  "Big one?" Gladys questioned. "I think we made them all the same size, didn't we? Which one are you looking at, Teddy-boy?"

  Savannah pulled the tray closer to him and he stuck his finger in one of the cupcakes. "Big one," he repeated.

  "Yeah, I guess that one does look big with all that frosting piled so high," Savannah agreed. She put the cupcake on his plate in front of him.

  "Mmm, these are good," Margaret said after taking a bite. "Who made them?"

  "Me!" Lily said. She pointed. "And Grammy and Teddy."

  "Me!" Teddy shouted.

  "Well, they're delicious. Thank you for sharing with Auntie." Once Margaret had finished her cupcake and coffee, she stood up. "I'd better go see what the kittens are doing."

  "You have kittens?" Lily asked.

  "Yes, you kids need to come over and see them," Margaret invited.

  "Can we, Mommy?" Lily begged.

  "Yes, we'll definitely go over and see the kittens. How about after your nap?"

  "Today?" Lily asked.

  Savannah nodded, then asked, "Now, what would you children like for lunch?"

  Lily looked confused. "Lunch after my cupcake?"

  Savannah laughed. "Yeah, it is kind of weird. Are you full? If you're not hungry, we'll have naps now and you can eat something healthy when you wake up."

  "See you all later," Margaret said, heading for the door. "It's been fun."

  "Yes, let's do it again," Savannah said.

  After putting the children to bed, Savannah poured herself a cup of tea and sat down to return Rochelle's call. "Hi, is this a good time for you?"

  "Yes," Rochelle said. "I'm working from home today, playing catch-up on a few things. How are you?"

  "Good. We just finished having a cupcake lunch with my aunt. Haven't had a good visit with her in a while. We used to spend a lot of time together."

  "I remember that you did," Rochelle said. "How is Maggie?"

  "Doing just fine," Savannah said. "She has kittens. The kids and I are going over there to see them after their naps."

  "Cool. There's nothing like cuddling kittens, is there?"

  "Nope."

  "You sound good," Rochelle said. "I was a little concerned earli
er."

  "You were? Why?"

  Rochelle hesitated, then said, "Well, I had a strange vision, and I wanted to tell you about it. Maybe this will be a sort of warning."

  "Warning?"

  "Yes, I want you to watch out for…well, it's hard to explain. I think someone believes that you have something of his—maybe a cat. Savannah, it will be an unpleasant encounter, but I want you to consider that what he's saying could be the absolute truth." When Savannah didn't respond, Rochelle prompted, "Savannah?"

  "Yeah, I'm here. So Rochelle, tell me more about what you see."

  "You know how it works—I don't always get a clear vision or image—it comes sometimes in fragments and it's often rather obscure—muted, in a way. What I did see clearly is a rather eccentric man with a title who claims you have something of his. What I'm telling you is—the part that came across real clear, like a shock of lightening or something—is that he's telling the truth. This is not a hoax, and you can help him regain what is or was rightfully his."

  "Oh no," Savannah said. "You must have misunderstood, Rochelle."

  "Are you saying you've already been approached?" she asked.

  "Yes," Savannah said. "A man referring to himself as a colonel came here a while ago with Damon, and Rochelle, he said Rags is his cat—that he ran away from him when he was young. It can't be. It just can't be."

  "I don't know anything other than he speaks the truth, Savannah. He needs you to cooperate, or maybe participate is a better word. You say he wants Rags?" Rochelle hesitated. "Good grief, I had no idea. Savannah, I'm so sorry. So are you in touch with the man?"

  "No. I pretty much kicked him out of my house and told him not to come back."

  Rochelle laughed. "He'll be back. You can count on it. Listen to him. Use your creative thought process and what you know to be true. He is telling the truth."

  "How can we both be right, Rochelle?" Savannah insisted.

  "I can't answer that right now. But it will be okay. I can assure you of that."

  "Well, thank you, I think," Savannah said.