by Sharon Pape
She was still caught up in this internal struggle when the not-a-cat took a wary step toward her, allowing the refrigerator door to swing shut with a dull whoosh. The noise made Jaye jump, leaving her nerves as electrified as if they were plugged directly into an outlet.
The animal slowly extended its right hand to her, the Brie in its open palm. Jaye warned herself this could be a ploy meant to lure her close enough to attack. Yet it could also be a form of surrender. A white flag of cheese.
She looked into the animal’s dark eyes. The irises were large and shiny, with only a thin margin of white around the edges—more like a dog’s eyes than a cat’s. And what Jaye saw in those eyes was not only a mirror of her own fear and indecision, but what she could swear was a silent plea for kindness.
Prepared to turn and run at a moment’s notice, she inched a bit closer. No fur-covered fingers latched onto her arm. No razor-sharp teeth sank into her skin. Moving in slow motion, she reached for the cheese and gently plucked it from the animal’s hand. “Thank you,” she said softly. Then she held out her palm with the cheese. “It’s okay. You can have it.”
The not-a-cat tilted its felinesque head as if it were trying to understand what was expected of it.
Jaye smiled again. “It’s okay.”
Studying her warily, the animal took the cheese back, brought it up to its mouth and took a tentative bite.
Jaye just kept smiling and nodding. The animal sat back on catlike haunches, which Jaye could have sworn were nowhere in evidence when it was standing. The animal had to have a joint system that was entirely different from a normal cat’s or dog’s in order for its rear legs to mimic the straighter legs of a human when it stood and the rounded configuration of a cat’s when it sat. The creature went on nibbling and watching Jaye until the cheese was gone. Then it meticulously licked off each of its fingers and produced a dainty burp. Reaching down its body into what appeared to be a marsupial pouch, it withdrew a small nugget of amethyst and held the lavender stone out to Jaye, its lips curled back from its teeth in what looked like an approximation of a smile.
Jaye was relieved to see that the teeth, although pointy and probably sharp, were no more threatening in appearance than those of any domesticated animal. She graciously accepted the stone, even though she was pretty sure it had come from her own shop. The not-a-cat appeared to live by a barter system, although it had some kinks to work out with regard to the issues of ownership and value. In any case, Jaye now had a pretty good idea how the wallet had wound up in her shop and the sock in her refrigerator.
Having negotiated this first encounter so far without incident, she wondered what to do next. The animal had to be a rare specimen, given that she’d never seen anything like it in any of the zoos she’d visited or on any of the nature shows she’d watched. For all she knew, someone had found it in the Amazon jungle and smuggled it home. There were always stories in the news about people who kept exotic pets regardless of what the law allowed or what was best for the animals. Although it didn’t appear that the creature was dangerous, she couldn’t be absolutely sure what would happen if it were provoked or felt its life was threatened. The responsible thing to do would be to call the police and animal control.
“Stay here; I’ll be right back,” she said, as if her furry guest understood English. She hurried off to the bedroom and scooped up the cell phone she’d left on her nightstand. On her way back to the kitchen she heard slurping noises and found the not-a-cat drinking from the bowl of water she’d set down earlier for Frosty. She punched in 911, but ended the call before it connected. If the not-a-cat was actually an unknown species, getting the authorities involved meant getting the media involved, and that could prove disastrous. A disturbingly high percentage of her human brethren wouldn’t win any awards for the way they treated ordinary animals, let alone ones that had the potential to bring them fame or fortune.
She paced from the living room to the kitchen, back and forth, back and forth, trying to arrive at some decision. The not-a-cat lay down on the floor halfway out of the kitchen, where it kept an eye on her movements. It looked substantially less strange now that it was no longer standing upright or using its hands. Somewhere around lap fourteen, Jaye noticed that the animal’s eyelids were lowering as if it were too exhausted to cheat sleep a moment longer. She fought an urge to bend down and stroke its body to let it know it was safe. Baby steps, she told herself, baby steps until she knew more about this creature.
As she watched the not-a-cat surrender to sleep, Jay’s eyelids also became impossibly heavy. She’d had a long day on very little sleep, and the adrenalin that had fueled her through the past half hour was draining away. The love seats beckoned with the promise of soft cushions and delicious rest. If she lay down for five minutes—five minutes, tops—it might take the edge off her fatigue and allow her to make a sensible decision. She set the alarm on her phone to wake her. As she curled up on the love seat facing the not-a-cat, it occurred to her that she ought to have a weapon at hand just in case. But before she could talk herself into getting up to find one, she fell sound asleep.
***
Jaye bolted upright on the love seat. She’d awakened to find herself peering into the darkly luminous eyes of the not-a-cat, who was sitting less than a foot away. There was a moment’s panic before her foggy brain recalled all the night’s events. A quick nap never left her so disoriented; she must have slept longer than she’d intended. She looked at her watch. Unless the animal had been playing with it while she slept, three hours had passed. For confirmation, she reached for her phone, which was lying beside her on the couch. Three hours. Even the alarm had failed to rouse her.
One glance around the room made it clear that the not-a-cat hadn’t slept for as long as she had. Her handbag, which she always left on a small table in the entryway, was lying on the floor, its contents strewn around it. The photo album she kept on the coffee table was also on the floor, the pictures pulled from their sleeves and scattered everywhere. Her heart skipped a beat before she realized that they were all still intact. These weren’t just any photographs; they were the only ones she had of her family. There was also a trail of Cheerios, pretzels, and tortilla chips leading from the kitchen pantry into the living room. Someone had apparently gotten the munchies.
The not-a-cat started making a soft trilling noise, but Jaye had no idea what it was trying to tell her. Then it occurred to her that the animal might need to go outside to relieve itself, which reminded her of another issue she’d been too tired to pursue last night—namely, how the animal had gotten inside to begin with.
She grabbed her robe from the bedroom and pulled it on as she went downstairs to the shop with the not-a-cat shadowing her. From what Jaye had seen so far, although the animal could walk upright, it seemed to prefer padding around on all fours, especially when more than a few steps were required.
Jaye turned off the security alarm and opened the front door. Fortunately, the sun hadn’t yet risen, and there was no one about to see the animal as she let it outside. Only after it scampered off did it occur to Jaye that it might not come back. And she still didn’t have a photo of it. But what had her options been? She didn’t happen to keep a collar and leash lying around in case a dog wandered by one day and adopted her. Besides, if the not-a-cat was a wild animal, it might take exception to having a noose around its neck and its freedom abridged.
She stayed by the window, keeping watch for the animal’s return. After forty minutes passed without any sign of it, she finally talked herself into accepting that the not-a-cat had gone off in search of greener pastures or a better-stocked fridge. Given the slim pickings at her place, she could hardly blame it. In any case, it was probably for the best. She already worked a seven-day week and needed to spend all of her free time trying to figure out who killed Peggy. She didn’t have a spare minute for a conventional pet, much less for this strange creature. She
went back upstairs, trying to decide if she could fall back asleep for another hour or if she should just give up and make some strong coffee. She was leaning toward the sleep option until she walked into her bedroom. There, flattening itself to squeeze under the partially open window, was the not-a-cat. The animal must have climbed the fir tree at the side of the building and then jumped from the tree to the narrow ledge outside the window before wriggling its way inside. The space between the windowsill and the sash was four inches max, yet the animal didn’t appear to be having any trouble negotiating it. Talk about a unique set of joints!
Jaye knew she should probably be dismayed that the creature had returned. One less problem to worry about wouldn’t have been a bad thing. Yet there was no sense denying she was glad to see it again. In fact, she felt a bubbly bit of pride that the animal liked and trusted her well enough to come back. A few seconds later that pride was stomped to pieces by the cold, hard fact that she had absolutely no idea what to do with the creature. She needed help.
Chapter 8
Sierra made it from her house to the crystal shop in record time. Jaye, who’d thrown on slacks and a blouse, was waiting for her in the shop. She’d locked the upstairs windows and the door between the apartment and the stairway to keep the not-a-cat from disappearing before Sierra arrived. Her friend had enough on her mind without having to worry that Jaye was headed for an early retirement in a padded cell.
Sierra turned off the engine, jumped out of the car and flew across the parking lot, her curly hair billowing wildly around her.
“I called Daniel and asked him to come too,” she said as she swept inside and caught Jaye up in a hug. “He’s lived all his life around here, so I thought he might be able to help us figure out what kind of animal you found.”
“That found me.” The distinction was important to Jaye. She hadn’t brought more chaos into their already crazy lives; it had been thrust upon her. “Where’s Frosty?” She’d been worried about how he and the not-a-cat would hit it off.
“I dropped him at day care early, so I’ll be able to go straight to work from here.”
“Dee must have been thrilled.”
Sierra shrugged. “I told her it was an emergency and didn’t give her time to ask questions.”
“You’ll have to come up with some answers before you go back there tonight,” Jaye pointed out.
“Give me a sec—okay, I’ve got it. We thought you had appendicitis, but it turned out to be a bad case of gas.”
Jaye groaned. “What about something along the lines of a virus?”
Before Sierra could answer, another set of headlights swung into the parking lot, signaling Daniel’s arrival. Jaye was nearly bowled over by the realization that she had not one but two friends who would come running to her aid no matter why she needed them or at what ungodly hour. Having spent so much of her childhood with only transient friends, she hadn’t known such relationships could run as deep as blood.
Daniel burst through the door brandishing a baseball bat and looking wilder than Jaye had ever seen him. Much like Sierra, he appeared to have leapt out of bed and into his car without even taking the time to tie back his long hair.
“Where’s this beast?” Daniel demanded, scanning the interior of the shop.
Jaye started to laugh. “Sierra, what on earth did you tell him?”
“Just that some kind of weird animal got into your apartment.”
“I think she might have lured you here under false pretenses, Daniel. She left out the part about the animal not being dangerous.”
Daniel shook his head. “Wild animals are unpredictable.”
“I don’t know,” Jaye said, leading the way upstairs. “This one seems about as wild as Frosty.”
***
When they reached the top of the stairs, Daniel insisted on going in first, “just in case,” as he put it, and Jaye didn’t think it was worth arguing the point. He opened the door slowly, holding the bat as if he were at home plate ready to knock one into the bleachers. But no ferocious animal launched itself at him. There wasn’t even a small flurry of activity. From the doorway, the three of them had a good view of the living room and kitchen, but the not-a-cat was nowhere in sight. Once they’d stepped inside, Sierra spotted it first, curled up in a ball snoring peacefully on the love seat that faced away from them. As Daniel lowered his bat, Jaye swore she saw a look of disappointment cross his face.
“It’s cute,” Sierra whispered, as if she were in a hospital room trying not to disturb the patient.
“You don’t have to whisper,” Jaye told her, heading to the love seat. “My little boarder here needs to wake up so I can introduce you.”
The not-a-cat half opened its eyes in response to Jaye’s voice, but looked as if it planned on going right back to sleep if nothing was amiss. When it saw the other people with her, its eyes flashed wide open. Shaking off its drowsiness like a dog shaking rain from its coat, the not-a-cat jumped onto the floor, where it sat clearly waiting for the newcomers to make the next move.
Jaye sat down on the floor beside the animal to provide whatever comfort and support her presence could bring and to show Daniel that weapons weren’t necessary. That was enough for Sierra, who went right over and plunked herself down on the love seat the animal had just vacated, her eyes glued to the golden-furred creature. Daniel joined her on the couch with somewhat less enthusiasm, setting the bat on the floor so that the handle was leaning against his knee. His reluctance to let his guard down made Jaye wonder just how badly his other encounters with wildlife might have gone.
He studied the animal from this vantage point, the furrows in his brow digging in deeper by the second. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said shaking his head. “It looks like a crazy mutation of a cat and half a dozen other animals.”
“I think you should both stop calling her ‘it,’” Sierra said. “She has a pouch—you know, like a female kangaroo.”
“I know,” Jaye said, “but everything else about this animal is so weird. I mean, if male seahorses can gestate their young, who knows if the not-a-cat is male or female? I haven’t been brave enough to do a thorough exam.”
“What was that you called it—I mean, her?” Daniel asked.
Jaye laughed. “A not-a-cat—that’s what I’ve been calling her in my head. At first glance I thought she was a cat, but a second later I realized she wasn’t, so . . . not-a-cat.”
“That works,” he agreed, “at least until we can figure out exactly what she is.”
“I love it,” Sierra chimed in, “but I think she deserves to have a real name, not just a designation.”
Jaye knew she should have seen that coming. “I’m open to suggestions.”
Sierra leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, studying the animal.
“Did you do an Internet search to see if you could find any creature like her?” Daniel asked, clearly not interested in the naming game.
“I haven’t had a chance, but my laptop’s in the bedroom if you want to give it a shot.” Daniel was off to the bedroom before she finished the sentence.
“I’ve got it,” Sierra announced. “Since you’ve said she’s quite the little thief, how about Raffles, after the fictional British cat burglar?”
It took Jaye a second to refocus on names. “Clever.”
“Let’s see how our not-a-cat burglar likes it.” Sierra stood up and walked to the other end of the room. “Raffles,” she called, holding her arms out for encouragement. “Raffles.”
Intent on grooming the fur on her left front leg, the not-a-cat didn’t even look up. Sierra tried calling her again. No reaction. Sierra sighed when a third attempt failed to interest her. “She’s not buying it. We need to come up with a different name.”
“Give her a chance to get used to it,” Jaye said.
&nbs
p; While they were debating the issue, the not-a-cat made its way over to the door where Sierra had dropped her purse. After regarding it quietly for a minute, the animal grabbed the purse and took it into the corner, where she began rummaging through it. Sierra started laughing.
“Drop it!” Jaye said sternly, getting to her feet. “Raffles, drop it!” She turned to her friend. “And you stop laughing.” Neither of them paid her any attention. The not-a-cat kept pulling things out of the purse, and Sierra kept right on laughing.
“Raffles here has to learn some rules if she’s going to live around people,” Jaye protested, feeling like the mean parent who won’t let the kids have any fun.
The not-a-cat had found a hard candy in the depths of Sierra’s purse and was busy unwrapping it. She popped it into her mouth, but a moment later her face contorted in a comical grimace. She spat out the candy and raced off to the kitchen, where the women could hear her noisily lapping water out of the bowl Jaye had refilled for her. By then Sierra was doubled over with laughter. She collapsed onto the hardwood floor as if her legs had turned to rubber. “Root beer,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “I guess it’s an acquired taste.”
That was it. Between the not-a-cat’s reaction and Sierra’s words, Jaye also dissolved into a fit of laughter. Raffles didn’t seem to take exception to being the butt of their jokes. When she padded back into the room, she went straight to Sierra, reached into her pouch and withdrew a piece of bubble wrap, which she held out to her.