Catnapped (A Klepto Cat Mystery)

by Fry, Patricia

  “Well, Granny Jeffers sounds like a kitty angel,” Savannah said while placing two mugs of steaming coffee on the table. “Cream?” she asked.

  “No, black,” Max responded. “Thanks.”

  “You don’t use cream, do you, Auntie?”

  “Just a tad of sugar.” Margaret reached for the cut-glass sugar bowl. And then she said, “Max has followed in his grandmother’s footsteps. He has quite a wonderful facility next door.”

  “Oh, so you rescue cats?” Savannah asked, sitting down at the table with her cup of coffee.

  Max wrapped his hands around his coffee mug and stared into the black liquid. “Rescue, treat, rehabilitate, adopt, relocate—whatever it takes.”

  “He’s one of those kitty angels,” Margaret quipped.

  “If only we could save and protect them all,” Max said, suddenly turning sullen. He then glanced up and sat back in his chair. “Sorry ladies, I didn’t mean to gloom up your morning.”

  ***

  Meanwhile in another part of town, two fourteen-year-old boys stood on a corner. The taller one pulled his jacket collar up around his ears which were covered by a dark knit cap. He peered up and down the street. “So do you think that guy will show?”

  The second boy scrunched his hands deep into the pockets of his hooded sweatshirt. “Heck, who knows. He’s one creepy guy. But the work’s not bad for the pay.”

  “Yeah, if we don’t get caught.” The first boy looked up in time to see a vehicle slowing. “That’s him. You get in first.”

  “Why?”

  “Just friggin’ do it,” he said in a loud whisper as the automobile stopped alongside the pair and the passenger door swung open.

  “Git in, kids; we don’t have all day,” the man inside said impatiently. He didn’t seem to notice the elbow-nudging and face contortions of his two passengers as they silently communicated their disgust at his body odor.

  This is one day I’ll be glad to get to school, thought the taller boy. This guy friggin’ stinks.

  The smaller boy had the displeasure of sitting closest to the grubby man. Phew! I hope we score and earn some money fast. I can’t wait to get outta here.

  The driver was silent, as well, caught up in his own thoughts. Stupid kids. Stupid job. I’m gonna git what I’m owed one way or t’other, so I don’t hafta do this shit no more.

  ***

  “It’s okay, Max,” Margaret crooned while leaning forward and placing a hand of comfort on his arm. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. You know we will.”

  “What’s going on, Auntie?” Savannah asked quietly.

  “We’ll talk about it, later. In fact, you may learn more about human nature before the week is out than you ever wanted to know.” She gave her niece a knowing wink.

  I should have expected there would be more to this visit than playing nursemaid for my aunt, Savannah thought to herself.

  “Well, good morning, Lady Layla,” Max said in a sing-song voice as Margaret’s faux golden Persian strolled in, looked around the room, and headed for Max’s shoes.

  Rags, who had been lounging nearby, jumped to his paws and greeted her, as well. At least he tried to be cordial. His attempt at rubbing up against her was met with a hiss.

  The visiting cat seemed puzzled by Layla’s reaction to his friendly overtures and he sat down, cocked his head, and stared at her, as if contemplating his next move.

  Time to intervene, lest we wear out our welcome, Savannah thought. “Auntie, why don’t you two visit? I’ll be down in a minute. I want to hear more about your cats, Max. Come on, Rags.” She motioned for the cat to follow, as if he actually understood. Maybe he did, for he ran after her into the living room and bounded up the stairs ahead of her. When she neared the top of the wide staircase, she noticed that he sat waiting for her on the landing. “Show off,” she said with a laugh. She stared into his quizzical face for a few seconds and then, in a more serious tone, she asked, “Now I want to know, where did you put Auntie Marg’s glasses, you naughty boy?”

  As Savannah rounded the corner into her guestroom, Rags leaped onto the bed, walked over to the headboard and stretched up as tall as he could toward the window. She put her hands on her hips and scolded, “Rags, move on. I want to make the bed.”

  He responded by jumping in the middle of the bed, rolling onto his side, grabbing a wad of the sheet between his front paws, and kicking at it playfully. Savannah wanted to be annoyed, but couldn’t help laughing at his antics. She picked up the pencil she’d used to work a crossword puzzle the night before and tossed it on the floor. Just as she thought he would, the frisky cat dove off the bed after it. She took that opportunity to pull the blankets up and cover them with the handmade quilt that had adorned the spare rooms in Aunt Marg’s homes for years. Savannah had lost track of who made the now slightly faded patchwork quilt—a great-grand or great-aunt somebody. But she remembered having seen it in every house her aunt had lived in since Savannah was old enough to notice the intricate design of the pretty pastel-print fabrics. In fact, the pattern became imprinted in her memory the summer old Jed Forster died in a barn fire on the property.

  The Brannon siblings and their families had all converged on Tom and Margaret’s home for a weeklong stay. Savannah had just turned eleven; her sister Brianna was nine. The two girls shared this room with their twin girl cousins Melanie and Roxy, while the boy cousins slept on the screened-in porch. Each set of parents had their own rooms. Since Savannah was the oldest of the children, she got her own bed. The others shared beds and used sleeping bags. At that time, Savannah was devouring Nancy Drew and Hardy Boy mystery books. She was practically addicted to suspense and anything mysterious. And she had a rather morbid curiosity about the details of her great-uncle’s demise. She took every opportunity that week to listen when the adults spoke about the details of the deadly fire that had occurred a month or so earlier. One detail she wishes to this day she hadn’t heard was the speculation and possibility that someone had set the fire on purpose and killed the old man.

  That was her first lesson in the dangers of eavesdropping. Yes, she remembered the quilt. I could probably describe every inch of it if I had to in a court of law, after lying awake staring at it every night that week afraid that the murderer would come back and burn me alive inside this big, old wood-frame house, she thought. I wonder what ever happened to the clue we found the day we were digging around out there in the fire area. We should have told someone about it, but we didn’t want to get into trouble for going near the burned-down barn. It was off-limits to us kids, and way too tempting for a junior sleuth like me to ignore.

  As Savannah pulled a soft blue tee shirt and a pair of her comfiest jeans out of the suitcase, she remembered something else. Her two boy cousins, Jake and Jimmy, hid the clue the day they all left for home. Oh my gosh, I remember where they hid it. Could it still be there?

  Her thoughts were interrupted by her aunt’s voice over the room-to-room intercom. “Savannah, your coffee’s getting cold and Layla is hungry.”

  “I’ll be right down,” Savannah called into the speaker. I should unpack and hang up my clothes, she considered. And then, Later, she decided. I want to hear more about Max’s cats. She stopped, a thoughtful look crossing her face. And what did Auntie mean about getting to the bottom of it? The bottom of what? It’s obviously something about cats…and human nature. Max and Aunt Marg seem so concerned. What could be going on?

  She rushed into the bathroom to wash up and brush her teeth, then took the knot out of her hair and ran a brush through it while Rags lapped at the stream of water coming from the spigot. She secured her hair in a ponytail and hurriedly donned the clothes she’d set out. With the cat leading the way, Savannah jogged down the staircase. Her first stop was at her aunt’s temporary bedroom. She turned over shoes, poked around in the bathroom again and lifted the dust ruffle to look under the bed. She peered into the various little dishes and other containers on the two dressers and checked the drawer a
nd shelves on the nightstand.

  Oh wait, Auntie Marg saw Rags climbing out of her lingerie drawer. What was he doing in there—depositing something? She pulled the drawer open and felt carefully through the silky unmentionables—bingo! She worked her fingers through some folded fabric and pulled out a pair of glasses. Boy, will Auntie Marg be pleased. I saw her relying on these a lot last night as we looked through some old photo albums. Savannah smiled. That was a nice walk down memory lane—seeing pictures of the family when I lived here many years ago. That was before Margaret married Tom Forster.

  Margaret was the only Brannon left in their hometown. She’d followed her second husband back there after meeting him at a class reunion. He was a member of an earlier graduating class and had come to the reunion with his younger cousin. He and Margaret hit it off right away. She’d been single for five years, when they married. After his parents died, they moved into the old Forster place to take care of his grandfather, Jed Forster. Fourteen years later, Margaret became a widow, and, when there was no opposition from other family members, she inherited the property.

  I can see why no one else in the Forster family wanted this old place. It’s charming and all, but there’s so much upkeep. Auntie always did like a challenge. Savannah sighed as she looked around the room—one of several that had yet to be refurbished.

  “What are you doing, Rags? Get out of that drawer,” Savannah said as she put the glasses on her own nose so she could scoop up the persistently curious cat. She noticed a pair of panties dangling from one of his claws. “Let go, Rags, darn it!” After helping Rags retract his claw from the silky undergarment, she dropped the cat onto the bed with a slight reprimand. She then bent down to pick up a piece of paper she’d seen drop out of the drawer. It appears to be something a child wrote, she thought, until she looked more closely.

  “YOU DO NOT BLONG!” Savannah read while peering over the rim of her aunt’s purple-framed reading glasses. There was a crude drawing of a skull and bones under the wording. Blong? Savannah pondered. Oh, Belong. “You Do Not Belong.” What does that mean?

  “What’s taking you so long, Vannie?” her aunt called from the kitchen. “Your coffee’s cold now.”

  “I’m coming, Auntie,” she replied while placing the strange note back into the corner of the drawer.

  She was still subdued and solemn as she entered the large kitchen, so was taken aback when her aunt began to chuckle. “Hmmm, they actually look good on you,” she said. “Where did you find them?”

  “Oh.” Savannah stopped and shook her head slightly, attempting to regain her bearings. She’d have to ask her aunt about the note, later. Definitely, she would do that. There had to be an explanation. “Your glasses…” She lifted them off her face and handed them to her aunt. “Rags put them in your lingerie drawer.”

  “Ragsdale…” Margaret scolded. “What are we going to do with you? I have enough trouble keeping track of things without you moving them about. Max, in all of your wanderings with cats, have you ever known a klepto?”

  “Yes, one.” His ruggedly chiseled face took on a pensive look. “She belonged to my ex-wife. She once stole my wallet and I never did find that sucker. I had to cancel my credit cards and get a new driver’s license...and maybe it wasn’t the cat at all, but Rebecca capitalizing on the cat’s behavior. Before that, all Miss Kitty took was jewelry, tea bags, and Post-its.” He started to laugh and then said, “She had a fixation with the fax machine. When she’d hear it ring, she’d run in there and wait for the fax to roll out.” He became animated as he continued, “She loved paper. If we weren’t around to stop her, she would carry the fax off and shred it.” Max took a swig of coffee then set his cup down before saying, “The cat had some endearing qualities, but Elmer and I were not all that sad to see either her or my ex-wife go.”

  “Elmer?” Savannah asked, while dropping dollops of cat food from a can on two little plates.

  “The other family cat,” he explained.

  After putting the cats’ breakfast on their placemat, Savannah tasted her coffee and then headed for the microwave to warm it up. She picked up the carafe and offered a refill to Margaret and her guest.

  “Just a little,” Max said.

  “So tell me, Max, where do your cats come from? Are they strays? Do you work with local shelters or cat colonies?”

  “See, I told you she was savvy about rescue operations,” Margaret boasted. “She’s a veterinarian, you know.”

  Savannah placed the carafe back on the warmer with her right hand while waving her left one in front of her attempting to erase what her aunt had just said. “Not a practicing one, yet.” She took her cup out of the microwave, then turned and leaned against the kitchen counter. “I work in a large clinic in Los Angeles as a tech.”

  Max nodded and smiled. “Cool. Do you specialize or is it an all-animal clinic?”

  “We have a variety of patients—dogs, rabbits, iguanas, boas—you name it. Personally, I’m partial to the cats.” Savannah twirled a few loose strands of her hair around her index finger. She then added, “I adore horses, but not so much from a medical perspective—more as a rider or handler. If I had the land, I could see myself opening a horse-rescue facility.”

  Max chuckled. “Now there’s an ambitious goal.” He looked over at Margaret. “Can you imagine cleaning up after a dozen or so horses every day and trying to teach them manners in order to make them adoptable?”

  “Well, I’ll tell ya, there are days when it seems like we’re cleaning up after horses and there are some cats that come with some mighty big challenges,” Margaret reminded him.

  The trio remained silent, all eyes on Rags, who was cleaning himself up after his meal.

  “Why are you standing, Vannie? Sit down. Relax,” Margaret insisted. “We have a big day—er…week ahead.”

  “Well, Auntie, someone has taken over my chair and her name could be Goldilocks,” Savannah cooed as she peered into Layla’s sweet face as the little cat licked one of her paws and rubbed it over her ear.

  She reached down and began scratching the little cat under the chin. Once Layla was completely relaxed—eyes closed, chin raised and purring ever so softly—someone else joined in. Rags reached up and rested his paws on the chair seat, watching the resident cat with interest. Savannah lifted him away from the chair. “Okay, down you go, Ragsy. Let’s sit over here, shall we, boy?” She pulled out an empty chair and sat down. Rags continued to stare at Layla.

  “Max has a way with cats,” Margaret interjected. “I’ve seen him take wild ones and domesticate them into pets. It’s uncanny watching him work. He’s our very own cat whisperer. Maybe he can whisper in Ragsdale’s ear and change his thieving ways,” she said while laughing out loud.

  Max reached out to smooth the cat’s fur as he sauntered past on quiet paws. “I wouldn’t change a thing about this guy. He’s one-of-a-kind—so confident and curious. He seems to be interested in everything and everyone around him.”

  “Yes, he doesn’t miss much. Likes to be in the loop. I give him outdoor time at home in order to help him burn off some of that energy. Otherwise, he keeps me awake at night racing around the room, bouncing on the bed, playing with things and breaking things.” Savannah chuckled. “I’ve had to Rags-proof my apartment since acquiring him because he was so bent on reorganizing it.”

  “How does he get along with the neighbors?” When Savannah looked puzzled, Max explained, “I mean him being a cat burglar and all…”

  “Oh that. Well, I do spend many weekends walking around the neighborhood with a basket full of stuffed toys, sunglasses, bikini tops and bottoms, pencils, gloves, kids’ shoes, socks—just about anything he can carry. The funny thing is, he walks along with me as if helping me find the rightful owners. Yes, he is a kick. Keeps me laughing.”

  Savannah leaned toward Max. “You must smile a lot in your line of work—finding homes for so many stray and feral cats. What a satisfying pastime.”

  “Yeah, the
y aren’t all warm fuzzy success stories,” Max admitted with a hint of melancholy. “But we do all we can to place each of them in forever homes.”

  “And he keeps some of the cats, don’t you? You’ve had Sammy and Grizwold forever.”

  “Yes,” Max responded, “and Missy, Gretchen and Big Boy. They’re all virtually unadoptable. Missy’s almost blind, Gretchen never did become gentle enough, even to work as a barn cat. Plus she isn’t much of a hunter, so would not survive long. Big Boy and Grizwold—well, I grew too attached to part with them. They are good for the cats we bring in. They mentor those that need a good role model in the behavior department. Sammy’s disabled.” Max grinned and said as if sharing a secret, “Just don’t tell him that. He gets around on two paws every bit as well as any able cat.”

  He took a sip of coffee and then asked Savannah, “How long will you be here? Maybe you’d like to come over and see the place.”

  “I’d love to,” Savannah gushed. “I’ll be here for as long as Aunt Marg needs me.” She smiled toward her aunt, saying, “…a week or ten days, maybe, if she can put up with Rags and me.”

  “Or vice-versa.” Margaret smiled. Her demeanor then took on a more serious tone. “Max, speaking of challenges with cats, how did things go at the emergency meeting last night? Have any of the cats been found?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Max said, leaning back in his chair. He let out a long sigh. “We seem to be at a dead end with that situation.” He looked hard at Margaret. “I’m really concerned.” He then glanced over at Savannah and asked, “Has your aunt told you what’s going on?”

  Margaret was quick to respond, “Not yet. We’ll have a little talk later today.”

  Promptly, Max stood, drained his coffee cup, and walked over to the kitchen counter to set it down. “Thanks for the coffee and the visit.” He nodded in the direction of the ladies as he made his way toward the side kitchen door. “I have work to do—I want to make sure that Glen and Becky get the pens washed out with bleach. We had a suspected case of feline leukemia come in yesterday. Someone put a kitten in a common pen instead of isolation. I think it was one of our new volunteers.” He started to leave and then turned. “Oh Maggie, can you and Savannah still pick up the kittens at the vet this afternoon?”