by Patricia Fry
Cats of a Feather
by Patricia Fry
Cats of a Feather: A Klepto Cat Mystery
Book 41
Author: Patricia Fry
ISBN: 978-1-7332772-9-7
All rights reserved
© 2020 Matilija Press
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter One
“Hi, hon,” Savannah said into her phone. “Sorry I didn’t call earlier. It got kind of hectic around here.”
“Oh?” Michael said. “What’s going on? Did you gals find the missing piece to that genealogical puzzle?” He chuckled. “You’re chasing down Rags’s sire now, right?”
“I’m afraid we’ve found more than we expected.” Savannah petted Rags when he rubbed against her ankles. “Well, Rags found it. Oh Michael, it was awful!”
“What happened?” he asked.
She spoke more quietly. “Rags found a body today—it could be a real skeleton in his closet—and Chris and I are harboring fugitives here at Mom’s house in LA.”
“What?” he bellowed. “Savannah,” he warned.
“We’re okay. No one knows where we are, except for the police, of course. We’re safe.” She spoke more hesitantly, “At least I hope we are. We have children here, and Rags’s mother.”
“Children? Whose children?”
“Wait, Michael. I think I hear something,” she muttered.
Rags heard it too, and so did Chris, the scientist who had traveled to Los Angeles with them. As Rags crouched under Savannah’s chair, Chris entered the room and quickly switched off the kitchen light.
“Savannah! Savannah, what’s going on?” Michael asked.
“I’ve got to go. I’ll text you,” she said, promptly ending the call.
“Someone’s out there,” Chris hissed. She pointed at Rags. “And he knows it.”
Savannah reached for the cat, who was staring at the door to the attached garage and emitting a low growl. “Settle down, Rags. It’s okay,” she whispered. She looked at Chris. “Do you think it’s him? But how?”
“Who else?” Chris said. “Call the police.”
“Wait,” Savannah said. “Where are the others? We have to make sure they’re safe.”
“Call first,” Chris insisted.
Savannah prepared to make the call, all the while thinking back to the day she met cat-DNA expert Christine Tomlinson and the two of them had launched out on what was supposed to be an interesting and amusing journey. All I wanted was to gather information about Rags’s ancestral pawprint. I thought it would be fun to learn where his big personality came from. Is it genetic or is he a one-of-a-kind cat? She took a deep breath. This has sure turned into one wild and crazy ride. But then, that’s the way it is with most anything that involves Rags. And to think that it had all started so innocently on a whim.
****
It was a bright Sunday morning in May and the Iveys, along with Savannah’s mother, Gladys, were enjoying a pancake breakfast in their spacious farm kitchen. To Savannah’s chagrin, Gladys had made cat-shaped pancakes for the children.
“Look, Grammy,” four-year-old Lily said, “I ate a ear! A kitty ear.”
“I eat eye,” Teddy, who was two, said. “I eat foot. I eat tail.”
Savannah winced. “You sound like a couple of cannibals.”
Gladys smiled at the children, then asked, “Vannie, do you know if the cat alliance made their quota at the fundraiser yesterday? It seemed to be a successful event.”
Savannah nodded while she poured milk into the children’s sippy cups. “Yes. Last I heard, we raised over six thousand dollars for the cats in that awful hoarding situation.” She took her place at the table with the others. “I think the fundraiser was a success on many levels. Everyone seemed to have a good time. It was well organized. Our newly landscaped yard was great for the type of event we had. And it really wasn’t all that much work.” When Michael cleared his throat, she looked at him and noticed he was grinning at her, as was Gladys.
“Wasn’t much work?” he repeated.
Gladys asserted, “Who says?”
Savannah shrank back against her chair. “Oh, yeah, I wasn’t here for the set up or anything, was I?”
“No you weren’t,” Michael said. “You sashayed back into town just in time to enjoy the festivities.”
“I guess you’re right,” Savannah said sheepishly. “I’ll have to remember that trick.” She stroked Rags’s fur when he put his paws on her knee. “However, it wasn’t like I was enjoying a Caribbean cruise. I was on a harrowing mission to rescue my cat.”
“We know, hon,” Michael soothed. “It was a good event, and you were a gracious hostess. I’d say that everything went smoothly.”
Gladys chuckled. “Except for…”
Michael nodded. “Oh yes, except for…”
“What?” Savannah insisted. “What happened that I missed?”
“Well,” Gladys said, “I guess you were busy when Rags whooshed past someone and escaped into the yard.” She thought for a moment. “I believe it was Edie, who’d come in to get more juice for the kids’ punch. It didn’t take long to catch up to him, but…”
“Yeah,” Michael said, chuckling, “he’d left his mark by then.”
Savannah gazed at Rags, who sat on the floor staring up at her. “He looks so angelic.”
“Angelic?” Michael repeated.
“I’m surprised he even wanted to be outside with all those people,” Savannah said. “He’d had a rough few days with that awful catnapper.” She confirmed with her mother, “So he slipped past Edie?”
Gladys nodded. “And caused Pastor Sheila to spill punch on her dress.”
Savannah gasped. “Oh, no. How’d I miss that?”
“There’s more,” Michael said. “A little boy arrived with a cup of ice cream. I guess they’d stopped to eat before coming to see the cat circus. He’d evidently set his cup down for a minute while he tied his shoe or something when Rags saw it and…”
“He didn’t?” Savannah said, ruffling the fur on Rags’s head.
Michael nodded. “Oh yes he did, and that little boy was not happy. I think you’d taken someone out to meet the horses around that time, but I imagine you could hear the kid’s tantrum from the corrals.”
Gladys giggled. “And all the while, Michael and Max are trying to catch up with the cat.”
“Yeah,” Michael said, “if we hadn’t corralled him when we did, Sir Lancelot…”
“Sir Roscoe,” Savannah huffed. “It’s Sir Roscoe.”
“Well, he would have possibly lost a few of his circus cats. At least one of them saw Rags run past where Sir Roscoe was performing with them, and she leaped from her pedestal to follow him. Rags seemed to be heading toward the corrals, maybe looking for you, but Max and I were able to snag him, and that’s why he was closed in that upstairs bedroom.”
Savannah chuckled. “Yes, that’s becoming his safe space, where the world is safe from Rags and vice versa.” She shook her head. “I didn’t know about any of that. Thanks for taking care of it.” She looked at Michael, then Gladys. “You’re right. I had a lovely day visiting and getting nice compliments on our landscaping.”
Michael smiled at his wife. “So what do you have planned for today while I toil in the hot sun manhandling a herd of cattle?”
“Oh, that’s right,” Savannah remarked, “you and Bud have a ranch call. Why on a Sunday?”
“Why not?” he countered. When he could tell she was waiti
ng for an answer, he explained, “We like to keep the routine farm calls separate if we can—you know, before or after clinic hours or, for the more complex calls, on weekends.” He took a sip of coffee, then said, “Hey, are you really going to research Rags’s ancestry? I heard you discussing it with some of the gals yesterday. I must say it sounds like a daunting undertaking. Where would you even begin?”
Savannah’s face lit up. “I have a few ideas. I’ve already made some notes based on what I know, and who else might know something. I’ll call Christine, that scientist friend of Janice’s. She has evidently done this sort of research before. I guess she charges people to research a cat’s heritage, to prove pedigree, mostly. They can even trace any cat back to its beginnings and loosely determine its probable ancestry. But I’m pretty sure they use these techniques mainly for health reasons—to learn a cat’s potential for disease. Some diseases, as you know, are genetic.”
“Of course,” Michael said. “Some breeds are more prone to certain ailments, and DNA testing can help define genetic ties that would show a possible precursor to certain diseases in a cat, but I don’t think there are DNA banks set up to reunite cat families.” He cocked his head. “In fact, do they even store cat DNA data—you know, once they’ve done a test?”
“I don’t know,” Savannah said. She smiled. “Maybe my effort to find Rags’s siblings and the book I might write about this experience will cause that to happen sooner rather than later.” She added, “I sure hope Christine can walk me through the DNA maze so I don’t come up against a bunch of dead ends in my research.”
“I thought you said you know where to start,” Gladys said.
“Well, I do when it comes to Rags’s beginnings. I mean, I know where I got him and I have the names of the two people who owned him before I did, so I might be able to find out a lot just through those sources.”
“How did you get those names?” Gladys asked.
“Edgar, the pet-store manager where I found Rags, gave them to me in case I had any questions. I never did contact them.” She hesitated, then said, “Yeah, the DNA route will probably be only a small part of my search. I may use it just for verification of Rags’s siblings when and if I find them.” More excitedly she said, “I’d love to find his sire, but that might be a long shot. He was probably a cat about town.”
Michael stood up and slipped into his jacket. “Well, it sounds like you have enough leads to get you started. Good luck with that, hon. Will you start your research today?” Before she could respond, he said, “Oh, you have plans to do something with Brianna, right?”
“Yes, we’re going shopping at the mall, then we’ll take the kids to the park for a picnic.” She glanced at Gladys. “Mom may join us if Karl isn’t available.”
Michael looked at his mother-in-law. “Karl’s back home?” “Yes.” Gladys frowned. “He had to post bail, which seems ridiculous. He didn’t do anything,” she insisted, “most especially commit a hit-and-run, for heaven’s sake. He’s an honorable man, I tell you.”
Savannah and Michael glanced at each other, and he said, “I sure hope that’s their finding, Gladys.” He kissed Savannah and each of the children, then waved. “See you all this afternoon.”
Gladys sat solemnly for a moment, staring down at her tea cup, then said quietly, “I realize it must be hard for you and Michael and others to believe, but I just know this is a huge mistake. Karl’s daughter, Jilly, feels the same way I do. It has to be what he says it is, a case of mistaken identity. That’s the only explanation that makes any sense—any sense at all.” She bowed her head, her shoulders heaving as she wept. “I just feel so awful for him. I wish I could find some way to help.”
Savannah embraced her mother. “I’m sure the truth will come out, Mom. It will be okay. Like you said, Karl’s an honorable man.” Before she could continue, she noticed that their newly adopted calico had joined them. “Hi, sweet girl. Mom, look—Glori’s concerned about you.”
“Oh,” Gladys said, looking down at the cat. “Glori, you’re such a dear.” She invited the calico up onto her lap, then cupped her face in her hands. “You are just the sweetest little thing. Did you come to comfort me?” Gladys took a deep breath and glanced at the children, who sat silently watching their grandmother. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Grammy’s silly. I’m okay. Hey, let’s get ready for a fun day, shall we?”
Savannah petted Glori and asked, “So, Mom, you and Karl don’t have plans today?”Gladys shook her head. “Not until later this afternoon.” More cheerfully, she said to the children, “Let’s get ready to play, shall we? Vannie, what time are we meeting Bri?”
“She’s coming by around ten.” Savannah looked at the clock. “I should have time to call Christine.”
“The scientist?” Gladys asked. “Why don’t you do that now? I know you’ve been eager to talk with her. I’ll get the kids cleaned up. What do you want them to wear?”
Savannah considered the question, then waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, you decide.” As an afterthought, she said, “Let Lily help you. Lily likes to dress herself and everyone else,” she joked. “…Teddy, the cats…”
“I want to wear my purple skirt,” Lily asserted.
Gladys glanced at Savannah, who shrugged. “Purple skirt it is,” Gladys confirmed. “Come on kids, let’s get dressed for the day.”
After straightening the kitchen, Savannah placed the call. A woman answered and she said, “Hello, is this Christine Tomlinson?”
“Yes.”
“This is Savannah Ivey. I’m a friend of Janice Fischer’s.”
“Oh, hello. Janice said you’d be calling. It’s about cat DNA, right?” the woman asked.
“Yes.” Savannah chuckled. “I’ve taken on a rather unusual project and if it becomes as interesting as I think it will be, I want to follow up with a book.”
“On cat DNA?”
“One particular cat’s genealogical path back to his beginnings and beyond,” Savannah explained. When she heard no response, she said, “Christine?”
“Yeah, I’m here. By the way, let’s make it, Chris. Janice and I went to grammar school together, and she’s one of only a few who still uses my given name. I abandoned it in sixth grade. What about you? Do your friends use a shorter version of your name? Savannah is a mouthful.”
“Well, no,” Savannah admitted. “I pretty much go by Savannah. So Chris,” she said, “is it possible to identify a cat’s siblings and perhaps the sire through DNA testing?”
After a moment of silence, Chris said, “Well, we don’t exactly have a worldwide data bank of samples, per se.”
“I understand that,” Savannah said. “I’m just wondering if we can use genetic markers to prove or disprove a familial connection—you know, in a pair of cats, for example.”
“Sure,” Chris said. “How old is the cat in question? Is it a purebred? If it’s young and has papers, then it’s more likely that...”
“No, he turns eight years old this month, and he’s not registered.” Savannah chuckled. “Except maybe as a felon.”
“What? We’re still talking about a cat, right?” Chris confirmed.
Savannah laughed. “Yes, sorry about that. It’s just that he sort of has a reputation for getting into mischief. He’s pretty well-known, actually.”
“On the Internet?” Chris asked. “Is he one of those YouTube stars?”
“No,” Savannah said, “but he does star in a documentary and some children’s books. Oh, and he’s been written up in magazines and newspapers. I’m on a mission to find his littermates, hoping to discover where his big personality, as I call it, came from. As I said, if the research and the results are as interesting as I think they’ll be, I may write a book about it. I think it would fascinate his followers and probably thrill the law-enforcement people he works with.”
“He works in law enforcement?” Chris asked.
“Yes, most commonly with a particular detective.” Savannah hesitated. “So Janice didn�
�t tell you anything about Rags?”
“Not much,” Chris admitted. “She did say he’s unusual. Man, I can’t wait to meet him. So what kind of trouble does he get into? He must not be too bad of a dude if he works with a detective. Doing what, by the way? I mean, I can’t visualize how the police would use a cat in their work. What in the heck does he do, exactly?”
“How about if I send you a copy of his memoirs?” Savannah suggested. “That will give you an idea of Rags’s unique personality. It may also help you decide whether or not you want to work with us.”
“Hey, I’m in. You have me completely intrigued. Yes, I want to meet this guy and you, and I sure will consider working with you. I guess we can determine the capacity once we meet and talk more.”
“Sure,” Savannah said. “Christine—I mean, Chris—where do you live? I’m in Hammond, not too far from Janice.”
“I’m in the city,” Chris said, “just outside San Francisco, actually. Is your book available as an ebook?”
“Yes. It’s The Meowmoirs of a Klepto Cat. Are you thinking of uploading it to your reader?”
“Yes, that’s the fastest way to get it and I don’t like to waste time when it’s something I’m eager to pursue. This cat, I gotta know more about. And your last name is?” Chris asked.
“Ivey.”
“Let me read the book and I’ll call you. I may want to come up your way and meet you and the cat. You probably don’t travel with him, do you?” “Oh yes,” Savannah said, “whether I want to or not.” When Chris didn’t respond, she added, “You know, sometimes it’s my idea and sometimes it’s his.”
“Oh, that’s funny,” Chris said, laughing. “Hey, I’ll read the book and get back to you. What’s your schedule like this week? Are you available to meet?”
“Yes. Just let me know when. I’ll be contacting people who previously owned Rags. He was born in Los Angeles; that’s where I found him. So aside from the DNA aspect, I actually have leads that might reveal some of what I want to know. I’d like to plan a trip to LA and possibly meet Rags’s siblings and his mother. It would be super cool if I could find his sire, who was probably a feral wandering around the neighborhood, but who knows? His backstory may actually be more interesting than I anticipate.”