Probable Claws

by Clea Simon

  “Lee. What’s up with him? And why are you trying to give him my column? You said he’s out for your job, too, and yet you’re helping him move into the Mail.”

  Ralph put his half-eaten slice down, and stared at it. “Ralph?” Nothing. “Hey, aren’t we friends? Colleagues?”

  “I had to help him,” Ralph’s normal roar had fallen to a whisper.

  “Yes?” This was like pulling teeth. Ralph looked away. I put a fresh slice on his plate. He ignored it. I stared. “Ralph? You all right?”

  “He caught me, okay? I missed some of the headliner. Okay, all of the headliner. I mean, who knew they’d go on at eleven? So, I read some blogs about the show. I mean, I had to file something.”

  “You missed a show you were assigned to review.” He nodded ever so slightly. “And you plagiarized someone else’s piece.” Another small nod. “And Lee Wellner found out.” A shrug. “You plagiarized Lee Wellner?” Ralph’s round face crinkled up like a small child’s, and I feared a deluge of tears. “How could you be so stupid!” I wasn’t helping. “Ralph, you’re twice the writer he is.”

  “I was, Theda. But now, I don’t know.” The rest of the story came out in a torrent. Threats made, and promises exacted. “You know what the worst part is? It wasn’t even the gig he was after, not really.” As Ralph talked, his color returned to normal. “He thought writing for the Mail would make him a big deal, help him impress chicks.”

  “Oh, that’s the stupidest—” But I stopped. What Ralph said fit with what Violet had told me. Was Lee Wellner’s biggest crime that he wanted to get laid? Well, not anymore. “This is blackmail, Ralph. You know that.”

  “It’s the truth, that’s what it is, Theda. That little pipsqueak has me over a barrel.” And with that he finished his first slice and the second one besides. Confession is good for the appetite.

  I would’ve stayed if I’d thought I could do any good. Not for Ralph. He deserved to stew in his own juices, and besides, even though I understood what was going on, I was still pissed. He’d acted badly, Lee had acted worse, and somehow I was the one paying for it all. But Bill was busy with the first of the blues-night crowd, and I wanted to check in on Musetta. She’d be up and about by now, and as much as I wanted to hang at the Last Stand, a quiet evening together would do us both good.

  What I did see when I opened my front door was a blinking message light and a little puddle of what looked like spit. Well, it was coming on spring. Shedding season. I’d probably find a furball somewhere else in the house. I hit “play” and went for the paper towels.

  Nothing. The phone picked up and someone waited, and then hung up. I didn’t have any more elderly relatives left, but I clicked on the outgoing message. “You’ve reached Chez Musetta…” Yes, that was still working. I hit “play” again, but got the same blank. Well, I thought as I wiped up the small wet spot, maybe it was a wrong number. Maybe Tess was working up the courage to confess. Maybe I had a secret admirer. More likely it was Ralph, still feeling guilty and wanting to unburden himself further.

  They all could wait. “Musetta?” Her food looked untouched. “You want something fresh?” I grabbed the bag of cat treats and shook them. “Musetta?”

  I found her, finally, in the back of the apartment. Curled on her pillow on top of my filing cabinet, she looked up and blinked. “Kitty?” I shook the bag, rattling the crunchy treats, but she tucked her head back down again, layering her tail over her nose. This wasn’t like her, but I remembered what Violet had said. The teeth cleaning had gone without incident, and she’d woken up enough to eat a little before we picked her up. What I was witnessing was probably exhaustion. “Big day, kitty? Okay, then, I’ll let you sleep.”

  As quietly as I could, I booted up my computer and checked my email. Nothing there from Tess, either. But three bands, at least, hadn’t heard that I’d been fired. Two clubs had sent me their upcoming schedules, and a publicist out in California wanted me to write about a jazz combo. I looked over at Musetta, but she was still sleeping. I’d print that one out for Bill tomorrow. For now, I was making myself worry. Cats sleep a lot. That’s simply a fact of their life. Maybe I should take the hint.

  Something didn’t feel right, however. I grabbed the afghan for myself and settled in with an old movie. I’d keep checking on her until she was up and about. Last call—two a.m.—was usually prime romping time for my kitty.

  It was still dark when I woke, so I couldn’t tell what had jolted me from sleep. I sat up and tossed the blanket onto the sofa’s back and stretched. My shoulder cracked. I needed to get back to working out. But as I bent to limber my hamstrings, I heard it. A low hacking, coughing sound.

  “Musetta?” That furball must be giving her trouble. I’d have to pick up some of the medicinal goo tomorrow. “Where are you, kitty?”

  Stepping gingerly, expecting at any moment to feel something damp beneath my toes, I moved toward the kitchen and the light switch. I heard another cough and envisioned her bent over, head extended, trying to rid herself of the troublesome fur. “Musetta?” Light on, I grabbed a handful of paper towels and turned back toward the living room.

  What I saw horrified me. Instead of one furball, and maybe a little spit, the hallway was spotted with puddles of vomit. And down at the end was my cat. Not sitting up, as she usually would be when coughing up an offending object. Instead, Musetta was lying on her side right near one of the puddles. Too near for a fastidious animal. She’d stopped making hacking noises, but in the light from the kitchen I could see her side heaving as if she labored for breath.

  “Musetta!” I ran down the hall, oblivious to the mess, and lifted her. She hung limp, her mouth open slightly as she panted. When she turned ever so slightly to face me, I saw the white membrane, a cat’s “third eyelid,” half closing over her eyes. That effort alone seemed to exhaust her. Her head fell back, as loose as the warm body in my arms. “Oh, kitty!”

  I cradled her in my arms, unsure of what to do. Somewhere I had a feline first-aid book. I’d even prepared a kit, back when I first got her. But that had bandages and a muzzle, in case I had to dress a wound. I looked her over. No, there was no blood, no injury that I could see. Had she gotten some horrible illness, perhaps while waiting for the vet? Was this a reaction to the anesthesia? My mind raced over the options. There was a 24-hour animal ER over in Jamaica Plain. Holding Musetta against my body, I ran for my car keys. We could be there in about thirty minutes at this time of night. Did we have thirty minutes?

  Still holding my cat in my arms, I raced to the phone. “Violet, pick up. Pick up!” I yelled into their answering machine. The small body in my arms was shaking, her breathing labored. “Please be there! Pick up!”

  “Huh?” It was Caro. I was praying.

  “Please, Caro, please tell me that Violet is home! I need her. I need help.” I heard a snuffle and something suspiciously like a snort. Was Caro going back to sleep? “Caro! Help! I need your help! I need Violet. Musetta is sick!”

  For a horrible moment, I thought she’d hung up. I’d wasted precious minutes. But the line didn’t go dead, and a few seconds later Violet came on the line. “What’s happening? Theda?”

  “Vi, please, I need help. Musetta is sick. I don’t know what to do, but she’s heaving and she’s having trouble breathing.”

  “Hang on.” I heard movement. Violet was up and walking around.

  “Is there anything I can do, now? Here?” I tried to look at my cat’s face again, but her head was hanging down. Her breathing grew slower and I heard what sounded like a sigh. “She’s wheezing. Oh, God. I’m going to take her to the ER.”

  “She may not have time,” Violet said. I started to cry. “Hang on, Theda. I’m on my way.”

  It made no sense, but I was pacing with my cat when Violet showed up. Musetta was nearly motionless, and I’d held her as carefully as I could as I’d run downstairs to prop open the front door. Now I rocked her gently in both arms, my head laid on her black back to listen as her
wheezing grew weaker, as her green eyes closed.

  “Please, Musetta, just a little longer.” I was whispering, hoping my voice would reach her, would keep her here with me. I counted each labored breath. “Hang in there for me, kitty.”

  “Take this!” Violet burst in like a stormtrooper, thrusting a plastic IV bag at me. I grabbed it with my right hand and moved toward the closet, latching its attached hook over the back of the door. “Good, now hold her tight.”

  I wrapped both arms around my pet, but she was beyond struggling as Violet pinched the loose skin on the scruff of her neck and plunged the needle in. A few adjustments, and saline was dripping in. I sat on the floor beneath the bag, cradling Musetta and stroking the smooth fur between her ears. When I looked up, I saw my fear reflected in Violet’s face. We waited. Seconds passed.

  “Come on, Musetta. Come on!” Violet stared at the cat, checked the saline and back at Musetta again. “Come on.”

  I bent my head down, kissing that sweet place between her ears. “Please, kitty,” I whispered. “I need you.” This close, I couldn’t distinguish my breathing from hers. I didn’t want to lift my head, to see her side go still. I closed my eyes. “Please.”

  “Theda.” It was Violet, her voice soft. I kept my eyes closed, ignoring her. “Theda, look.” I peeked. Violet was kneeling at my side, looking into my cat’s face. “The nicitating membrane has pulled back.”

  I leaned over to peer into her eyes. And Musetta lifted her head to look back. “Musetta! You’re alive!” She blinked and mewed, soft but audible.

  “Barely.” Violet checked the IV. “Let’s give her the rest of this bag.”

  Within minutes, Musetta was struggling to get down and so Violet lifted the bag off the back of the door and held it as I gently put her on the floor. Seemingly oblivious to the needle in her back, Musetta started to groom.

  “Oh, thank God. Thank you, Violet.” I reached to take the bag from my friend, who collapsed onto the floor. My own legs were pretty weak, but the adrenaline kept me standing.

  “I’m just glad I got here in time. When I first saw you two…” She shook her head. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” I leaned back against the wall. Musetta had started on her feet, and watching her spread her toes to reveal the pink pads filled me with joy. “She never quite woke up from the anesthesia. I didn’t know if she was having a reaction or what.”

  Violet nodded thoughtfully. “Could be, but I don’t know. This looks just like what happened with my cats last week. Murray was just that limp, wheezing. I’m wondering if it could have been the poison.”

  “But she only nibbled a little when she got home.” With the crisis past, I felt too tired to think. “Wait. There was something else. You said Amy told you that she’d eaten before we picked her up.” Some thought was trying to break through. “The shelter food. That receipt. I remember now. Before Rachel, before everything happened, I found evidence. I don’t remember if I got to tell you, but I think that bad cat food came from the city shelter. ”

  “You think Musetta got poisoned at the shelter?”

  I shrugged. It was the only logical conclusion.

  “But why? I remember you saying that our bad food might have come from there. But why would anyone there want to hurt Rachel’s cats? I mean, me. Me and Caro. I’m used to to that. But why poison another shelter’s cats?

  “Why would anyone want to hurt Rachel?” I could only answer her questions with my own. “Maybe someone wants all the shelters closed. Or maybe she was the real target. Maybe because Rachel was raising funds that other people could use.” I felt awful saying that. That was the reasoning Cal and Bunny had used, and it pointed to Violet. “You know, to discredit her and get the money themselves.”

  “Oh, please.” Violet looked up at me. “It’s not like there was real cash lying around. Rachel wasn’t as hard up as we are, but she was working miracles on a shoe string, always figuring out discounts and tax write offs.” Musetta stopped washing and Violet held a hand out for her to sniff. “Look, I know what I said about Rachel, about her fund-raising. But, well, she did what she had to in order to raise her shelter’s profile. I was angry and frightened back then. My cats had just been poisoned. But think about last night.” She blinked. The sky outside had turned from black to gray. “I mean, Sunday night. That wouldn’t have happened for Rachel. She just didn’t have the neighborhood support we have. I mean, she was citywide. It’s a different game.”

  I sighed out the last of the tension and slid down to the floor. Just in time I remembered to keep my hand up, but Violet reached over to take the bag. I hadn’t meant to test my friend, but she’d passed with flying colors.

  “But if she was that hard up, why give away food?” I could hear the confusion in my voice. Violet looked at me. So did Musetta. Neither had an answer for me. “That’s what I keep coming back to. Still, I can’t help but think that the poisoned food was from the city shelter and that Musetta got some of it there.” I was so worn out, I couldn’t remember what I’d told her so I ran through it all once again. The letter, the bag. Something else began nagging at my thoughts. I couldn’t quite make it fit. “Did you know Piers was working on one of the store rooms? She wanted to make it another cat ward, to house more animals.”

  Violet nodded. “I’d heard.”

  “Could that be connected? I mean, maybe she had to get rid of some stuff? But how much room does a bag of food take?” We both thought about that as Musetta started on her belly fur.

  “Maybe she was getting rid of one particular type of food. Rachel was very into nutrition.”

  I shrugged. “And poisoned food isn’t very nutritious. No, she couldn’t have known.” I was staring at Musetta. I could watch her groom forever. “Was she dumping it to get into health food?”

  Violet shook her head. “Sort of the opposite. I think she was really reacting against the whole holistic organic food thing. She went on a rant about it to me pretty recently.”

  “A rant?” Her movements were so precise. Her tongue so pink and careful. “Against health food?”

  Violet shrugged. I was too tired to make sense out of this. I just wanted to look at my cat. My back-to-normal cat. But one thing still bothered me. “The bag she gave you, if she did give it to you, that wasn’t organic or health food or anything. It was KittyLuv, top of the line grocery store stuff.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Theda. Hey, take this.” She handed me the empty saline bag. “And hold Musetta while I get that needle out. I think this is one kitty that’s ready to be let off the hook.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Musetta did seem to be back to normal, begging for treats and then using the litterbox in what seemed to be a healthy manner. But I was determined to watch her and so Violet stayed, too, just to make sure. The two of us sat up talking until dawn, and after a while even I relaxed.

  “If you keep petting her to wake her up every time she falls asleep, she’s going to bite you. Hard.” Violet had broken out my old Rolling Stones by then and peered at me over a White Stripes cover.

  “She’s too well behaved.” I continued stroking my cat. “She’ll just leave the room.”

  “Right.” Violet’s face disappeared back behind the magazine. It was true, Musetta had stopped purring a while ago. I let her be.

  “Hey, you think any other cats got sick?” I didn’t know how many other cats were in those rows of cages, waiting for their owners to pick them up.

  “We’ll call, soon’s they’re open.” Violet hadn’t turned a page in several minutes. I suspected she was falling asleep.

  “I think we should go over there, just to make sure. Besides, I want to see if it was the same brand.” A horrible thought hit me. “Maybe in all the fuss, they ended up using the same bag we brought over from your place.”

  “Doubt it.” The page turned. She was awake now. “But I wouldn’t mind getting that bag back. I still want to see if we can trace it.”

>   “I’m coming with you.” Musetta was sleeping now, and I watched the gentle rise and fall of her side. My fear was almost gone, but I was getting angrier by the minute.

  “Theda, that’s not a great idea.” Violet put the magazine down. “We don’t even know if that’s what made her sick.”

  “Come on, Vi! It’s the only thing that makes sense. You saw her, you told me what happened with your cats. And I am innocent until proven guilty. I have a right to go to my city’s animal shelter.”

  Violet raised her eyebrows once, but didn’t respond. Instead, she propped the magazine back up. Soon, I heard soft snores, but I couldn’t sleep. Too much had happened when I wasn’t paying attention, and I was raring to set things right.

  ***

  “Coffee’s ready!” Violet had slept through the grinding of beans and running of water, and I was tempted to let her remain asleep. But she had an interest in what was going on. It only seemed fair to give her the option.

  “Coffee?” She sat up straight. Her hair, however, slumped to the side.

  “Yeah, I don’t have soy milk, though. We could stop at the Mug Shot, but the shelter opens in fifteen minutes.”

  “I’m good.” She rubbed her face and ran her fingers through her purple hair. It almost stood back up. “How’s Musetta?”

  “See for yourself.” As I poured the fresh brew into travel mugs, Musetta jumped on the sofa next to Violet.

  “She’s getting big.” She pulled the cat onto her lap. “Heavy, too.”

  “Watch it, Vi. Fat is a feminist issue.”

  “Fat is a diabetes issue, Theda.” She released Musetta, who jumped to the floor. Insulted, I imagined. “Especially for house cats.”

  “Rachel said—” I stopped myself. “I still can’t believe she’s gone. We’ve got to get to the bottom of this.”

  “Oh hell!” Violet’s yell almost made me spill my coffee. “I forgot to tell you. We got another letter yesterday. With everything going on—”

  “What did it say? Was it another threat?”