“Here, here!”
“Absolutely.”
“Amen.”
“Who wants to be on my committee? Betty and Gil, I’d sure like to be able to count on you. And Max, of course.”
“Sure thing,” Gil said.
Betty nodded.
Max nodded, as well.
“Anyone else?” Margaret asked.
“You can call on me anytime—I can do work or computer research from home—phone calls—that sort of thing,” Hildy offered.
“Well thank you, Hildy. That would be great. That’s probably enough involvement at this point until we know who and what we’re dealing with.”
“Thank you Margaret,” Ida said. “If there’s nothing else, let’s adjourn the meeting. I see that there are a few donuts left.”
“And hot coffee and tea,” Margaret added.
***
“I thought the meeting went well,” Max said over his shoulder as he led Savannah, who was pushing Margaret in her wheelchair, toward the cat pens on his property.
“It sounds like you two have your work cut out for you—trying to figure out what happened to those cats,” Savannah said, a hint of reserve in her voice.
“You two?” Margaret craned her neck to look at her niece. “You’re part of the team now, my dear. In fact, you’re my legs, remember?”
“Oh,” Savannah said, cringing slightly.
“You know you can’t come here without expecting some kind of adventure. Right Max?”
“Not if you hang around with your aunt for very long.” He turned toward them and stopped. “Savannah, you wouldn’t believe some of the things she’s gotten me into.” He shook his head as if in disbelief.
“What?” Margaret insisted—a challenging tone to her voice.
“Well, there was the time you confronted that motorcycle-gang leader who was riding around on his bike with a cat strapped to the back in a cage. Remember?” Before Margaret could respond, he said, “And what about that day you kidnapped me and made me help you round up all those cats left after they condemned that apartment building over on Simpson Street and evicted everyone?” Obviously addressing Savannah now, he explained, “I don’t think anyone took their cats with them. That was one hard job and on the hottest day of the year, too,” he lamented.
“Oh you loved it,” Margaret said. “What else do you have to do all day? You would lead a mighty boring life if it wasn’t for me.”
“Boring, you say? Well, there’s gotta be a happy medium between what you consider boring and your brand of excitement, lady. You almost got us arrested when you tried to raid that rescue-cat facility over in Mallory.” He leaned toward Margaret, placing his hands on the armrests of the wheelchair. “Do you remember that? Huh?” he asked while trying to make eye-contact with her. Margaret’s grin widened as Max’s theatrics accelerated. “A little too much excitement for me,” he said as he stood up and ran his hand through his hair. “Savannah, you should have been there. I mean there were broken windows, yeowling cats, people yelling at us from the upstairs bedrooms and, oh yes, sirens and police cars.”
Margaret huffed, “How do you even know those sirens were from police cars coming to that spot? We were long gone before any imaginary police cars showed up. I did get the photos I wanted for evidence, didn’t I? And we had that place shut down. Right, Mr. Boring?”
By then Savannah was laughing hysterically. “You two are like a couple of senior delinquents,” she said between chortles. “And you act like a married couple.”
She couldn’t help but notice the look between the two of them. Well, Savannah thought to herself, more than just friends, I’d say. Good for Auntie. He’s a nice gentleman.
A married couple, indeed, Margaret thought. She admitted that she loved Max and she certainly enjoyed their occasional (becoming more frequent) rendezvous. She considered Max a great friend and a wonderful lover. She thought about Savannah’s offhanded question her first morning there. Yes, he is the one I wear my sexy underwear for. And I’ve never known a man who could make me feel so sexy. I guess it’ll be a while before we can be together again what with my cast and Savannah’s visit. Ohhhh, maybe we could sneak around. Margaret smiled at the thought. Yes, I’m sure if I put my mind to it, I can arrange for an encounter of the passionate kind, even if it is a quick romp in the cattery when no one’s looking. Margaret especially enjoyed the thrill of a risky romantic adventure.
Max opened the outside gate. “Come on in, at your own risk. I think the chair will fit in here. The other gate opens inward, so no problem.”
Savannah steered the chair into the large enclosure and then stopped to look around and try to take it all in.
“It used to be a commercial greenhouse,” Max explained. “It converted rather nicely into a cattery, don’t you think?”
“It’s great!” Savannah said as she noticed numerous spacious cat pens, each adorned with cat trees in various forms, styles and colors; toys; litter boxes; and, of course, water and kibbles bowls. Savannah noticed that most of the cats in the wire enclosures looked healthy. She stopped and peered into a long narrow pen. “What’s wrong with this one?”
“He was found out in the warehouse district, quite undernourished. He looks a lot better, now, doesn’t he, Maggie?”
“Oh yes. He was really gaunt when we brought him in. Max has done wonders with him.”
He gave Margaret a sideways glance and said, “Don’t let your aunt fool you. She’s here practically every day. She’s the main reason why so many of these cats make it.” Looking over at Savannah, he continued, “Maggie has a way with their psyche. She makes them feel loved and this helps them gain back the confidence they may have lost when they were abandoned or even abused.” He walked ahead to an enclosure off to the side away from the others. “Take this little guy, for example. He was lit on fire—probably by a group of kids who hadn’t been taught about the humane treatment of animals. He lost an eye, as you can see, part of an ear, and the fur on his tail will probably never grow back. He’s scarred physically and certainly emotionally. But Maggie and some of the other volunteers have helped him begin to trust again. My sense is that he was a stray; he may have been part of the colony over in the barranca behind the old prison. When they closed that facility and moved to the new one out on the interstate, it appears that they left a lot of cats they may have been using as mousers around the place. Anyway, Gus is doing well under the circumstances.”
Savannah squatted down, reached her hand through a space alongside the wire gate and scratched the little cat under the chin. “What a brave boy you are, Gus. You hang in there,” she cooed. Gus purred up a storm.
She felt something bump her from behind. She pivoted enough to see a long-legged grey cat vying for her attention.
“That‘s Chester,” Max said. “He’s our greeter. He’s one of our best public relations cats.”
“Where’s Sammy?” she asked, remembering him telling her about the cat on only two legs.
“He’s in the house. I have my own cats separate from the rescue and cattery cats. I bring some of them out regularly to influence our hard-core ferals or I might take a feral inside to get them used to a household situation,” he explained. “You’ll have a chance to meet Sammy and the others.”
Suddenly, Savannah spotted cats lounging in a grassy area outside a large window. “Oh, that’s your outside pen?”
Max smiled. “Yes, want a tour?”
She walked over to get a better look through the window. “Sure do.”
Her aunt rolled up next to her. “This you gotta see, Vannie. It’s Max’s answer for cats who must be outside.”
“And those who can benefit from a little exercise and fresh air,” he added.
Savannah looked around. “How do they get out there?”
Max pointed to the left of the window just below the ceiling. “You see that tube? They come up this ramp and go out through the opening. Those cats, like Chester, that are free to roam in t
his common space, have access to the out-of-doors just about any time during the day.” Max looked around the large room. “I guess most of the others are outside as we speak. Oh, I see Brandi and, I think that’s Katrina napping in the bunk-room.”
Savannah glanced over. To the right of the double-gate entrance was another sizable area outfitted with kitty hammocks and beds, cat trees with private sleeping areas, padded square and cylindrical enclosures with places inside to sleep, and even bunk beds. She then turned her attention back to the tube. “A magic tunnel, kind of like Alice in Wonderland,” Savannah said with a hint of excitement and anticipation. “Wow! I love it!” She strained to see the full extent of the passageway through the window.
“Max, take Vannie out and show it to her,” Margaret suggested. “I’ll spend a little time with Gus. Here, help me get inside. I’ll just sit on his cat tree.”
After they got Margaret settled in Gus’s enclosure, Savannah followed Max out through the double gates and they walked alongside the wire-and-plywood tube that meandered throughout his property about seven feet above the ground.
“Look at that drop-down area. This is so cool.” Savannah watched as two cats lounged on a perch in a large wire pen, and a third leaped after a butterfly fluttering around the landscape.
“All cat-friendly plants,” Max said. “There’s nothing poisonous and many that attract butterflies. There are three of these drop-down areas, as you call them.”
“It’s absolutely wonderful. Look how contented the cats are—there’s one sleeping up in the tube enjoying the sunshine. This is fabulous! Max, you are a genius.”
He shook his head. “Oh, it wasn’t actually my idea. I heard about it at a cat show and added some special touches.”
“Well, it’s still wonderful. So all of the cats that are not in the enclosures can come out here at anytime?”
“Not really. At night, I close them in the bunk-room area you saw over near the isolation booths.”
“Isolation—that would be for the newcomers?” Savannah asked.
“Yes. We have all incoming cats and kittens checked out for leukemia, upper respiratory diseases, fleas, and so forth before introducing them to the current residents. We’re regular clients at Michael Ivey’s clinic,” he explained.
Savannah’s heart felt like it turned a somersault as she remembered the vision of Michael standing there holding the two kittens in his hands. She gave her head a little shake in an attempt to bring herself back to the present. “How much turnover do you have?” she asked as they stopped to watch three more cats lounging in an even larger wire enclosure under the shade of a California sycamore tree.
“I placed forty cats and kittens last year.”
“Impressive,” Savannah said.
Max picked a long blade of grass and stuck it through the wire in hopes of enticing one of the cats to play. “Well, I’m not breaking any records and I’m not interested in doing so. There are facility operators in this and surrounding counties who boast about placing closer to 100 cats and kittens in a year. That’s well and good, as long as the kitty homes are stable and permanent. I’m a small operation. I’m more interested in rehabilitation—which is your aunt’s specialty, as I said. We do a lot more socializing here than most facilities take the time to do. And I don’t know for sure, but I think we have a higher percentage of successful adoptions.”
Savannah looked over at Max and asked, “How did you get started?”
He put the blade of grass between his lips and thought for a minute about how to respond. Finally, he dropped the weed and said, “Like I told you yesterday, I’ve been fond of cats ever since I was a kid. After college, I had the opportunity to go to culinary school and I became a chef.”
“Wow! Ever have your own Food Network show?”
Max laughed out loud. “No. Wrong era, I’m afraid. I’d probably have a show focusing on making cat and dog food, if I were to do it today. Let’s see, I could call it, ‘The Culinary Cat,’ or ‘Furry Feasting.’”
“How about ‘Feeding Your Feline?’” Savannah suggested.
“Or ‘The Doggy Bag.’”
They both laughed. And then, abruptly changing the subject, Max said, “I’m thirsty, how about you?”
“Yes. I could use some water. But I’d love to hear the rest of your story, Max. Sounds fascinating.”
“Okay, let’s rescue your aunt from Gus or vice versa and we’ll go inside for some refreshment.”
***
No one home—good. The man steered his dark-colored pickup into the driveway. He stopped in front of the house and looked up at the second-story window where he’d seen the grey-and-white cat. Not there. That’s okay, he thought, as he plotted his next move. He sneered. I’ll find him. He’ll want this fresh fish I brought just for him. He opened the wire door of the plastic carrier on the seat next to him, slid out the driver’s side and left the door ajar. He’d had enough experience with cats lately to know that he had to act quickly once he got his hands on the animal. He slipped on a pair of tan leather gloves for added protection.
What’s that? he wondered. Looks like someone’s coming. Shit. He yanked off the gloves, tossed them on the floorboard of the truck, jumping in after them as fast as he could. He turned the key, pulled hard on the steering wheel, and headed out the exit of the circular drive and onto the road, hitting 40 mph within seconds.
“Who is that?” Esperanza asked. “He hurries!”
Antonio removed his hat and scratched his head. “I don’t know. Mucho trees. Did you see him?”
“No. Just a dark car and dirt—dust,” she said as she stopped her Toyota in front of the Forster house.”
Antonio stepped out of the car and immediately bent down. When he stood back up, he was examining something he held in his hand. “It’s a glove,” he told his wife. “Not my glove. Not Señora Maggie’s glove. Maybe that man’s glove,” he said, staring off in the direction of the highway.
He shook his head and dropped his hand to his side. He then walked up to the car window to tell his wife goodbye. “Come back and get me for dinner.”
She nodded and watched him deposit the tan leather glove on the porch and then head out to the backyard.
Before she could drive away, he called after her, “Look. Gato watch.” He pointed to a window on the second story.
Esperanza looked up at the cat, smiled, and then waved goodbye to her husband.
***
“Welcome to my cat house,” Max said as the trio entered his kitchen.
Margaret looked around. “No pussy-foot stampede today?”
“Must be nap time. Let’s get our lemonade before they notice we’re here.”
“Can I help?” Savannah asked.
“Yes, thanks. There are glasses in the cupboard on the left. And I think Helena left some cookies in that plastic container.”
“Helena works for you, too?” Savannah wondered.
“Yes. Your aunt and I share a lot—same neighborhood, same housekeeper, same love of cats.” He looked over at Margaret as if making a private statement.
“Yum, cookies,” she said in an attempt to ignore his intent. “Are they the oatmeal raisin she brought me last week?”
“I ate those. These are chocolate-something.”
Once the lemonade was poured, a few cookies were placed on a small plate and everyone was seated, Savannah addressed Margaret, “Max was telling me how he came to start this wonderful rescue operation.” She looked over at Max and said, “I’d like to hear the rest of the story.”
He shot a look toward Margaret. “You’ve heard this before—don’t want to bore you.”
“I never tire of hearing about your interesting life, Max. Please, go on.”
“Okay,” he said with a sigh. “Where were we?”
“You were going to start a cooking show called ‘The Culinary Cat,’” Savannah said, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
“Say what?” Margaret asked, a surprised look on her
face.
Max slapped at the air. “She’s joking.” He then squinted his eyes and cocked his head slightly as if he were trying to remember. “Oh, so I was a private chef for a while. I also worked for some pretty classy joints in various cities throughout the West and in Chicago. I was quite enamored with the whole cooking scene for a while. And then I wasn’t.” He paused. “By the time I decided to do something else, my marriage had ended and my son had finished college and started working in the technology industry in Baltimore. I had only me to think about—me and my cat, at the time.”
“So you’ve always had cats?” Savannah asked.
“Pretty much, I’d say. I can’t recall any long periods that I went without a cat. But by the time I gave up my love of cooking…”
“Whoa, back up there, cowboy,” Margaret interrupted. “You didn’t give it up.” She then turned to Savannah and said, “He is an absolutely marvelous cook.”
“Well, no, I didn’t give it up altogether,” Max agreed. “But, let’s say I gave up my obsession with it. I was able and ready to leave that career behind. Now, I wanted to focus on another love of mine—cats. I guess I was lonely after my divorce and with my son so far away. All I had left was the family cat. I really liked that little guy and became rather interested in knowing more about cats. I was living in Chicago at the time and heard there was a cat show in town. The idea intrigued me and so I went to the show. That’s when I fell madly in love with the British shorthair. Long story short,” he said, “I became a breeder.”
He took a generous swig of lemonade and then tapped an ice cube that floated to the top of the glass a couple of times. Max wasn’t all that proud of some decisions he’d made in his lifetime. And breeding cats was one of them. It wasn’t easy for him to talk about it.
“Brits are lovely cats,” Savannah said. “Those I’ve known have made really nice companions. I just love their chubby cheeks and those great round eyes. Hard to resist.”
“And those I saw at the show that day were so calm, unlike some of the more nervous breeds. I just felt good in their presence. I bought one that day, as a matter of fact. Phoebe and I (with our tag-along, Elmer—a mutt of a cat) moved to the suburbs and began planning our breeding program. I joined all of the appropriate associations, attended meetings, did tons of research and, a few months later, I opened my cattery. I sold my little teddy bear kittens to people all over the world. They were especially popular overseas. About six years later, I qualified to become a cat-show judge.”
Catnapped (A Klepto Cat Mystery) Page 9