A Klepto Cat Mystery
Book One: Catnapped
by Patricia Fry
ISBN: 0-9773576-8-6
All rights reserved
© 2013 Matilija Press
Chapter 1
Savannah saw something scurry past her in the near darkness—a cat! It’s one of the missing cats. How frightened he must be in this desolate spot where nothing is familiar—where danger is imminent. Now she could relate to the cat’s fear. It had become personal. If only she could find a way to keep her kidnapper at bay until help arrived. But no one knew where she and Aunt Margaret were—no one would come in time.
She thought about the circumstances that had landed them in this terrifying predicament—a situation that could very well end in torture and death for both of them.
***
It was a week and a day earlier. All but one occupant in the old Forster home slumbered peacefully. He couldn’t (or wouldn’t) sleep. He’d rather explore. He’s considered nocturnal, after all. No, he isn’t a werewolf or a vampire, but a mere cat—an incredibly curious cat.
What the…? Savannah raised up on one elbow, tilted her head and listened for a moment. Must have been dreaming or hearing things, she thought as she scrunched back down under the warm blankets.
“Screeeeeeech!”
There it is again. It’s coming from downstairs. “Aunt Margaret,” Savannah whispered under her breath as her feet hit the floor. There was just enough moonlight shining through the sheer curtains to illuminate the small lamp at her right. Savannah switched it on and reached for her robe, grateful that she had packed the newer one. No one ever saw her lounging in her favorite, well-loved robe. Not if she could help it.
She rounded the last post at the bottom of the staircase and rushed toward the guestroom, wondering what calamity had occurred at 5:30 a.m. “Auntie, are you all right?” she asked as she peered into the room around a slightly ajar door. In the dim light from the bedside lamp, Savannah saw her aunt sitting on the edge of the bed still in her nightshirt, staring down at Rags.
“What happened?” Savannah asked hesitantly as she entered the room.
“Oh nothing. He just startled me; that’s all. Right, Ragsdale?”
“Are you sure? It sounded like you saw the ghost of old Grandpa Forster,” Savannah quipped.
“No, Vannie. I heard something scratching around in that dresser over there. You know, we get all kinds of vermin and critters out here in the country.” She winced. Then, looking up at her niece, she continued, “That’s something you don’t have to deal with in the big city.”
“I didn’t realize you were so squeamish, Auntie. What kind of vermin are you talking about, anyway?”
“Oh, you know, snakes, raccoons, mice. I don’t mind these animals, but not in my house.” Margaret shuddered.
“So there’s a snake in here? Or a mouse?” Savannah asked.
“I’m getting to it,” she snapped playfully. “Do you want to hear my story or not?”
Savannah nodded submissively while suppressing a smile. “Yes, please go ahead.”
“Okay, so I turned on my little lamp here and I saw something moving in my lingerie drawer. I don’t know why I left it open. Just forgetful, I guess. And with this danged broken foot, I’m not taking care of business like I usually do.”
“Which is why I’m here, right?” Savannah smiled. Then creasing her brow into a frown, she asked, “So what was it in your drawer?”
“There he is right in front of you.” She pointed at Savannah’s cat, who seemed to be the epitome of innocence at the moment. “I saw something dive for cover under my pink slip. Well it started moving around and I didn’t know what was about to jump out of there. It scared me. I mean, how would I escape if it decided to attack?” Margaret asked, her face tingeing pink as she relived the experience.
“When the creature popped out of the drawer with a pair of my pantyhose trailing across its back, I wasn’t sure what I was seeing. I didn’t have my glasses on, and the bulb in this tiny lamp is so dim. I couldn’t tell what it was—a possum, an alligator…or maybe a wild boar!” Her eyes grew larger along with her imagination.
Savannah couldn’t contain her urge to laugh. “Oh Auntie, you’re exaggerating. When is the last time you had an alligator or a wild boar anywhere near this house? And since when are you afraid of Rags?” she asked, reaching down and roughing up the fur on the cat’s head.
“Since he disguised himself and snuck up on me in the dark.” She chuckled, watching the cat roll from side-to-side on his back while wrapping his front paws around Savannah’s outstretched hand and kicking it playfully with his back feet. “Anyway, I thought we closed my bedroom door last night—didn’t we?” She cocked her head slightly to the left, her bobbed brown hair swaying across her shoulder.
“Yes, I closed it. But, unless you lock it, Rags can open it.” She pointed over at the door, saying, “He’s an expert with those lever door handles of yours. No room in this house is safe from him unless the door’s locked. When he wants in or out, he just jumps up, hits the lever, and the door opens.” Savannah stared off into space for a moment and then continued, “I almost lost him once when Travis and I spent the weekend at friends. They had those lever door handles, and he just helped himself outside one night while we were sleeping.”
That was a mistake, she thought. I vowed his name would not cross my lips nor would thoughts of him enter my mind. Not for a while. Yet, it may not be possible, what with Travis having been so much a part of my life. Not now, Savannah, she willed herself. Not yet. It’s too soon. Let the memories die. It’s best.
“Uh-oh.” Margaret patted the top of the bedside table.
Savannah’s attention now on her aunt, she asked, “What?”
“My glasses…where are my glasses? I always set them on the table next to me when I go to bed.”
“Well, since this isn’t your bedroom and you’re not used to being in this guestroom, maybe you changed your routine. Did you leave them in the bathroom? Let me look.” Savannah promptly returned, saying, “I didn’t see them in there. Are they in that drawer?” Savannah followed her gaze over to the bedside table and pulled on the knob.
“I don’t think so. I did a little reading before going to sleep and I’m almost positive I put them right here.” Margaret pushed her Kindle to one side and felt around the base of the lamp.
“Maybe they fell behind the table,” Savannah offered. But her efforts to locate the specs behind or underneath it were fruitless. Suddenly, Savannah let out a sleepy sigh and looked down at the cat, who was by then lying on the bed next to Margaret enjoying a series of tummy scratches. “Okay,” she scolded, “what did you do with them?”
“I told you, I put them on this table. I know I did,” Margaret insisted.
“No, Auntie, I’m not talking to you. It’s Ragsdale. You see, there’s something I forgot to tell you. He’s a…”
“Eeeeoooo, what’s this?” Margaret grimaced as she pulled something out from beneath her heirloom quilt. Savannah stared at the perforated tube her aunt held in her hand and watched as white cream oozed from it. “It’s my body lotion!” Margaret exclaimed. “How did it…” she started. She shook her head in disbelief. “Why is it in my bed? Am I losing my mind?”
“Ragsdaaaale!!!!” Savannah dragged out the cat’s name for emphasis.
“What does he have to do with this?” Margaret asked. “He’s a cat!”
“He’s a kleptomaniac,” Savannah said with a deep sigh.
“Huh?” Margaret responded, her mouth open as she stared down into the green eyes of the striking grey-and-white cat. “Rags put this here? And he stole my glasses? Do you really t
hink so?”
“Oh yes, Auntie!” Savannah twisted her shoulder-length, almost-blond hair into a knot on top of her head and walked over to her aunt’s closet.
“You said he was a good cat—no trouble—like Layla.” Margaret glanced over at her own cat, who was curled up in a cozy leopard-print cat bed across the room.
Savannah turned abruptly to face her aunt, looking as innocent as she knew how. “I said he is litter-box trained, he comes when you call him—most of the time, he has his own bed, he travels nicely in the car, and he’s fun to be around. What I didn’t tell you is…” Savannah hesitated, guilt washing over her face, “he loves plastic tubes, especially if they contain perfumed lotions. And he steals things.” Savannah paused while Margaret digested this new bit of information. And then she added, “If he were human, he’d be doing time for burglary—big time!”
Savannah opened the closet door, picked up one of her aunt’s shoes and examined it. “Are you missing some jewelry? There’s a watch in your moccasin.”
“Heavens, he is a bad boy.” Margaret gazed over at the empty accessory dish. “I wore that yesterday and put it on this little tray when I went to bed.”
“It looks like he also took something out of your lingerie drawer.” Savanna held up a pink satin-and-lace bra. “Auntie, I didn’t know you wore such pretty underwear.”
“Sure I do,” she snapped playfully. “You never know when you’re going to…” The look of astonishment on her niece’s face stopped her in mid-sentence.
“How old are you, anyway?” Savannah asked.
“You’re only as old as your hormones declare, my dear. Why do you think I’m so eager for this danged foot to heal? I’m not through dancing, yet.”
“You don’t need sexy underwear to go dancing,” the younger woman reasoned—a mischievous cadence to her voice.
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Margaret said with a wink. “If your mother knew what was good for her, she’d be out dancing, too.” She took on a more serious tone. “It’s been six years since your daddy passed and she’s a mighty attractive fifty-five-year-old.”
Margaret was right; the Brannon women had lucked out in the good-looks department with their clear skin, dark hair, and brown eyes. Savannah was the only offspring with almost blond hair—dirty blond, she called it. She had always felt short-changed in both gene pools. She missed out on the dramatic coloring from the Brannon side and didn’t get quite enough of the Jordan’s fair genes. She liked having the light eyes and height from her father’s side, but had always been unhappy with her rather drab hair color. She was thrilled when she discovered the process of highlighting. Now she considered herself a true blond—she even wrote blond on her driver’s license application.
“What’s that?” Margaret stopped mid-room on her crutches as she made her way slowly to the bathroom.
Savannah turned toward the sound and listened. “I think someone’s at the door.”
“What time is it, anyway?”
“Well, it’s starting to get light—must be sixish.”
“Who stops by at this time of morning?” Margaret asked, not expecting an answer. And then she added a postscript: “I guess I really wouldn’t know; I’m rarely up at this hour.”
“You go pee and I’ll go see.” Savannah laughed at her unintentional rhyme and headed toward the living room. Rags traipsed along beside her, darting across her path a few times with his tail high. When they reached the large room, he jumped up on the sofa, slid across the coffee table, and hopped over to the ottoman.
“Who’s there?” Savannah asked as she peered through the windowpane alongside the heavy wooden front door. She could see a man silhouetted against the tangerine backdrop of the sunrise. But the details in his face were unclear through the stained glass, and she didn’t recognize his lanky frame. But then she didn’t actually know many people in Hammond, anymore.
“I’m Max…a neighbor,” he said through the glass.
Savannah opened the door a crack and asked if everything was all right.
“Oh yes. I was just walking by and noticed lights on; wanted to make sure Maggie’s okay. I knew she just broke her foot and all.”
“Yes, she’s okay.” Savannah wasn’t sure what to do next. Do I invite him in at this early hour or what? she wondered, not knowing her aunt’s relationship with him.
As if he were reading her mind, he said, “You must be Maggie’s niece. She told me you were coming to help her out for a while. Your aunt helps me a lot over at my place, you know.”
Savannah didn’t know. Not yet, anyway. Certainly her Aunt Marg would fill her in on everything she needed to know and probably a lot she would rather not know. But she had only arrived just yesterday and there’d been no time to discuss the neighbors. Savannah, along with Helena, Margaret’s housekeeper, had been busy moving her aunt to her temporary bedroom downstairs. Helena had stayed with Margaret for a couple of nights after the accident—both of them sleeping on the living room sofas. While there, Helena made enchiladas and a pan of brownies to keep Margaret and her guest from starving before someone made a grocery-store run. There were also some fresh tomatoes from the garden Margaret’s handyman Antonio tended out behind the Forster home.
While Savannah contemplated how to handle the early-morning visitor, she heard her aunt roll up behind her in the rented wheelchair. She opened the door wider and stepped aside.
Margaret peered around her niece to see who she was talking to. “Oh Max. Come in and have a cup of coffee. I see you’ve met, Vannie—um, Savannah. She’s a cat person, too,” she said over her shoulder as she turned the chair and wheeled it through the living room and dining room toward the large country kitchen. Savannah and Max followed.
The oversized cat strolled into the room behind them. He sidled up to Margaret when she stopped near the kitchen table. She reached down to stroke his fur. Looking over at Max, she said, “This is Klepto, AKA Ragsdale.”
“What a handsome devil,” he said, “with that plush grey tuxedo he’s wearing. He’s a good-sized cat, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he can out-reach most cats,” Savannah said as she added more water and grounds to the coffeemaker in order to accommodate their guest.
“And probably leap tall buildings,” Margaret added with a hint of sarcasm.
Savannah gave her a playful smirk and then turned to Max. “So you have cats?”
“A few.” He winked and then squatted down to get a better look at Rags. “A klepto, you say? What does he steal?”
“I’m still looking for my reading glasses,” Margaret complained.
Savannah feigned a sheepish look and then changed the subject. “Auntie, where’s the princess? I thought I’d wait and feed the two kitties their canned food together. Rags can nibble on kibbles for now.”
“Sure. She’s probably still enjoying her beauty sleep. Or she’s hiding out. She doesn’t like strangers much, but she usually acknowledges Max.”
“It isn’t me, it’s my cats. She likes to get acquainted with them, even if only by proxy,” he said with a wide grin. He looked over at Savannah. “She has a love affair going on with the enticing feline scents on my shoes.”
“Well, she was one of your strays—poor little thing.” Margaret turned toward Savannah and said, “When he brought her to me, Vannie, I thought she was a drowned rat. I had to feed the scrawny kitten with an eyedropper. It was touch-and-go for a while. Now look at her—well, you saw her last night. Isn’t she a beauty?”
“She sure is,” Savannah agreed. “If I hadn’t had Rags fixed, I’m sure he would be interested.”
“I don’t think I’d allow that union,” Margaret quipped. “Not with this bad boy cat.”
“Well, I think Rags and Layla would make beautiful kittens together,” Savannah insisted.
Max suddenly took on a more serious demeanor. “And that’s what we don’t need—random breeding just to make beautiful kittens. There are already more cats than there are people to love
them.”
The two women nodded in agreement.
Savannah walked over to the sideboard. She selected three mugs and carried them to the counter, placing them next to the coffeepot. She then removed a chair from around the kitchen table so her aunt could roll up closer. Max took a seat next to Margaret, and Savannah sat opposite him. She looked over at Max. “You know, when I first began to hear all the hype encouraging people to get their cats spayed and neutered, I was actually afraid that cats would become extinct and there would be no more kittens. I mean, a world without kittens—how dismal is that?”
Max looked down at Rags, who was rubbing against his leg. He ran his hand over the cat’s coat and gave him a scratch behind the ear. “Dismal indeed,” he agreed. And then he leaned back, his eyes focused on something behind Savannah and said, “I was a relative latecomer to the movement—if you would call it that. But my grandmother was a woman before her time when it came to the welfare of cats. She was known as the cat lady, and I don’t think in a kind way. Now she would probably be considered a hoarder.”
Savannah put an elbow on the table and rested her chin on the palm of her hand. She looked over at Max and asked, “When was this?”
“She had cats from the time I was a small child—in the late 1950s. She was always hauling a cat to the vet to be spayed or neutered or to be treated for an abscess, worms, broken bones—you name it. And it didn’t matter if it was her cat or not. Many of the cats wound up as her cats. She had big wire cages out behind her house, full of cats. I loved it. When I was a kid, going to Granny Jeffers was like visiting a zoo—a cat zoo.” He paused for a few seconds as if relishing the memory.
Savannah stood and walked over to the counter. “So how did she end up with so many cats?”
“Word got around and people started using her yard as a dumping ground for stray cats or cats they no longer wanted.”
“Or maybe cats just found their way to her,” Margaret suggested. She looked up at Savannah and explained, “We’re finding that stray or abandoned cats seem to have a way of locating colonies where they can get fed and be relatively safe.”
Catnapped (A Klepto Cat Mystery) Page 1