by Patricia Fry
Randy continued, "And I got some of the herd back. Those scammers made the mistake of trying to sell them to a friend of mine. When Glen couldn't get in touch with me, he hauled the cattle to his place and promptly cancelled the check. I guess Glen almost got a beating for that, but the crooks showed up at the wrong time." Randy grinned. "Some of his wranglers were just returning from the range and those brutes were able to stop anything serious from happening." He let out a deep sigh. "It really helps to have good friends." He looked around on the floor near Savannah's feet. "Hey, where's my buddy, Rags? I hear he was in on the take down—you know when we were found." He frowned. "I don't remember much about that."
"Yes, he was there," Savannah said. "He led the police to you."
Loretta had returned to the room in time to hear this, and she began to weep. "We can't even begin to thank you."
"Then don't try," Michael said. "We're just awfully glad you're okay and back here enjoying your beautiful spread."
Randy choked up. "I'd sure like to thank Rags for what he did." He asked, "Hey, can I get him his favorite treat or something like that?"
"Just come over anytime and give him some attention," Michael said. "He loves attention."
Randy winced. "Well, I'm not sure about that. That's more down Loretta's alley. I'm allergic to cats." He sneezed, then chuckled. "See that, even talking about them makes me wheezy."
Just then, Gabby walked into the room. She smiled and greeted, "Hi, Savannah."
"Hi, honey," Savannah said. "This is my husband, Michael. Michael, this is Gabby, Randy's and Loretta's niece."
"Our favorite niece," Randy said. "Gabby, this here's our veterinarian. He keeps all our animals healthy."
Gabby's eyes widened. "A veterinarian?"
Michael took the girl's hand. "Nice to meet you, Gabby."
She smiled shyly.
"Can I get you something to drink?" Loretta asked, standing up.
Savannah shook her head. "We can only stay for a minute. Actually, I want to talk to you both about the cats."
"Cats?" Randy asked.
"Yes. Detective Sledge and I were here looking for you a few times—you know, with Rags, and we saw a lot of cats. I assume they've established a colony here on your property. I wonder if you'd like help managing that colony. In fact, you may actually want the cats removed—you know, relocated. By the way, are any of the cats yours? Do you have barn cats?"
Loretta nodded. "Yes. We brought in three cats who were supposed to be great mousers and they seem to be doing a good job. But where these other cats have come from, we don't know. They're everywhere! Yes, we'd love to have them relocated, if that's possible."
"It sure is," Michael said. "Now, do you think some of the new cats came from your original barn cats?" When the couple seemed confused, he clarified, "Did they have kittens? Intact females, when there's an intact male around, can bring about a lot of kittens—sometimes two litters a year of as many as seven or eight kittens in each litter. That can add up. Do you think that's where the new cats have come from?"
Randy shook his head. "I doubt it. I don't recall seeing kittens until recently. We've had this batch of barn cats for going on three years, right Loretta?"
She nodded. "Yes. I don't think they ever had any kittens. The cats out there now just started showing up maybe a couple of months ago. First there was one, then we saw a couple lurking around. One day I counted eleven—and some of those out there now are mighty fat—I'm thinking they're heavy with kittens."
Michael agreed, "Probably."
"I spoke with some of our cat alliance members this afternoon…" Savannah started.
"Cat alliance?" Randy questioned.
"It's the Hammond Cat Alliance. My aunt, Maggie Sheridan, spearheaded it quite a few years ago. You probably know some of the people involved. Betty and Gil Gilbert are members…"
"Sure we know your aunt, and also the Gilberts. They have a ranch east of town. So your organization relocates cats? Is that what you do?"
"We educate folks about cat care," Savannah said. "We manage colonies and teach others how to do it. We do fundraisers to help local shelters and, yes, we will evaluate a colony or a group of cats that have gathered someplace. We'll trap the cats and have them vet checked and spayed or neutered. Ideally, we'll place them in forever homes or foster homes for rehabilitation. For those cats who won't adapt to domestication, we may leave them with the colony and continue managing it—you know, feed and monitor the cats—or we'll relocate the whole colony. As I told Gabby earlier, we have a local preserve now that can accommodate feral cats and keep them safe."
"Oh," Randy said. "I had no idea there were such sophisticated organizations in the name of the ordinary cat."
Gabby chuckled. "There are no ordinary cats, Uncle Randy."
He smiled sweetly at her, then said to Savannah and Michael, "She's our only hope for taking over this place. She got the ranching gene, for sure."
"Cat ranch, maybe," Gabby said, "and horses and goats, but I don't know about running cattle, Uncle Randy."
"A girl who knows what she wants," Michael said.
Gabby smiled shyly.
Randy looked at Savannah. "Yes. Yes, we definitely need help taming the cat population around here. Don't you think so, Loretta?"
She nodded. "Please. Is there a charge? We can donate to the group."
"That would be awfully nice, but we don't charge and we have no expectations of a donation," Savannah said. "We will require access to your property in order to work with the cats. There will be no more than four of us, and usually one or two at a time. How long it takes depends on how cooperative the cats are."
Gabby chuckled.
Savannah smiled at the child, then asked, "So, Mr. Randolph, you don't want to keep any of them here? You're not open to having a cat colony on your property?"
After some thought, Loretta suggested, "If they're not too close to the house, maybe…"
"No," Randy said. "Let's don't even go there. We'll just keep the three barn cats."
"Those are some of the ones getting fat, aren't they?" Stella asked, sitting down next to Gabby. "I helped Gabby feed them yesterday and I thought some of them were pretty plump."
Loretta winced. "Yes, which is surprising since they have so much help now with rodent duty."
"Do you have any pictures of the barn cats," Savannah asked, "so we'll know which ones are yours? I saw a couple of black cats the other day. They seemed kind of calm. Are those yours?"
"No. Ours are all what you'd call tortoiseshell," Loretta said.
"Oh," Michael groaned.
"What does that mean?" Randy asked.
"That means they're all females and if they haven't been spayed…"
Loretta gasped. "So that's why they're getting fat. We're going to have kittens. They've obviously met up with some males from that gang of cats that have moved in."
Savannah winced. "Pregnant cats can make our job more complicated, especially if they start having kittens while we're trapping." When the others looked at her, she explained, "You don't want to trap a nursing mother and leave her kittens vulnerable." She asked, "Gabby, do you still want to help?"
"Yes!" she said excitedly.
"Want to come to our meeting tomorrow afternoon at one?" Savannah invited. "It's at our house."
Gabby looked at the others and said, "I guess so."
"I can drive her over," Stella offered.
"And you can certainly stay if you'd like," Savannah said. "It's quite a nice group of interesting people."
"Thank you," Stella said, "but there's grocery shopping to be done. I can do that while Gabby's busy. She isn't fond of following me around in the grocery store."
Gabby grinned at her grandmother.
"I can get the groceries," Loretta insisted.
Stella put up her hand. "Now, we're here for a reason—so you two can rest and regain your health. Take advantage of Gabby and me while we're here."
Loretta s
mirked playfully at her sister. "You sure can be bossy."
****
"Mom, what's wrong?" Savannah asked when she and Michael returned home, and found Gladys in the kitchen staring down at her phone. "Are the kids okay?" M/p>
"Yes, they're fine. They're playing in the living room." She looked up at the couple. "I just talked to my former neighbor Tim in LA. He had gone to my storage unit this afternoon to get those things Lily wants—you know, your old doll and buggy—and…" she lowered herself into a chair. "Oh, kids, I'm just a little shaken, that's all."
"What did he tell you, Mom?" Savannah asked, sitting down next to her mother.
Michael checked on the children, then sat across from the women. "What's going on, Gladys?"
"Well, Tim had called earlier, saying that when he got to my storage unit, the key wouldn't fit the lock. He thought the lock looked different from the one I'd put on before moving up here, so he asked management about it. They didn't know anything. After I made sure he was at the right unit, I authorized him to cut the lock and replace it. I wanted him to go in and make sure my stuff was still there."
"Was it?" Michael asked.
"He thought so at first. It was as he remembered seeing it the last time he and I were there." She frowned. "I wish I'd thought to take pictures before I left town. That's a good lesson right there." She looked at Michael. "Well, he took a picture just now and sent it to me. I agreed that it looks like it did when I left. However, when he dug into the area where I'd stored you girls' things, Vannie, he couldn't find any of that stuff. Now, I ask you, who would break into a storage unit and steal toys and old Easter hats?"
"Good question, Mom," Savannah said.
Michael quipped. "A gang of small children?"
"Well, Michael, it's not so funny when you suddenly find out that someone has moved into your private storage room."
"What?" Savannah asked.
"Evidently someone cleaned out what was in the middle of the larger items that we left around the outer edges of the room. We'd covered those things with heavy furniture blankets and they were still there, but Tim said that most or all of the smaller items and the boxes I'd so carefully packed were gone."
"You've been robbed?" Michael asked, alarmed.
"Yes, and get this," Gladys said, her eyes flashing, "someone has moved in a bed—you know, like a futon." She grabbed Savannah's hand. "Someone's living in my storage unit. They're even using my chest of drawers for their own personal items."
"Is your friend sure?" Michael asked. "Gladys, it sounds like he went into the wrong unit."
"No, Michael," Gladys insisted. "I asked him to send me pictures of what's left. He pulled off the packing quilts and sent me pictures of grandmother's armoire and the antique sideboard my Great Uncle George brought from England, and my chest of drawers. That's my unit all right, but someone has taken almost everything else and they've violated my space." She shook her head. "They're sleeping in there, for heaven's sake."
"Isn't that illegal?" Savannah asked.
"Of course it's illegal and just wrong," Gladys snapped.
"When's the last time your friend was there?" Michael asked.
"Several months, at least," Gladys said. "So this invasion could have been going on for a while." She stood up. "The nerve!" She faced the couple. "What has that brazen woman done with my things?"
"It's a woman?" Michael asked.
"It appears so, by the type of things Tim found in the dresser."
"Are you sure that stuff isn't yours?" he asked. "Did you leave any of your things in the drawers?"
"A few tablecloths and some towels is all. No. Tim sent me a picture of one drawer containing makeup, a hairbrush with dark hair in it, and…" She picked up her phone. "Here, I'll show you."
"Oh," Savannah said, looking at the picture. "That's not an old hairbrush of yours, is it—you know, from when you had dark brown hair?"
"No!" Gladys insisted. "Look at the makeup and the unmentionables. Those are not mine."
"I guess not," Savannah said. She held the phone out for Michael. "Look at all the bright colors—blue and green eye shadow, a hot pink bra, and panties in colors I've never seen before." She grinned. "Not your style, huh Mom?"
Gladys didn't seem to appreciate the humor. She covered her face with her hands. "What should I do? What can I do?"
"So your friend put a new lock on the unit?" Michael asked.
Gladys nodded. "But what's to keep her from doing what she did before and saw off the lock again? She has even more incentive to do it now, since her belongings are inside."
"I guess you're right," Michael said.
"Of course, I'm right." Gladys spoke more quietly. "But if we've spooked her and she doesn't come back for her things, how are we going to catch her?"
"Why do you want to find her?" Savannah asked. "You don't really want to pursue her do you?"
Gladys leaned toward her daughter and frowned. "Vannie, where have you been? She took my belongings and I want them back." She sat up and took a breath. "A few of those things could be worth something outside of the sentimental value. Besides," she insisted, "I want Lily to have that doll and buggy."
"Has your friend called the police?" Michael asked. When Gladys shook her head, he said, "I think you need to involve the police. That would be my first step. They can go through her personal things and maybe find out who she is. She's bound to have left some sort of identification behind."
"I thought about that," Gladys said, "but how will I get my things back? If she's homeless, which it seems she is, she wouldn't keep my belongings. She has probably already sold everything. Oh, it just makes me so mad!"
"Sure, it does, Mom," Savannah said, "but I agree with Michael. Get the police involved. Maybe the gal still has those things someplace. It's just about the only chance you have. Hey, if she's a street person, the police may know who she is. This might not be the first time she's done something like this."
"I guess," Gladys said. "Okay, I'll tell Tim to turn it over to the police." She slumped. "I just feel so bad for Lily. She was really looking forward to getting that doll and the clothes. She loves changing her doll's clothes. Your grandmother made you so many lovely things for your Sally doll."
Michael grinned. "Someone has invaded your privacy and may have taken precious heirlooms, and you're biggest concern is that Lily might not get some old toys?"
****
The following afternoon, Janice Fischer called the meeting of the Hammond Cat Alliance to order. "First I want to thank Savannah for opening her home to us again." She smiled. "It's the purr-fect clubhouse."
Savannah nodded and smiled.
Janice continued, "I see that we have some guests. Welcome. Shall we all just introduce ourselves?" She chuckled. "It's been a while between meetings, and I might need a refresher course on everyone's name. I'll start. I'm Janice Fischer, current president of the Hammond Cat Alliance. I have two of the original Fischer white cats. Some of you may remember them from those my former husband raised back in the dark ages. I also volunteer a few times a week at June Balcomb's cat ranch." Janice nodded toward the woman to her left.
"I'm Dora Lipton. I foster and board cats. I now have eight cats of my own because I'm not very good at fostering. I get attached and let them stay." She giggled. "I have to give back the boarding cats."
Several women smiled knowingly.
The younger woman to Dora's left said, "I'm Nola. I work with June Balcomb at Ragsdale Cat Ranch."
June smiled and introduced herself. "I'm June Balcomb and Nola is more than someone who works with me. She's my full partner in the cat preserve. It would not exist without her."
Nola squeezed June's hand and smiled. She looked at Savannah.
"I'm Savannah," she said. "I live here. I'm a veterinarian on leave with my children, and I own the most unruly cat in town."
"And you're an author," Janice said. "You write about cats, you've managed cat colonies, and you handle Rags on crimin
al cases for the local sheriff's department." She looked around. "Where is Rags, by the way?"
"I wondered that, too," Savannah's aunt, Margaret Sheridan, said. "Remember when Rags used to steal our spokes-cat—the one that Ida would squeeze a meow out of to get our attention during meetings?" She jumped a little and lifted her purse off the floor. "Uh-oh, I forgot to put this up. I usually walk over and don't bring a purse, so I've gotten out of the habit." She tucked her handbag into a space on a wall shelf and looked down at Janice's feet. "You might want to hide yours. Rags is an incorrigible thief, you know."
Janice stood up with her purse. "Thanks for the reminder, Maggie." She chuckled. "I'll never forget the time he took my bank deposit out of my purse. Thankfully, Savannah found it before I called the police."
Everyone laughed and Dora called out, "There he is! He heard his name."
Janice said, "Yeah, he probably wants to do his own introduction. Hi, Rags," she said as he walked up to her. She petted him. "Sorry, we no longer have a spokes-cat for you to play with." She looked at Savannah. "Would you introduce your guest?"
"Yes," she said, cheerfully. "This is Gabby. She's here for the summer visiting her aunt and uncle next door. Some of you know the Randolphs. Gabby loves cats and she's hoping to help with an upcoming project that we'll discuss here in a minute."
"Welcome, Gabby," Janice said. "So do you have cats?"
"Not right now," the girl said, "but I'm excited to be here around people who do." When Rags walked up to her she patted her lap as an enticement, and he jumped up, sniffed her face, then laid up against her on the sofa.
Margaret chuckled. "It appears that you're a cat magnet. It didn't take him long to find a willing petter." She continued, "I'm Maggie Sheridan. Max and I run a cat shelter next door."
"Really?" Gabby said. "Do you have kittens?"
"We sure do," Margaret said, "and we always need help socializing them. Come over anytime, Gabby."
Gabby smiled brightly. "Oh, this just keeps getting better and better."