The Great Cat Nap

by A M Bostwick

  Everyone cheered, slapping paws and nodding. Ruby’s green eyes sparkled. Kit Kat sharpened his one fang on a rock. Rogue looked ready to fight, rubbing his massive paws together and sneering appreciatively. Minx glared at Boris, Boris glaring back.

  “Let’s get into place,” Rogue proclaimed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  In books, they always have a plan. A great plan, with lots of fully-loaded guns, Chuck Norris-style kicks and punches, and something that involves a live trap cobbled together with nothing but the hero’s bubble gum and wristwatch.

  We didn’t have any of that.

  One by one, we stealthily headed to the midsection of downtown where the mailbox sat by the curb. A savage howl of wind tore up the street. I ruffled my fur against it and caught my reflection in a darkened but reflective storefront. Black fur, slanted green eyes, determined stance. I’m a baaaaaad cat, I told myself.

  The group looked at me for further direction. A nearby bench and well-placed trash can provided some cover while other felines would hide in the shadows of entryways. I instructed Minx and Boris to crawl up under the eaves of two separate businesses. I wanted their inflated egos interacting as little as possible.

  “Ruby,” I said, turning to her a few paces behind me. “If you want to stay out of the fray, I think that would be best, after all you’ve been through—”

  She stopped me before I could go on.

  “No, I do. I most certainly do want in the fray,” she assured me, “or at least near it.” I smiled and turned to her canine companion, standing close by.

  “Aero? Is the money under the mailbox?”

  “Yes, I just checked,” he answered “The McMahons must have just been here.”

  “All right, good,” I replied. Then louder, I said, “This is it everyone; remember your cues. Off you go to location. Ruby, stay with Aero.”

  Due to their larger size, Aero and Farfel had to hide the furthest away, down the nearest side street, just out of sight around the corner. Sloan and I took our agreed position in the trash bin nearest to the mailbox. Thankfully, it was emptied by city crew earlier in the evening. All that sat in it was an old copy of The Branford Examiner. The sad excuse for a newspaper was in its rightful place, I thought meanly. “ARNOLD TO RUN FOR GOVERNOR IN WISCONSIN,” blared an obnoxious headline. I sat directly on top of it.

  The familiar scenario of a high-stakes stakeout overtook me. I remembered the past summer when my friends and I stalked the back of a restaurant in hopes of busting a murderous burglar. It was storming that night, and tensions were high. Tonight, I was oddly calm. Perhaps it was because I had so many great animals backing me, or because Ruby was already safely under Aero’s watch. Maybe I simply wasn’t afraid of a postal worker. Regardless, time passed slowly as my best friend and I waited, silently, inside the trash can on Main Street.

  I heard the nearby courthouse clock ring 12 times. Midnight had arrived. We waited on the razor’s edge, ready to strike. Slowly the witching hour waned away. Still, we all waited, ready for the pounce. Fifteen minutes went by. Sloan and I shifted uncomfortably and exchanged perplexed glances. Another twenty minutes slowly died.

  “Ace?” whispered Sloan.

  I looked at him.

  “Is he coming?”

  I shrugged. A few more minutes passed.

  “Maybe we should cut our losses. I don’t think we’re going to bust the cat-napper this time,” Sloan said in a shushed voice. “Let’s get Ruby safely home. Her family has worried enough. That’s what matters most, isn’t it?”

  I could hardly argue with that. The clock was ticking away and still, nothing. No one. The stack of money inside an unmarked envelope sat untouched beneath the blue, standard issue mailbox. The mailman turned out to be a chicken.

  “Wait here. I’ll be right back,” I said, leaping from the trash bin. The night was cold and clear, still and without the usual city sounds. I looked up and down the street, trying to catch a moving car, an out-of-place person, or the glint of human eyes. Odd smells. Nothing. There was only silence. Downtown was deserted and lonely. The wind whipped through my fur. Walking away to find Aero, Ruby, and the others, I let my guard down. Just a little, but it was too much.

  From behind, I could first sense, then feel, the presence of a man.

  My hackles raised, I turned to face whoever had arrived so quickly but was overtaken by a husky figure and nearly crushed by his body weight. His 100-proof breath felt hot on my neck. My lungs flattened, I gasped for another unsuccessful mouthful of air. I struggled furtively against the heavy chest and arms pinning me down, I felt the rough sensation of burlap wrapping around my body and face. My ribs struggled to withstand the pressure, he was stuffing me in a bag. I attempted to hiss and growl and slash with my paws, but it was useless. My whole body was useless. It was like I brought a spork to a knife fight. From inside the scratchy fabric, I faintly heard the barking of dogs. Everything felt fuzzy and dark, it all began to slowly black out.

  BARK! RUFF! BARK! GRRRRRRR!

  I was 15-years-old and slipping fast.

  RUFF! BARK! GRRRRRRR! MEOOOOW!

  I wasn’t sure if I was going to land on all four feet this time.

  MEOOOWWWW! HISSSSS! BARK! BARK! BARK!

  Perhaps I should just let go...take a nap...

  HISSSSS! RUFF! MEOW! BARK!

  It had been such a rough night...

  BARK! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! HISSSSSS!

  It was about to get rougher.

  ***

  “Ace! DARN IT! Wake up!”

  It was Sloan’s panicked voice. He shook my body. I heard a painful moan. I vaguely wondered where it was coming from, then realized it was me. I laid limp and lifeless on the sidewalk on top of some type of abrasive cloth. Sloan was still shaking me. What had happened? It was a deadly long time, wasn’t it? It seemed as though hours, or maybe days, had passed. Truly it had only been five or six minutes. I raised my head slightly and let my eyes focus. All around me, pandemonium broke loose.

  “The dogs pulled you out of the way, Ace,” Sloan breathed heavily. “Are you okay? You took a hit! He was hiding downwind in the shadows. I don’t know how, and I don’t know when!”

  I grumbled something about what in the heck was going on. Unable to form words, I coughed and coughed like a luxury car trying to start on cheap gas. Finally, I took in a deep rattling breath of air. The fuzziness in my head faded, I suddenly snapped to attention.

  “Whoa, whoa! You aren’t getting up, wait here!” Sloan cried, pushing me down as I tried to get to my feet. He took off into the mix.

  The scene before me came into full focus. Aero and Farfel and Frisky tore ferociously at the calves and jacket of the blackmailing mailman, who was trying to rage against them all. My friends had the mailman knocked down and pinned, but Frank Leonard was struggling something fierce. Rogue, Lily, and now Sloan were like Halloween cats, backs arched, hissing, paws slashing with claws at full extension. It was a flurry of fur, spit, and claws; they had him completely surrounded. Minx gleefully pulled his hair while Boris the Rat skillfully worked to zip-tie his feet together. Kit Kat was sharpening his claws, courtesy of the mailman’s jeans. Ruby stood atop the mailbox, a menacing paw stretched outward as he tried again and again to rise up and grab her, the cat that got away. The Russian Blue bared her teeth, her face filled with anger, her eyes slits of fury. The mailman attempted to recapture his ransom and take down all of us at the same time.

  MEEEEOW! HISS! RUFF!

  The dogs, cats, weasel, and rat were not having it. Aero snapped at the perpetrator again and again, his massive snout gleaming in fury with a mouthful of sharp, white teeth. Once again, I had been proven wrong and was saved by an overzealous animal’s willingness to help—Farfel’s enormous body weight and size were definitely keeping the mailman in check, more so as the Saint Bernard came crashing down onto his chest.

  “OOOOMMPFFF!” Leonard huffed. There, how does that feel?

  Frisky was a small but fe
isty number; his tiny size made it easy for him to zip in and out around the cat-napper, taking bitty nips at his exposed body parts.

  “Jeez! Ouch! OWIE! OUCH OUCH OUCH!” he cried, voice thick with pain, as he swatted and swore at his assailants.

  The fight was intense and heated, I could stay put no longer. This was my party in the first place.

  BARK! HISSSS! MEOWWW! BARK! OUCH! OUCH! BARK! MEOW!

  I staggered a bit as I came to all four legs and looked skyward. Right on schedule—and I thanked the heavens she hadn’t nodded off to sleep—Birdie was in her window. Her elderly face crinkled into a wide smile as she saw me upright and gave me the paws up. Our plan was underway. It was working. It had to work.

  RUFF! RUFF! HISS! OWIE OWIE OWIE!

  I tried to get into the mix, but it seemed I was barely needed.

  “AHHHHHH!” the postal-worker-gone-postal shouted, ultimately overpowered by the animals. Boris successfully restrained the postal worker’s feet with the zip ties just as we planned, while Farfel gained further control of him by laying flat on his chest. Aero still barked at an obscene volume directly into his face, and Frisky continued to nip him every few inches.

  “Ace!” yelled Ruby. “Get out of the way! Come over here—NOW!”

  Ruby jumped from the top of the mailbox to dart underneath, lying on the envelope with her companions’ money. I scurried under to join her.

  “You’re in no condition to fight!” she scolded. “How are you feeling?”

  BARK! BARK! RUFF! HISSSS! OUCH!

  “I’m fine, Ruby; are you?

  RUFF! RUFF! OWIE! MEOW!

  “Oh, yes. Though, I’m actually capped,” she sighed and showed me a perfect gray-blue paw, ideal apart from the clear plastic caps that kept her from destroying carpet and furniture. “I’ve tried chewing them off, but it’s no use,” she shrugged.

  “I had no idea,” I gasped. “You’ve made so many daring moves without them!”

  She smiled.

  OWIE! OWIE! MEOOOOW!

  Off in the distance, I heard the wail of a siren. The police were on their way.

  “Ruby! The police! We can’t let these animals go to the pound. We have to break this up.”

  BARK! BARK! MEOW! OUCH! OWIE!

  “But Mr. Leonard will get away!”

  “No, he won’t. Boris tied him up. Listen, the police are less than a block from here.”

  Sure enough, the quiet and shadowy faces of the buildings were awakening with red-and-blue flashing lights. It was just a matter of seconds. The siren screamed again, louder, tearing through the night.

  I darted out from my post under the mailbox and hollered, “ROGUE! MINX! FRISKY! KIT KAT! GET OUTTA HERE! POLICE!”

  Fear registered on Rogue’s face. He was not going to the pound again.

  “LEAVE! LEAVE NOW!” I urged him. “You’ve done amazing, thank you, NOW HIGH TAIL IT OUT OF HERE!”

  He did, shortly followed by Frisky; Kit Kat, and Minx. The sirens drew even closer.

  “SLOAN, LILY! THAT MEANS YOU, TOO! BORIS THE RAT, GO! FARFEL, BEAT IT!”

  Farfel shook his giant head, still holding down the flailing mailman. Aero kept barking, too angry to listen.

  “GO, GO, GO—UNLESS YOU WANT TO BE IN RABIES LOCK-UP!” Sloan shouted, backing me up. That got through to them. Farfel hesitantly got up, nudging Aero.

  “Let’s go,” Farfel barked to him. Aero let out one last ear-splitting bark at Leonard and turned to Ruby.

  “See you at home?” he asked, voice raspy.

  “Of course,” she replied. She waved her paw in the air. “Now, GO! It won’t do for you to disappear, too!”

  Tires screeched, sirens blared, closer every second. Boris the Rat waved to me, grinned, and disappeared down a gutter. Farfel and Aero disappeared down an alley.

  “I’ll get Lily outta here!” Sloan assured me, pulling her away from the scene. “You’ve got to leave, too!”

  Sirens wailed as cop car rounded the corner, its headlights trained directly on us.

  “They know I’m Max’s reporter, it’s okay. GET OUT!”

  Finally, my two friends fled for freedom. I ran to Ruby’s side; she looked scared, maybe for the first time. I glanced up at Birdie’s window again; there she was, her owner by her side, watching the commotion from their front row seat. The aged cat did just as I asked, or rather, politely screamed. When Leonard showed, I requested that Birdie wake her companion and urge her in every way possible to see the predicted fight on the street, hoping she would call the police. Indeed, tonight, when Leonard attacked me, I was sure her companion showed little hesitation in dialing.

  A young cop popped out of the squad car. His lights were still flashing, but the siren was cut. He held his cuffs out at the ready and with a confused look, he examined the scene.

  Leonard laid still, his face frozen. His smoldering anger was doused. Ruby and I looked blankly at the officer.

  “What in the world...” he began to mutter. Then, he spotted Ruby. Recognition registered in his eyes. “Wait a minute. Is that—?”

  Ruby stepped under the streetlight. She lifted her chin, exposing her signature pink collar and silver tag.

  “You—you’re the missing cat!” he said incredulously.

  I nudged the envelope toward him, hundred dollar bills spilling out with a little help from my claws. The cop turned his head to one side, confused.

  “I’m Officer Allen with the Lakeville Police Department. Who are you, sir?” he asked Leonard, who most certainly was not going anywhere with the threat of the Saint Bernard and German Shepherd returning, not to mention the zip ties. “Can you tell me what you’re doing here?”

  Leonard grunted and belched. “I...”

  “Are you drunk?” Officer Allen questioned. Leonard shrugged.

  Down the street, more sirens screamed. Additional back-up was on its way.

  The cop pulled the soon-to-be-former postal worker to his zip-tied feet, the man groaning in defeat. His clothes were tattered from our teeth and claws, his face wet from the slobber of barking dogs.

  “Come on, buddy, what’s going on here?” Officer Allen asked the mailman again. This time he cackled, a high-pitched drunken cackle. The officer leaned back. “If you don’t answer me, I’ll have to bring you in for public intoxication.”

  Another police car arrived. Ruby and I sat single file along the sidewalk like obedient witnesses. From the second squad came the longtime lieutenant, who had frown lines so deep it appeared as though he had not smiled since 1980.

  “Officer Allen? What’s going on here?” he barked. The phone must have woken him from a warm bed. His eyes burned into the mailman.

  “Lieutenant, this man is drunk. He won’t answer me. I’m taking him to the station to sober up,” he said. “I don’t know for sure, but I think he has something to do with the famous missing cat. There she is. She’s the spitting image of the posters, right down to the pink collar.”

  Everyone looked at Ruby. She stood tall and turned her head from side to side, exhibiting the mannerisms she picked up in the cat show circuit. The two cops looked at her in wordless admiration, then snapped back to reality.

  “I didn’t steal her,” Leonard began to say. A thought occurred to him. “I found her! Yeah, yeah, that’s it!” His drunken giggle shattered all credibility of that statement.

  “What did you say?” the lieutenant interrogated, leaning in his face.

  “I want a lawyer,” Leonard murmured, hanging his head.

  Sounded like the start of a confession to me.

  “I wonder if she got loose from him?” Officer Allen observed as he pushed Leonard into the backseat.

  “No she didn’t! I let her go!” Leonard shouted blatantly. Everyone looked at him. “Stupid cat!”

  “Repeat that?” hissed the lieutenant.

  “THE CAT WAS MINE!” he roared, then burped again.

  “TAKE HIM IN!” Lieutenant retorted, not in the mood for his alcohol-induced, cat
-napping antics. “Good work, Allen. Let’s see if this guy’ll talk back at the station. Bag and tag that cash for forensics, will you? I imagine there are some answers there, too. I’ll call the McMahons and bring the cat in for identification. How in the world did this man’s feet get tied together?” Lieutenant No-Smile questioned. He then focused on Ruby and I. “Here, kitty. Not you. It’s that darn, nosy newspaper cat.”

  Ruby winked at me, then jumped obediently into the backseat of the lieutenant’s squad. She knew she’d be home soon, her real home. The lieutenant shut his squad door with Ruby safely inside.

  “How, how...how did the newspaper cat find the missing Russian Blue?” Allen said quietly, brow furrowed.

  The lieutenant rubbed his forehead, then shook his head as though trying to clear cobwebs. “I’m sure she...this guy probably...well...whatever. You, newspaper cat, go home. Don’t you have a story to write?”

  Indeed I did.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  The next morning came with an appreciation for semi-normal, hectic newspaper days. Max came bustling into the office early, excited to tell me the breaking news—Ruby the Russian’s safe arrival back home. I sat perched on his shoulder as he wrote the story, talking to Madeline over the phone. I heard Ruby purring in the background as Max scribbled notes in his usual unreadable-to-anyone-but-him fashion.

  Next, Max had a brief but informative interview with Officer Allen, who stopped in the newspaper office later that day. He was shy but authoritative, and had no qualms telling us that Mr. Frank Leonard had been arrested and was expected to be brought up on charges of theft and exploitation. He’d have his initial appearance in court later that afternoon. As it turned out, it wouldn’t be the first time he appeared before a judge or slept on a cot with bad springs in the clink downtown. A New Jersey native, the postal worker only recently moved here under a stolen identity of a real mailman after narrowly avoiding felony burglary charges.

  Apparently when questioned by the unsmiling lieutenant and Officer Allen, the law-breaking—and highly intoxicated—postal worker rambled like a used car salesman, shamelessly confessing to stealing Ruby in exchange for ransom money. He also proclaimed that just plain hates cats. Eventually, he also confessed to several other petty crimes in Wisconsin as well as his checkered past back in Jersey, taking credit for just about everything but the Kennedy assassination and where he had buried Jimmy Hoffa.