The Trouble with Cupid

by Carolyn Haines

  For the next few days, I searched without luck for Priscilla. A few times, I caught the scent of another cat, and once I saw him at a distance, a bruiser with a scruffy black coat almost as dark but not nearly as lustrous as mine. I could tell by his scent he was a bounder.

  Tammy was flat out at the bookstore, what with people buying Valentine gifts and her dedication to looking after the colonies of stray cats around town. I couldn’t blame her for not noticing my subtle signs of distress. But finally, when for the third day in a row, I turned up my nose at succulent sautéed shrimp, she looked at me with exhausted eyes and said, “Oh, Trouble. I’m so sorry. What’s going on with you, big guy?”

  It was true, I was not myself and, had she been less busy and distracted, my human would have noticed earlier that my behaviour was cocked up.

  Tammy called my first human mother, Eleanor Duncan Curry, to ask for advice from my father’s biped. I put my paws on Tammy’s shoulders and my ear close to the phone.

  “I’m worried about Trouble,” Tammy began, after the small talk. “He doesn’t seem sick, just…sad and anxious. He’s slipping out at night, and I have no idea where he goes.”

  As the loving servant of Familiar, Eleanor understood the level of intelligence lurking behind my benign exterior. But my act of disappearing every night and coming home in the morning obviously exhausted, upset, and stressed out was contrary to my normal calm demeanour. It was always I who was looking out for Tammy, and she had obviously come to the realization that she had to do something to help.

  Eleanor listened quietly. Then she said, “There’s only one solution. You’re going to have to do a little detecting yourself.”

  That night, Tammy donned her dark hoodie and gloves and grabbed a flashlight as I headed out the door.

  I knew what she was doing. I had seen her shadow right away as she slunk out the door behind me. Wiley feline that I am, I pretended not to be aware of her pursuit. We climbed over a few walls, and as Tammy struggled over, I calmly cleaned my paws until she caught up. When we arrived at the rendezvous point and Priscilla was again absent, I cried out, running around in circles, looking under all the bushes, peering behind trees and shrubs, then leaping onto the wall surrounding the park garden for a better view. My beloved was not there. I detected the faintest scent that Priscilla had left, but it was old and intermingled with my own smells, confirming that it was from when I’d last seen her—more than a week before. The stray bruiser had been here recently, and my fur bristled at his scent. Obviously, his intentions toward my beloved were less than honorable.

  Tammy looked worried and somewhat bewildered at first. Then she stopped and looked down at a spot covered with cat hair, my short black strands mixed with Priscilla’s longer strands of gray and purest white. At last she guessed what the problem might be. “Are you looking for your girlfriend, Trouble?” she asked. “Is that what the problem is?”

  My loud and prolonged cry was clear; my heart was broken, and whilst I couldn’t explain the exact problem, I could tell Tammy had figured it out.

  She rushed home and called Phil, the local veterinarian. She knew Phil well, as she was forever bringing in stray cats to be treated or spayed/neutered, and he treated each animal with the same amount of love and care as he did his own. He was often known to treat animals for people who were unable to pay him but who might return the favor by mowing his lawn or cleaning his practice. Phil was a fount of knowledge about all the domesticated or wild cats and dogs living in Wetumpka and so might be able to cast some light on the missing white and gray female who was keeping me from eating and sleeping.

  Phil couldn’t immediately call a name or owner to mind but promised to phone Tammy back when he had some time to devote to the issue the next day.

  Sure enough, Phil called Tammy as soon as she got to the bookshop. She put the phone on speaker so I could hear.

  “Her name’s Priscilla,” he said. “I’ve treated her regularly over the past two years. A beautiful, healthy female cat. She belongs to Mrs. Beachcroft. Agnes Beachcroft.”

  I’d seen Mrs. Beachcroft from a distance, and I knew from the way Priscilla talked about her that she was a loving and caring human who always took the best of care of my amour.

  “Beachcroft,” Tammy said, reaching for a pencil. “Do you have a number?”

  She made a note of the telephone number and address, then thanked Phil and dialed up Mrs. Beachcroft. There was no answer.

  “It’s okay, Trouble.” She gave my ears a comforting rub. “I’ll try again a little later in the day.”

  The store was hectic, and by late afternoon, Aiden still hadn’t called. Another call to Mrs. Beachcroft also yielded no results. While Tammy fretted about Aiden’s absence, I reclined in my basket on the window seat, exhausted by my nocturnal searches for Priscilla.

  * * *

  The next day, Aiden was still AWOL, but we finally got a break in our search for Priscilla. Mrs. Beachcroft’s neighbor, an elderly spinster named Ms. Flin, came into the store to look for a book, and Tammy realized she might have information on Mrs. Beachcroft’s whereabouts. Tammy offered Ms. Flin a coffee and a seat at one corner of the store, where they sat together for a chat. I awakened a bit refreshed and strolled over to investigate who this coffee-sipping lady might be. She smelled familiar, no pun intended. My ears were twitching. Intrigued, I sat close by to eavesdrop.

  Ms. Flin was a little reserved at first, but after trying her coffee and a tasty heart-shaped biscuit Tammy had baked, she relaxed. Tammy deftly turned the conversation down the path she was interested in. Ms. Flin explained she was looking after the mail for a neighbor. In the best British tradition of Miss Marple, Tammy chatted up her visitor.

  “It’s awfully kind of you to take care of your neighbor’s mail. Is she on vacation?”

  “Oh no. She’s gone to visit her older sister, Elsie, in Millbrook. She does it every year.” While Ms. Flin nibbled one edge of the biscuit, I glanced at the Alabama map beside the door. Millbrook sat neatly between Wetumpka and Montgomery, about ten miles away. Ms. Flin brushed away a crumb and went on. “Usually, she leaves her cat, Priscilla, with me, but she took the sweet girl with her this time.”

  I felt a rush of relief at the news. It explained the faint familiar scent. I knew the smell of Priscilla so intimately that even a faint lingering smell was still detectible on Ms. Flin’s clothing and shoes from walking in Mrs. Beachcroft’s house. I didn’t know anything about Mrs. Beachcroft’s sister, but some sleuthing was in order to determine her telephone number and address. I wished again I had a smart phone, as it would be simple to call up the information quickly with my super dextrous paws.

  When Ms. Flin left the store, I slipped out behind her and followed her at a distance as she made her way back to her house. It was a small detached cottage sitting in a quiet street which spoke of care and love for gardens. As Ms. Flin approached number 5 and put down her bags, she checked her letterbox and then the one next door. Now I knew exactly where Mrs. Beachcroft lived. The scent of my beloved was very much in evidence all around the house and garden, although none of it was fresh. This matched what Ms. Flin had already said, but now I knew for sure.

  Before I left, I slipped into the house through an unlatched basement window and found a letter from Mrs. Beachcroft’s sister on the kitchen counter. Now I knew where she lived.

  My whiskers were twitching by now. I knew I was on the right track and that Priscilla was with Mrs. Beachcroft in Millbrook, so it was only a question of finding a way to get there.

  * * *

  I strolled back to the shop and hopped onto the front counter, where Tammy picked me up and gave me a snuggle. Although a cat of my aristocratic tastes must maintain an appropriate level of detachment, I rewarded her with a purr. I could tell she was still concerned about me, even though we now knew Priscilla was not so much missing as “away.” But for how long? I hadn’t seen the stray bruiser for a few days, and while he clearly lacked my superior inte
llect, he did seem the persistent type. What if he somehow found his way to Millbrook and I wasn’t there to protect my love?

  “I’m sorry, Trouble,” she said. “Mrs. Beachcroft still hasn’t returned my calls. I’m sure they’ll be home soon. Unlike Aiden.” She gestured to the phone. “I got a text. No service, he says. Can’t call out. Will explain soon. Right. No service, but he can text.” She set me down on the counter and hurried off to rearrange the front window display. She didn’t fool me a bit, especially not after I saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes. It made me want to bite Aiden, even though I rather liked the chap.

  And even though I needed him for my plan to work.

  Since Tammy seemed to need a little space, I grabbed her mobile phone in my mouth and disappeared into a quiet corner of the shop.

  I was in high gear now. I could see Aiden’s phone number from the caller list and therefore could also text him. It wasn’t something that as a cat I had a lot of experience with, but I was determined to master texting or swiping so I could convince Tammy I needed a smart phone.

  I sent Aiden a short text message along with an emoji of a cat, hoping he would realize it was me. Can you pick me up at the central fountain by the Millbrook courthouse tomorrow at noon? I dared not give Elsie’s address until I’d had a chance to scope out the situation. I planned to find transportation to Millbrook and hoped that Aiden might be close enough to get me and Priscilla back to Wetumpka. Tammy had enough on her mind—and besides, if I could just bring Aiden back to her, I knew they would be able to straighten everything out.

  How I would get to Millbrook was only a minor detail. As long as I found someone who was driving that way I could no doubt catch a ride, either known or unknown to the driver.

  All I had to do was convince Aiden of the extreme importance of this journey via Millbrook and ensure he was there once I’d found Priscilla. Convincing her to come back to Wetumpka I could surely achieve; I knew she wouldn’t hesitate once I held her in my paws.

  She simply had to be back by Valentine’s Day so I could present her with my gifts and love and attention. I gave some small thought to the fact that Mrs. Beachcroft might be staying longer with her sister, but that was of minor concern. Priscilla could come and stay at Tammy’s for a few days until her owner returned to Wetumpka.

  Now that I had a rough plan, there was no stopping me. I jumped up excitedly every time a message came in on Tammy’s phone. I didn’t want Tammy to intercept the message—and I hoped Aiden would answer quickly so I could erase the message. I knew Tammy would understand when she knew where I had gone, and ordinarily, I wouldn’t worry about keeping my plans a secret. Tammy knew I often disappeared when working on a case. But between her anxiety over Aiden and her concern for me, I feared she would worry if she knew about my plans in advance.

  At last, I received the message I was waiting for. Happy to pick you up. Not sure why you’re in Millbrook. Everything okay? I quickly tapped the thumbs up emoji and wiped the message from Tammy’s phone.

  Now to get to Millbrook.

  That evening, after I’d gotten Tammy settled in with a cup of hot tea and a good book, I slipped out and walked to the petrol station (okay, it was the U-Tote-Em in Wetumpka) near the road towards Millbrook, prepared to stake out a suitable car. Several drivers chatted with the attendants as they filled up. Some were on the way to work, some on the way home. None seemed to be on their way to Millbrook.

  My tail was beginning to lash in frustration by the time one mentioned he was heading out to deliver some parts to a mechanic in Millbrook. His truck was parked by one of the pumps, and fortunately, the window was partially open. In minutes, I was in the truck, hidden under some sacking on the floor behind the front seats.

  The bags smelled of tools and grease and some other unidentified matter. Not a nice smell but I remained still, not wanting to give the poor man a fright when he got into the truck.

  As the trip took only a bit over half an hour, I had a quick catnap, keeping my ears up for anything untoward. When the truck finally came to a halt, I felt refreshed and ready to get out of my temporary taxi. Since I kept my figure fit and trim, squeezing through tight places had never been a problem for me, and I was long gone before the driver had any idea I was there.

  I hurried to the street where Mrs. Beachcroft’s sister lived and quickly found number 21, a lucky number if there ever was one. It was a trim weatherboard period house with a delightful front garden and inviting swinging seat. As soon as I got close to the house I could sense and smell Priscilla. Oh joy, all was going to be well soon!

  I pressed my nose against the window. I couldn’t see anything, but I knew Priscilla was inside. I could hear two older ladies talking. “Now Elsie,” one said, “I’ll make you a nice cuppa tea, and you can rest and keep your foot up while I fix dinner.”

  “Could you put a little more sugar in it this time, Agnes?” said a voice from what could only be the parlor. I tilted my head for a better view and saw a woman sitting on the couch, her leg in a plaster, and a pair of crutches standing nearby.

  It didn’t take much to put two and two together. Elsie must be the sister, and she had a broken leg. Her younger sister, Mrs. Beachcroft, had come to take care of her. But it still didn’t explain why Mrs. Beachcroft had taken Priscilla with her. Surely that was yet another complication she did not need?

  Shortly after that, Mrs. Beachcroft walked into the room with a cup and plate. Elsie said, “Thank you, dear. You really are most kind to look after me so well.”

  Before Mrs. Beachcroft could answer, I walked around to the back of the house. From inside, I heard the sounds of someone busy with pots and pans. The kitchen, I surmised.

  Next to the kitchen was a laundry. I could tell by the scents of detergent and warm linens. It had a large window ledge, and the window was partially open. Then another scent came to me, a scent so familiar yet alien it made me quite lightheaded. I could clearly smell Priscilla, but I could also smell other cat scents. Not the stray bruiser, thank goodness. These were unfamiliar, yet not completely foreign.

  There was nothing for it but to go and investigate, see what was going on and who was there with Priscilla. She was my girlfriend; if there was some interloper in there with her trying to woo her, I would give him a piece of my mind (and a few swipes with a well-honed set of claws).

  * * *

  Things progressed rather rapidly once I got onto the windowsill of the laundry. I squeezed through the open window and followed my nose and ears. I knew Priscilla was there, but I could also smell and hear other noises. Not one cat but several.

  I pushed the door open and lo and behold, there was Priscilla, looking exhausted, lying in a makeshift comfortable bed with not one, not two but five little kittens! I didn’t know where to look first. I could see at least two black kittens, two white-with-gray kittens, and one almost totally white. I carefully approached Priscilla, not knowing how she would react to me, but she purred delightedly when I approached and started smooching my face.

  A few of the kittens squirmed to move closer to her, latching onto Priscilla for milk. The others were cuddled up together, sleeping. They appeared to be about a week old and only just starting to open their eyes. As I took in their smells and their tiny mews, I felt a strange sense of love and pride.

  My family.

  I squeezed into their bed and pressed against Priscilla’s back. For the first time in a week, I was able to relax. Yes, I was still in a strange place and somewhat uninvited, but I was with Priscilla and our kittens. I could not have been prouder of her achievement and told her so repeatedly.

  I now could also understand why Mrs. Beachcroft had taken Priscilla with her. She obviously needed taking care of, as did the five little kittens.

  It did put a spanner in the plans I had made to leave, but I had no doubt we could work things out to get back to Wetumpka with the kittens in tow. Mrs. Beachcroft seemed a lovely lady, but I wanted my family with me, and Tammy needed me in Wet
umpka. Besides, the black stray was a concern. If he came sniffing around, I needed to be there to protect my family.

  By late afternoon, after a rest and being fur-to-fur with Priscilla, I felt things were okay with the world again. Mrs. Beachcroft came into the laundry with Priscilla’s dinner, an unfortunate pâté that had clearly come from a can. She did a double-take when she saw me.

  “Why, hello there! You must be the daddy of these five gorgeous kittens.” She set down Priscilla’s dish and gave each of the kittens a gentle stroke. “I’ll get you some dinner too, big fella, but you’ll have to stay in here. My sister’s allergic to cats. I can’t even talk her into having a few people over for Valentine’s dinner, for fear someone will let y’all out of the laundry room."

  I let Priscilla have my share of the pâté. Then we snuggled up together with the kittens and took some time to lick and soothe them to sleep. Whilst it was my first experience with kittens, it came all very naturally, and I was as gentle and caring with them as Priscilla was. I talked to her about my plan to return to Wetumpka with Aiden by car the following day. While she was quite fond of Mrs. Beachcroft, she wanted our babies to be brought up in a lovely home, not in a laundry room. And there was the matter of the stray black cat. Priscilla grew quite flustered when I mentioned him, until I promised to protect her and our kittens.

  * * *

  At 11.50 a.m., I jumped down from the ledge of the courthouse fountain as Aidan pulled up at to the curb. Our greeting was brief but warm. Then he looked around, as if confused.

  “Trouble, where’s Tammy?”

  I meowed that she was back in Wetumpka, but like most humans, he has only a rudimentary understanding of cat. After a few minutes of calling for Tammy, he pulled out his phone and looked at the message, then at me. “Surely, you didn’t… You couldn’t have.”