The Great Cat Nap

by A M Bostwick

  Ellin moved the gear into park and cut the engine. I hoped she wouldn’t look into her backseat, as the glaring garage light would do nothing to hide me. Thankfully she exited the car, shutting the door behind her with a sharp bang. I heard the side door to the garage open and the lights clicked off, then I heard Ellin shut the door to the garage.

  Crud. She could be getting away, attending to a stowed away, abducted, and frightened Ruby.

  I waited a few minutes to be sure no one would return before uncurling my body from its hiding spot and checking out the scene. This reporter was in uncharted territory. Looking out the car window, I saw the garage was largely empty, aside from a lonely push lawnmower and some racks stacked high with boxes marked “Christmas” and “Halloween.” A hodgepodge of mismatched tools were scattered across an otherwise vacant tool bench. Certain I was alone in the garage, I inspected the front seat of car. Nothing useful to my semi-adept paws. The door handle was large and unlocked. I pawed it, but lacking the sufficient body weight to move the door, it seemed hopeless.

  My body shivered, and my tummy rumbled. Kuddly Kitty Krunchies were never filling, but I had bigger problems. My tail was not tailing Ellin. I yanked on the door handle with reckless abandon. Again and again, I pulled and twisted, kicked, and jerked. I worked up a sweat in the fast cooling car when I heard it—a satisfying click as the door popped open slightly, and the dome light switched on. With a swift jump, I switched off the light to deflect any unwanted attention. I pushed at the door with my shoulders, first the left and then the right. The heavy door gave way, opening a crack just large enough for me to push my head through. Free at last, I turned and surveyed the sedan beast, feeling an immense sense of pride after conquering it. I felt bad about not being able to properly shut the door, but at least the lack of dome light would spare the battery.

  Now, it was time to get to work. Sleuth work.

  ***

  The doggie door on the garage was large enough for a canine the size of Aero; it made me wonder if Ellin once had dogs in addition to Uno, Dos, and Tres. Slipping into the overcast night, my breath created tiny clouds in front of me as I crouched behind bushes and looked towards the house. The kitchen light burned, and I moved closer to watch the show.

  An elm tree stood stark against the night near the front of the house. I scaled it in a few seconds, attempting to hide behind a few lingering brown leaves and peered inside. Inside, Ellin had just set out three cans of Meaty Beast for the Himalayans, their topographically-challenged faces chowing down on the feline equivalent to human fast food. I envied those cats.

  Ellin turned away from the felines and tore open a cardboard container of a microwavable pot pie. After setting it to nuke for five minutes, she collapsed into a chair alongside a breakfast bar and rested her head in her hands. Was this the face of a guilty woman? A jealous sister? A vicious cat-napper? I couldn’t tell. The microwave hummed while the cats finished their dinners, moving away from each other to clean their dirty paws, faces, and whiskers. Uno strolled towards Ellin, bumping her head into her closed hands in an attempt for a pet. Her owner awoke as if from a dream and softly stroked Uno’s head. Though I couldn’t hear her, I knew Uno was purring. Ellin’s hands caressed the cat, and I had the distinct impression she was gaining as much love from this interaction as Uno. My resolve faltered slightly; was Uno right? Was Ellin not capable of maliciously abducting another cat?

  The microwave beeped and Ellin took the steaming pie from the oven, dumping it unceremoniously onto a plate. As the pot pie steamed, Ellin stared tiredly at a magazine without bothering to flip through it. I had the feeling she was just going through the motions of a normal routine. A few minutes passed. I shifted in my spot, the cold air nipping at my ears. Raking through the pot pie with a fork, Ellin took a tentative bite. Uno watched her. Dos and Tres left the kitchen, presumably for a long autumn night’s nap. Ellin couldn’t have taken more than three bites before placing the mostly-uneaten pot pie uncovered into the fridge, snapping off the kitchen light, and leaving the room. I guess she wasn’t hungry. Uno chased after her companion. I waited to see which room would alight next, and was dismayed to see it was the upstairs bedroom. Ellin was going to bed.

  Not a stolen cat in sight.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I was full of cold, stale cream and disappointment.

  “Well, it doesn’t mean she didn’t have Ruby stashed in the basement without food or water, Ace,” Sloan advised the following morning at the back of the newspaper office. “That cat could be anywhere. Maybe she knew you were onto her, and she was trying to throw you off the trail.”

  Sloan’s attempts at cheering me up were hollow. After Ellin and the three cats went to bed last night, I had quickly jogged back to the newspaper office, trying to avoid the coldest part of the night. All the while, my mind raced. Where was Ruby?

  “Ellin has all the motive in the world to take that prize-winning cat,” Sloan continued. “She needs money. She’s envies her sister.”

  “Newsflash. The woman likes cats, Sloan,” I countered, sugar spurring me on.

  “Jealously is a fickle emotion in women, pal. You’ve got a lot to learn,” my friend tried to joke.

  “Let’s just pretend for a moment our initial hunch is right,” I began. “Ellin stole Ruby for personal gain and revenge on her own sister. What if she already pawned off Ruby? To say, an animal dealer or a smuggler. That would explain why neither of us spotted Ellin taking care of a mystery animal yesterday. If Ruby’s already gone...Sloan, how are we going to find her?”

  “Still no ransom note, then?” Sloan asked, knowing the answer.

  I shook my head glumly. Silence fell between us as we wondered exactly what we’d gotten our paws into this time. Minutes passed when a soft growl startled us from our quiet thoughts.

  “Who’s there?” Sloan hissed, his back arched, silky gray fur prickled high.

  “It’s me, stay cool,” a familiar voice replied. Aero came from around the corner, his large and demanding presence filling the space between us in no time. Aero looked as dejected as I felt. He was toting a plain brown bag, dropping it at my feet.

  “Any news?” he asked, trying to hide the hopefulness in his voice.

  Sloan and I exchanged looks.

  “We’ve been working hard on leads, but I’m afraid we haven’t located Ruby yet,” I admitted.

  The German Shepherd’s face fell. He composed himself, nodded and plopped down next to us.

  “I take it you haven’t seen a ransom note?” I asked the downtrodden dog.

  He shook his great head. “I can’t figure it out. She’s just gone. Gone,” Aero said slowly.

  “I know this looks grim, Aero, but trust me when I say Sloan and I are not out of ideas to solving this crime,” I said, Sloan looking at me like I’d just sprouted a second tail. “I have some ideas about what might have happened. I think Ellin may have sold Ruby off the minute she stole her. Passed her off to a smuggler or another thief. That being the case, we need to look up some lowlifes who would buy stolen felines...”

  “Stop, Ace,” Aero said.

  “...and I have plenty of friends in low places. Well, not friend friends, but you know, alley cats who know information they shouldn’t. Rodents who are in places they shouldn’t be. They can tell me who...”

  “Ace, honestly,” Aero interjected again. But it was like my tongue was on autopilot. It’s the Siamese in me. Sometimes I just can’t shut up.

  “...who would have Ruby and where they might take her,” I plowed on. “Not to mention your maid and gardener. I’ll keep going on this; I’ll miss County Board this afternoon, but that’s okay. Really, I can’t stand when they talk budgets on and on and on and on—”

  “ACE!” Aero barked. “I want you off the case. Here are a few cans of tuna for your trouble, but we have no real suspects. Ellin? I don’t think so. Our maid? Our gardener? They both have alibis; I overheard the McMahons discussing them. Did you know that John the g
roundskeeper is severely allergic to cat dander? I didn’t. It’s why he never comes in the house.”

  This was news to me, and not encouraging news, either.

  “I don’t believe any of it,” Aero continued. “I don’t know how Ruby left, but she’s gone. It doesn’t make sense to stop your reporting to chase after a cat who doesn’t want to be found.”

  “But, wait, what?” I stammered.

  “It’s obvious. Ruby must have left on her own accord,” Aero said.

  I looked at Sloan. He remained silent, clearly as confused as I was.

  “No, no, Aero,” I replied. “That’s not the case. Sloan and I definitely think Ellin or someone else close to the family could be responsible in some way. This is only day three.”

  Sloan nodded in agreement. “He’s right, Aero. This isn’t over yet,” Sloan said.

  Aero stood up. “I can’t keep doing this. Keep hoping she’s coming home when she isn’t. Do you know what it’s like? Watching your companions in despair as they make call after call? Comb the neighborhood over and over? It’s terrible. I couldn’t even go after the mailman yesterday,” he relayed.

  Sloan and I gasped in shock.

  “I was duped. We all were. Ruby took off because she was unhappy,” Aero whispered. “I thought she loved us.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “We won’t give up,” Sloan offered.

  “I know this is upsetting and while I can’t imagine your loss, Aero, we can’t give up now,” I said, attempting to console him.

  “Forget it,” Aero snapped, moving away in a fast trot. He called over his shoulder, “She’s gone. You’ll never find a cat who wants to be gone.”

  I made a futile attempt to run after the German Shepherd but stopped at the end of the block as he became nothing but a fuzzy blur. Panting, Sloan appeared at my side.

  “What now, Ace?”

  “We keep looking,” I answered without hesitation.

  ***

  I didn’t even reenter The Daily Reporter for a pastry and fresh cream. The case of Ruby the Russian was gnawing at me, especially since Aero had lost all hope. Sloan had to get back to his own apartment, indicating that his companion, Mary, had promised him a heaping bowl of fresh Meaty Beast upon his return. I thought it sounded fishy, but I couldn’t deny the guy.

  The morning traffic rush was slowing down as I headed towards The Heights. The air was calm and crisp, and I was thankful for the lack of precipitation as my long journey passed beneath my four feet. I was acting on a whim. This visit to Ally and Peter was, if I admitted it to myself, the last tactic I could think of in my quickly-falling-apart attempt at feline sleuthing. Unless Ally could tell me about something—or someone—who would be capable of stealing a cat right out of their home, I was as good as overripe sardines.

  About four miles north of Arbor Vitae Lane along the Wisconsin River, 30 floors of luxury apartments and suites rose before me. Outside of Ally and Peter’s stately building, ornamental shrubs were clipped neat and tidy, and the fall mums bloomed. I met Murphy, the always-on-duty white terrier guard watchdog, earlier this summer. Hunching behind a red mum bush, I surveyed inside the building. Through the Windex-clean floor length windows, there he was, sitting regal as can be by the front desk. Slinking to the automatically-opening doors, I jumped just enough to make them whoosh open, then darted behind a silver-colored trash bin that likely had never met a piece of trash in its life. My distorted reflection shone back at me uncertainly, but I obtained just the reaction I was hoping for. Murphy barked, running to investigate. Upon his hurried approach I hissed, “Pssssst!”

  Murphy, ears alert, turned on a dime and met nose to nose with me.

  “It’s me, Murphy! Ace.” I put my paws up as he cornered me.

  “Geez Louise, Ace, what brings you by?” Murphy asked, letting his guard down, but just barely. “You surprised me.”

  “I need to get up to Ally and Peter’s apartment. Can you help me?”

  Murphy took a look inside the building then nodded. “Sure. Can you wait just another 10 minutes? Rodney, the day guard, will go into the break room for another cup of tea. I can sneak you on the elevator then.”

  “I owe you.”

  The terrier knew his humans. In nine minutes, Rodney stretched behind his desk, picked up his “I Love the Beach Boys” mug, and sauntered into the break room. Murphy ran to the door, signaled them to open, and ushered me inside. At the elevator, Murphy told me which button to push. I took a leap and hit three buttons in addition to the one I needed. At the ding, I watched Murphy disappear behind the sliding doors.

  Ally and Peter lived on the fifth floor in a fine apartment owned by Lucy Shaw, formerly married to the very man who’d been arrested for murder earlier this summer, Willard Dinglehoff. Happier than ever free of him, she’d relocated to a smaller, sunnier apartment overlooking the river. Lucy adopted Ally and Peter through the twist of events I had set into motion.

  I tapped my toes softly at the door, hoping Lucy was out. I hadn’t thought about her in my rush to get to the apartment following Aero’s hasty departure. The tiny rectangular mail slot squeaked open, and two blue eyes looked into my own. They suddenly widened.

  “Ally! Ally! It’s Ace! He’s come to see us! ALLY!” Peter cried.

  The door popped open, and I was bombarded by a ball of fur and kitten fluff. Peter rolled me over, purring and rubbing. It reminded me of his ruthless attacks the first time Sloan and I met him behind a trailer at The Orange Flamingo.

  “Hey, Peter...gee whiz...yeah...it’s good...to see you, too,” I tried to spit out as he purred and rubbed. “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine! Fine!” he cried. I would never stop feeling guilty about the injuries he sustained this summer. The injuries on my stakeout. My first detective case. Peter miraculously pulled through after a brutal blow to the head. Ally and Peter, willing participants, never once blamed me, but I couldn’t get over it. It was why I had been so hesitant to take on another case. Another case like the one I was on at this exact moment. Guilt seeped through me.

  “Now, Peter, let poor Ace inside,” I heard Ally say from inside the apartment. Collecting myself, I tried to flatten my black fur that Peter had manipulated into spikes and snarls.

  “Hi Ally. I hope you don’t mind my dropping by like this,” I said.

  “Of course not. Come on in,” she replied. “Peter! Let him through.”

  “Tell me, Ace, what do you think happened to the weasel?” Peter asked, walking backwards as we moved further inside.

  “The weasel? You mean Willard Dinglehoff?” I asked, momentarily confused. Peter, still a boisterous and outgoing little kitten but quickly growing into a cat, believed in a variety of conspiracy theories when it came to fairy tales. This was mostly due to the copious amount of catnip his mother indulged in during pregnancy. His tiny face, though sweet as can be, held the constant look of a cat who ingested too much feline-Prozac. The head injury probably hadn’t helped his delusions.

  “No, no, no,” Peter said, shaking his tiny head. “The weasel. Around the mulberry bush, where he was laid out for the last time.”

  “Peter, please stop with this,” Ally told him.

  “The monkey, he was up to no good. No good!” Peter assured me, excited.

  I kept my mouth shut. I knew not to light a firecracker when I saw one.

  “It’s no theory! The monkey wasted the weasel!” He began to sing, “All around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel, and all around the mulberry bush...POP!” Ally and I jumped. “...goes the weasel!”

  Unsure of what to do, I smiled.

  “Peter. Must you?” Ally laughed quietly.

  “I’m not sure, Peter. But I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” I finally said. He seemed satisfied with that.

  Ally invited me onto the cushy sofa where sunshine poured through the windows, heating the cushions nicely. The furniture was plush and white. I was suddenly self-conscious about my dark
coat. You wouldn’t want to have a hairball in here. Carefully, I sat down facing Ally’s lovely blue eyes amid shimmering blonde fur. Peter nearly sat on top of me.

  “I hope you’re both doing well,” I began.

  Ally nodded.“You’re on a case again, aren’t you?”

  “What?” I coughed. The cat was obviously out of the bag. “What makes you think that?”

  “Oh, I still hear a bit of gossip or so. And I read your newspaper, of course. Your paw prints are all over this story. I didn’t think you’d be able to keep yourself out of mischief when it came to this missing cat. Ruby, is that her name?”

  “Missing?” Peter trilled. “Rumplestiltskin is notorious for stealing stuff. I bet he’s behind it.”

  “I’m starting to wonder if I’m the detective/reporter here,” I laughed. “I’m on the story. You’re right, Ally. I don’t believe Ruby went missing on her own accord. She was happy at home with the McMahons. As a prize-winning show cat though, Ruby is a valuable feline a thief could make money on. The perfect motive.”

  “You mean in the show ring? Wouldn’t other people recognize her?” Ally questioned.

  “With a few tweaks, maybe not. What I am inclined to believe at this point is the captor will eventually ask the family for ransom. They aren’t overly wealthy, but they do have more money than most,” I said.

  “There hasn’t been a ransom note yet, then, I take it?” asked Ally.

  “No,” I admitted. “I can’t give this up, though. The house dog, Aero, hired me to find Ruby.” I left out the part about being fired. “He feels Ruby was cat-napped, but he’s already losing hope. I know these excursions can be dangerous, but I haven’t given up yet.”

  Ally gave me a knowing look. Peter chewed on a nail.

  “I didn’t figure you would. Tell me then, detective, how do you think I can help you?” she asked.

  “I know you’re a long way from your days at The Orange Flamingo, but I thought you might remember some contacts. I need to talk to a cat on the inside. A cat who knows the animal thieves,” I said in a quiet voice, hoping Peter was distracted. He chewed away.