Fear on Four Paws

by Clea Simon

  “Hey, Frank,” I slid into my seat and started the engine. No sense in risking funny looks from the old harridan’s neighbors either. “I’m sorry to have left you so long.”

  Despite the shade and my precaution of leaving the windows ajar, the inside of the car was steamy. Automobiles are sweat boxes, and can be lethal for animals, and I knew I’d been breaking most of my own rules by leaving him here. When he didn’t respond right away, I felt a clutch of fear. “Frank?” I craned around in my seat. “Are you okay?”

  A moment later, I had thrown the emergency brake and was on my knees, peering under the seats and dashboard. Only after I’d checked the glove compartment and then the trunk not once but twice did I collapse against the side of my car and admit the truth. The ferret was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “Frank!” I kept my voice low, hoping that the urgency of my plea would serve to amplify it as I walked around the car. “Where are you?”

  This had never happened—not to me. I’d never lost an animal in my care. I’d certainly never lost one whom I had a relationship with—whom I thought of as a friend. With everything that had been going on recently, I had to consider the possibility of foul play. Would someone have stolen the ferret? Or could a non-human predator have grabbed the agile little beast?

  No, both were unlikely—at least as long as Frank had remained in my car. Frank was a sociable little fellow, but he’d be quite capable of biting anyone who reached for him when he didn’t want to be picked up. And although ferrets are small, as predators go, and would certainly be at risk out in the wild, I couldn’t imagine a coyote or bobcat poking through the gap in the window to claw the poor fellow out.

  The gap in the window. That was the only other option: Frank had taken off on his own. I’d known he was upset, and that he’d felt that I had failed him somehow. Now, despite all our projection, animals aren’t vengeful—they don’t hold grudges. So I didn’t think he’d taken off to scare me or to punish me somehow. No, he’d left for a reason. Frank was going to do whatever it was he’d thought I should have done. But short of breaking Albert out of jail, I wasn’t sure what exactly that was.

  I also realized I had to leave. Up the road, I could see Tracy Horlick, now in what looked like a velour track suit, fumbling with the keys to her own car. I couldn’t see explaining to her why I was leaning against my own ride with a dumbfounded expression on my face. I certainly didn’t want her speculating on her own. And so, with a last muted plea—“please, Frank, let me know where you are!”—I drove slowly around the corner and waited until she passed by before parking, once more to think.

  Specifically, to think like a ferret. Yes, I know, I can “hear” what animals are saying. But too often, as Wallis is quick to remind me, I put my own cast on their thoughts—interpreting them in terms of my own desires or fears. Clearly, I had been doing this as I drove to my morning appointment. Frank had been agitated, and I’d assumed he was worried about Albert—and infuriated that I wasn’t doing enough.

  In truth, that may have been my sense of guilt—some vestigial feeling of community or social obligation—pasted on top of what the ferret was really trying to let me know. In fact, the more I thought about it, the likelier it seemed he’d given up on me. Why else would he have gotten so upset? I know animals well enough to be pretty sure I’d gotten that right, and why else would he have run off, while I was working?

  Unless his disappearance had nothing to do with me. I took a deep breath and made myself consider that once again I was wrong. Maybe Frank had gotten bored or felt caged. Maybe he had spied a fledgling fluttering about and thought he could snag a quick meal. Maybe a female had passed upwind. Frank might have been neutered, but the urge never really goes away. Or maybe the lithe creature didn’t care or understand that I expected him to wait for me, seeing the open car window as an invitation to adventure.

  “Frank, where are you?” The one thing I could count on was the little animal’s instincts for self-preservation. Surely, he would have enough sense not to, well, hare off into the wild. Wouldn’t he?

  I was trapped by my own indecision. Part of me wanted to remain in place, certain that Frank would come back eventually and expect to find me there. Part of me wanted to run into the woods. For surely that was where he would be in the most danger—and thus in the greatest need of any intervention I could provide. What I didn’t consider was going on about my day. Not with Frank missing.

  Which was why, the first time Susan Felicidad called, I let it go to voice mail. Yes, I’d arranged to work with her cat today, but I was in no mood for training an already quite self-reliant feline, no matter how much fun it might be. The second time she called, I did the same, although this time I started formulating excuses. Telling a potential client that I’d lost someone’s beloved pet was not going to cut it. Not that I had any better idea of what to do, besides waiting here and wondering what had gone wrong.

  Then it hit me. As my phone pinged through the sequence of numbers, calling the cat’s equally self-possessed person back, I worked on my spiel. Felines have an excellent sense of smell. In fact, it was likely Bunbury’s nose that had gotten him in trouble in the first place, luring him off with the promise of adventure, if not game. And tracking was a team effort—one that required coordination between human and animal. Discipline, too, because the tracking animal had to remain aware of his person and not run off, no matter how tempting the scent might be. The spotted cat and I had already developed an understanding, and now I saw how I could put it to work. I would tell Bunbury’s person that I was going to take her cat for a walk—and then utilize the feline’s sensitive nose to trace Frank.

  It was perfect. Even neutered, Frank had a bit more scent than your average house cat, and so following him wouldn’t be that much of a challenge. Besides, although Bunbury would be able to track Frank, the ferret wouldn’t necessarily see him as a threat—nor, what might be just as important, my working with him as a betrayal. And the cat would get some training and a bit of exercise as well. All I needed to do was convince the human involved to let me drive off with her pet.

  “Mrs. Felicidad?” I was so eager, I was nearly panting. And while my human clients might not be as sensitive as their animal companions, I knew I needed to tamp my excitement down lest I alarm her. “I’m sorry I missed your call. But I’m on my way over now. In fact, I have an idea.”

  “Oh, well, actually—” She paused, and my heart sank. If I didn’t have access to her cat, I wasn’t sure what I would do. Break into Tracy Horlick’s house and recruit Growler?

  “I’m hoping today still works to continue our training,” I cut in before she could go much further. “In fact, I’ve set something up that I think will be wonderful—and that Spot will enjoy immensely.” I was selling it hard and had to work to keep my voice level. “Do you realize that felines have an excellent sense of smell?”

  “Why, yes, dear.” She chuckled, but there was something a little off about her laughter. She was nervous, or tense. I’d pushed too hard.

  “I’m sorry.” A large part of what I do is listening to the humans who pay me. That’s more difficult than communing with their animals. With a sinking feeling, I asked the obvious question. “Would you like to tell me what’s up?”

  Please don’t cancel, I was thinking. Please don’t even ask if you can reschedule. Not today. But even as I pleaded with any benevolent deities out there, I could picture Wallis. Cats don’t roll their eyes. They don’t have to. The dead stare she’d give me if she heard me like this would carry enough scorn to freeze a kitten in its tracks.

  “Well, it’s kind of funny that you should be talking about Spot’s hunting abilities.” Strain and worry, too, tightened her voice as she spoke, but also—was it?—a note of pride? “In fact, I was calling to see if you could come over a bit earlier today. Dear Spot seems to have cornered an animal of some sort. Right now, they’re faci
ng each other. I thought I’d simply grab him, but he growled at me, and I’m not sure what to do.”

  That was it. My dilemma resolved. I was worried about Frank. Terrified that he might have gotten himself into trouble. But all I knew for sure was that he was gone. Bunbury—Spot, as she called him—was facing a real threat. Although the dark-haired widow couldn’t describe exactly what her cat was facing, the brief description of the feline’s behavior—“he’s growling, you see, and his whole body is all tensed up”—suggested a predator of some sort. A threat, at least in the cat’s mind, to his person and to his home. And while Bunbury could probably hold a few smaller predators at bay—a fox, perhaps, and maybe a fisher—he was not going to keep anything else back for long. I needed to get over there and fast.

  I was grateful, for once, for the location of the new development. It might not have made sense to put these luxury homes right around the stone outcropping from old Beauville, but it did get me there fast, even though I—unlike the noisy crow who greeted my arrival—had to get back on the county road and off at the new exit, rather than climb directly up the hillside.

  “Mrs. Felicidad,” I called to her as I jumped out of my car, the engine hot and ticking. “Where is he?”

  “There.” She pointed, her hands shaking slightly. “We were out gardening, and he was being so good. I wasn’t using the leash.” She looked at me, as if expecting disapprobation, but I nodded, willing her to go on. “Then he started growling and his fur stood on end—and he dashed off. I called, like you said. And when I went to see...”

  I cut her off, not wanting to waste anymore time. “Please, wait here.” If there was carnage, I would deal with it. What a bobcat or coyote could do to a cat was not anything that his person needed to see. Instead, I followed her gaze toward the hedge where the feline had challenged the husky, only the day before. At that memory, hope flared briefly—but, no. Susan Felicidad had seen some kind of wild animal in there. Not the big dog.

  “Bunbury?” My voice, level and deep, would alert him of my presence. I reached out, hoping to pick up a sense that the cat was alive and well. “What do we have here?”

  “Danger! Danger! Danger!” I didn’t need any special sensitivity to pick that up. The cat was overexcited to the point of spitting.

  “What is under there?” I approached slowly. I didn’t have any tools—no net, no leather gloves—a lapse I was kicking myself for now. “Hello?”

  As I’ve noted, I’m no good with wild animals. Their minds may not be that different from their domestic peers, but they haven’t spent generations learning to read us. Still, I tried to reach out—to take in whatever was out there, as the spotted feline must have. And what I got was fear and confusion. That was normal for a forest creature, coming face to face with a yapping domestic dog. And also—could it be embarrassment?

  “Frank?” I sat down on the lawn, hard. “Is that you?”

  “You didn’t—you didn’t understand.” Yes, although I could barely see his masked face beneath the hedge, I could now clearly hear him. “I had to go!”

  “Yes, I gather you did.” Relief washed over me, draining me of whatever energy I had left. But a quick glance back at Mrs. Felicidad reminded me that simply introducing these two small creatures would not suffice. “Bunbury? You need to calm down.”

  “Danger!” He was trembling, he was so tense.

  “Yes, I know.” I reached out gingerly, all the while aware that if I was bit, it would be my fault. “Good boy. Good.”

  “Suspect?”

  “Of course you did, but everything is safe here now, Bunbury.” I was speaking softly, using low and calming tones. My voice, as much as my words, were pitched to comfort him. “There is no danger now. No threat.”

  A squeak from under the hedge. Frank was standing, his body arched in alarm. “But there is!”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “Frank, stop it!” I was practically hissing. Wallis would have been proud, but the ferret only stared. “This is nonsense. Bunbury is a friend!”

  At this, the cat—who had stopped hissing when I sat down beside him—turned to look at me. Considering me in a new light, he titled his head at a quizzical angle.

  “You know this…this…?”

  “Ferret.” I provided the word. “Frank, Bunbury. Bunbury, Frank.” It wasn’t the most gracious introduction I’d ever made. Then again, by that point, I was on my knees in the dirt, leaning under the hedge to better intercede with the agitated mustelid and painfully aware of the worried woman behind me. “Now, will you two cut it out?”

  The cat gave a soft, final whine, and the ferret settled, resting his long body on the ground as he waited for my next move. “Hang on.” I was still speaking softly, but forcefully. This was a command, not a request.

  “Everything’s fine.” I turned and called over my shoulder. “In fact, Spot has done us a favor.”

  “Are you sure?” The woman took a step forward.

  “Of course.” I snapped back. I couldn’t help it. I needed to settle this before the other human on the scene got too close. “Now, Bunbury, chill, okay? And, Frank, come here.”

  He stared at me—they both did—but I wasn’t taking no for an answer. I needed to be able to explain the feline’s behavior to his person, and I sure wasn’t letting the ferret out of my sight again. “Now!”

  With a whine of annoyance that Wallis would surely have recognized, the slinky mustelid came out from under the bush. Making a wide circle around the still-bristling cat, he came toward my hand and climbed my arm to the shoulder. “You didn’t listen...” His chittering right by my ear made the cat’s ears twitch.

  “Later,” I whispered, as I stood and turned to the waiting woman. “Spot is a hero,” I said. Keeping one hand on the ferret, I walked toward her—only to see her stumble backward.

  “What is that?”

  “Not what, who.” I kept my tone jovial and light, all the while silently asking Frank to just bear with me. “This is Frank. He’s a masked ferret—and a friend.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Bunbury. His round face stared up at us, full of pride and excitement. He understood praise, in any language, and as his fur settled, he had begun to purr.

  “Frank got out.” I left the details vague. “But he’s as much a house pet as, well, Spot here.” The ferret on my shoulder began to whine, and I clamped my hand down further. I knew what I was saying was insulting and that he was bothered. “Please,” I tried to direct my thoughts, “let me deal with this situation first.”

  The woman before me didn’t appear convinced.

  “You can imagine how relieved his person will be.” If he knew that Frank was missing, I supplied the missing words silently. “After all, think of how you felt when Spot got lost.”

  “Yes, I—I guess so.” A smile and the hint of a laugh. We were over the hill. “And I guess I should give Spot a little reward for all his good work.”

  “That’s never a bad idea,” I said. It isn’t. Positive reinforcement not only works better in training, it tightens the bond between a human and her animal. I was preparing to expound on this—along the same lines, it helps when clients understand my training philosophy. You could say that by bringing them in, I give them a little treat too. Only as I did, I felt Frank begin to get restless. Tiny claws were itching to climb over me and down...

  “But I think we’d better reschedule our session.” Fishing my keys out of my pocket with my free hand, I nodded toward the ferret on my shoulder. “I should give Frank a ride home first.”

  “Of course.” Susan Felicidad appeared relieved. I know that Frank is a well socialized and thoughtful companion. To her, I feared, he resembled a weasel a bit too much for comfort. “Maybe tomorrow?”

  “That would be great.” I needed to get out of there. The ferret was fussing, a low, anxious whine right by my ear. “No,
not done, not done...” I clamped down tighter as I reached my GTO, angled up toward the neat lawn in my haste. Well, all’s well, I turned once more to say my farewells.

  “See you tomorrow, Spot,” I called, wanting to leave an impression with the cat as well as his mistress. He had begun to knead the ground in joy. “Treats!”

  “Mrs. Felicidad?” I stood, the question popping into my head. “If I may, did you post a reward when Spot went missing?”

  “No.” She shook her head, the smile growing broader. “There wasn’t time. Though I might have.”

  I turned back to my car. It had been a random thought, the result of too much input and too little time to digest it all.

  “But I did give a little something to the young man who found her.” A confession, touched with embarrassment. City people, not knowing the rules. “It seemed only right. Don’t you think?”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  “You are going to tell me what’s going on.” I wasn’t taking any chances. I had the windows rolled up as I drove, never mind that the vent air only amplified the musty aroma of ferret and scared human. “What all that was about.”

  “Don’t you see? Don’t you see?” The ferret was still agitated. Although he remained in the front seat, he was pacing back and forth, reaching up to stare out the window as I drove. “There’s a threat! Danger!”

  “There’s danger out there, all right.” I had smiled and reassured the woman that, indeed, her generosity had been justified. After all, it was quite possible that my suspicions were more a result of my own dark psyche than of anything nefarious going on. That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to follow up. “But I don’t think it involves you.”