Cats of a Feather

by Patricia Fry

  “Sorry about that,” she said. “It was kind of a last-minute decision.”

  “No problem. So how are you and the old boy?” he asked.

  “Good,” she said. “Just got here this afternoon and already our mission is moving forward successfully.”

  “And your mission is?” he coaxed

  “Oh that’s right, I haven’t told you about it, have I? That, too, happened quickly, and I haven’t had time to do much of anything but focus on the project.”

  “Which is?” he prodded again.

  “I’m traveling with a feline-DNA expert and we’re on a mission to trace Rags’s heritage.”

  Rob was silent for a few moments, then asked, “For real?”

  “Yes. Don’t you think it’s an interesting concept?”

  “Well, you did mention the idea once, but I didn’t think you’d actually follow through—I mean, how do you trace something like that?” Rob asked. “Sounds impossible to me.”

  “Hey, where’s your pioneer spirit?” Savannah teased.

  He avoided her question, asking instead, “So, are you finding anything?”

  “A lot of things. I assume you’ve talked to Irene, your next-door neighbor.”

  “Yes, she told me she met you at the vet clinic.”

  “Uh-huh,” Savannah confirmed. “Well, did she tell you her cat is quite possibly Rags’s sister? Or she could be a half-sister, I guess, if they had different fathers. It appears that they were in the same litter. I’m almost positive they were. We’re going to do a swab on her to find out if she’s actually related to Rags. Isn’t that just the most uncanny thing, us running into Irene and Jazzie like that?”

  “Yes,” he mumbled. “Uncanny is one word. So is this specialist you mentioned for real, or is he one of Rochelle’s psychic friends who’s charging you a fortune to tell you your cat’s a cat?”

  “Oh, quit being cynical,” she said. “You sound like my husband.”

  “So he thinks this is some cockamamie scam too, does he?”

  “Rob, Chris is a scientist on staff at a university. She’s a friend of a friend and she’s well -quoted and well-published in the feline-DNA field. Also, I’ve been able to get in touch with several key players in Rags’s background. I have a list of people I’ll be interviewing while I’m here.” She took a breath. “Hey, I’m tired and need to get some rest, but maybe you and Cheryl would like to have breakfast with us early tomorrow before we meet with Irene and Jazzie.”

  “Sure, we can do that. Will you have Rags with you?” he said.

  “Yes, we’re taking him to Irene’s, so it would be best if we could meet someplace near where we’re staying so Rags won’t have to wait in the car.”

  “Just a minute, Savannah,” Rob said, leaving the phone. When he returned, he suggested, “How about bringing him here? Cheryl and I’ll fix breakfast for you gals and Rags can play with our cats. We have two now, you know.”

  “I heard,” Savannah said. “So where did the second one come from?”

  “Well, you met Miss Kitty, who’s now a little over a year old, and a few months ago we found a part-Maine coon that actually looks like a Maine coon. She’s six months old and a really nice cat. The two of them get along great. Hey, maybe they’re related, too.” He laughed at his comment, then said, “Savannah, I’m really enjoying being a cat dad—something that would never have happened if it wasn’t for having met Rags.”

  “Cool. I can’t wait to see Miss Kitty and meet your new fur kid. What’s her name?”

  “Gidget,” he said.

  “Oh,” Savannah said. “That’s what Cheryl wanted to name Miss Kitty.”

  “Yup.” He spoke more quietly, “I call her Gizmo.”

  “Why?” Savannah asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know, to mess with Cheryl, I guess.”

  Savannah shook her head. “So about seven thirty at your place? What can we bring?”

  “Nothing. We just went shopping. We’ll have bacon and eggs and bakery bran muffins, if that’s okay. We still have some of the orange marmalade you gave us last time we were in Hammond. Oh, and Cheryl just said we have fresh strawberries.”

  “Sounds great. See you in the morning.” Savannah chuckled. “Do you need a wakeup call?”

  “No. I’ll be up early cooking the bacon,” he said.

  “So we have a breakfast date?” Chris asked once Savannah had ended the call.

  “Yes, Rags’s agent and his girlfriend have invited us over for bacon and eggs. We’ll need to leave here around seven. Okay with you?”

  “Yes,” Chris said. “And Irene lives next door to him? I’ll bring my testing kit and we’ll see what we can find out about Jazzie’s genes. I have a connection here in LA—a lab where I can take the sample for analysis, so we should get a quick turnaround.”

  Savannah clapped her hands together. “Oh, this is all just so exciting. I hope I’ll be able to sleep.” She picked up her phone and said, “I’d better call Michael and check in.”

  “I thought you did that earlier,” Chris said, “before we stopped for pie.”

  “He wasn’t home yet. I just did FaceTime with the kids and Mom.”

  “They’re doing okay?” Chris asked, smiling.

  “Oh yes,” she said. “That’s one of the beauties of having a live-in grammy; there’s very little adjustment for the kids when one of us is gone. They were actually at my aunt’s house eating jigglers when I called.”

  “Jigglers?” Chris repeated.

  “You know, those Jell-o cutouts kids can eat with their hands. They love it when Auntie makes those for them.”

  Chris smiled. “Well, I’m going to get ready for bed. Sounds like we have another busy day ahead.”

  ****

  “What’s so funny?” Chris asked when Savannah returned from the bathroom in Irene’s home just after nine the following morning.

  Savannah announced, “There was a raccoon in the toilet. I fished it out. It’s drying off in the tub.”

  “What?” Chris squealed, wrapping her arms around herself. When she noticed that Irene was laughing and shaking her head, Chris said, “Oh, a toy, right?”

  “Yes,” Irene confirmed. “I forgot to put the lid down. Sometimes Jazzie gives her toys a bath. Or maybe she’s drowning them, I don’t know.”

  “So she’s a klepto too, huh?” Savannah asked. “That was going to be one of my questions.” She sat down and asked, “How bad is it?”

  “Bad?” Irene repeated. “It’s not bad. I think it’s cute, only I spend a lot of time stepping over her stuffed toys and picking them up when company’s coming. You notice there are no toys in sight today.” She ran her hand over Jazzie’s fur. “I hid her toy basket in the closet before you got here.”

  “Oh, please bring it out,” Savannah said. “I’d love to see her in action.”

  Irene shook her head as she walked away. “If you’re sure.” When she returned she placed a basket of cat toys on the fireplace hearth. “Savannah, you must be used to having Rags’s toys scattered all over the place.”

  “Not really,” Savannah said. “It’s mostly the kids’ toys.”

  Puzzled, Irene said, “But I thought you said he’s a klepto.”

  “Yes, but Rags doesn’t bother with his own basket of toys much. He takes other people’s things and the kids’ toys and hides them in an upstairs closet. I call it his stash. He has taught me to pick up after myself better. If I don’t, he might drag my bra around, or one of my t-shirts. He will take his toys to one of the other cats or the dog sometimes, I guess in case they want to play with them. When we used to live here in LA, he got out sometimes.” Savannah grinned. “That was before I figured out how to contain him. Well, he would come home with all sorts of things. Yeah, he’s the classic klepto. He actually steals things. Jazzie’s habit is more an attempt to please you, probably. Does she bring her toys to you?”

  “Oh yes, any time I’m sitting down paying bills, practicing the piano, talking on th
e phone, or reading, for example, here she comes with toy after toy.” Irene smiled. “She has a very different kind of meow when she’s about to deliver a toy.”

  “She loves you,” Chris said. “That’s so sweet. Did she do that when she lived with her former owners?”

  “I’m not sure,” Irene said. “I didn’t think to ask them, but I imagine she did.”

  Savannah pointed. “Oh, look. She just took something out of the basket. What is that—a giraffe?”

  “Yes.” Irene leaned down and petted Jazzie when she dropped the toy at her feet. “Good girl. Thank you for the nice giraffe.”

  “I swear she’s smiling,” Chris said. “She’s so pleased that you like her gift. Gosh, she’s just the cutest thing.” She faced Savannah. “Like Glori. Does Glori do that?”

  “Not yet.” Savannah explained to Irene, “Glori came from a hoarding situation in San Francisco, so it’s unlikely that she had the opportunity to learn this behavior, or to develop it if it was somehow ingrained in her DNA. She may have been one of the cats the hoarder kept in a pen. I don’t exactly know her situation, but I’m pretty sure this is the first time she’s had the freedom of a home and people who actually pay attention to her.”

  “Oh, those situations are so sad,” Irene said. “She’s one very lucky girl to have found you—or for you to have found her.”

  “Amen,” Chris said. She asked, “Savannah did you show her a picture?”

  “Yes.”

  “She sure does look like Jazzie,” Irene said. “So you think Rags remembers his calico sister?”

  “Who knows what cats know down deep,” Savannah said, “but I like to think he does.”

  “Irene, is it okay if I swab her?” Chris asked. “She’s kind of relaxed there.”

  “Sure,” Irene said. “How long will it take to get the results?”

  “Maybe later today or tomorrow. It depends on how busy the lab is, and how interested they are in our project.”

  The three women smiled watching Jazzie wash her face after Chris took the sample. The calico trotted off toward the kitchen, and Rags, who had been lying at Savannah’s feet, followed her.

  “Don’t run off too far, Ragsie,” Savannah called after him. “We’re going for another car ride in a minute.”

  Chris laughed. “Did you see that tail swish? He heard you and he probably understood what you said, but that tail swish was a dis, if I’ve ever seen one.”

  “Yeah,” Savannah said, “he can get snotty with me.” She turned to Irene. “We have your number. We’ll let you know as soon as we hear something.” She gazed out a window. “So Jazzie’s original owners live in the neighborhood here?”

  Irene nodded. “On the next street over, toward the end of the block. Jazzie had to walk quite a ways to find me.” She chuckled. “I wonder if she knocked on other doors before coming here. Don’t you just wish you could follow a cat when she’s out and about and find out what she sees and what she does when she’s alone?”

  “Yes, it might be entertaining and enlightening,” Savannah said.

  Chris interjected. “Or boring.” When Savannah stood up, Chris picked up her purse, preparing to leave. She looked around and asked, “So where’d the cats go?”

  “Oh, they’re probably getting a drink of water,” Irene said. “Jazzie’s a drinker.”

  “Really?” Savannah questioned. “Have you had her checked for diabetes or kidney disease?”

  Irene nodded. “Yes, she’s had the blood work done. She’s borderline on the kidney function, so we’re keeping an eye on her.”

  “Good,” Savannah said. She offered her hand and thanked Irene for her hospitality.

  Irene reached out and hugged her. “This has been so much fun. Thank you for bringing Rags over. I’m glad we ran into you last night. I still can’t believe the coincidence.”

  “That’s Rags’s middle name—coincidence,” Savannah said.

  “Really?” Irene asked, wide-eyed.

  “No, but it should be.” Savannah peered into the kitchen. “Where are those two? Rags, time to go. Rags!” She frowned. “Hmmm, I wonder where he went. And Jazzie—they were right here.”

  “They must be in one of the bedrooms,” Irene said.

  “Or they’re floating stuffed hedgehogs and squirrels in the toilet,” Chris said, laughing.

  “I put the lid down,” Savannah said.

  “Well, I can’t imagine where they went,” Irene said minutes later. “We’ve looked in every closet, under the bed...”

  “Did anyone open a door?” Savannah asked, sounding a little panicked. “What about a window? Could a determined cat push a window screen off? Rags is kind of an expert at that, you know.”

  “I don’t think so,” Irene said. “Let’s check.” When they returned to the kitchen, she said, “Oh, I unlocked the kitty door earlier. They’re probably in the garage. I keep Jazzie’s litter box out there.” She chuckled. “Maybe Rags needed to use the facility.” However, when Irene opened the door and stepped into the garage, she gasped. “Oh no, the gardener must have left the side door open. It will stand open if you don’t use force to close it. Oscar knows better,” she complained. “He must have had a new helper this morning. Darn it!”

  Savannah let out a deep sigh and ran to the door, opening it wider. She called, “Rags! Rags, come on! Let’s go. Jazzie! Here kitty-kitty.” The three women stepped out into the yard and looked around.

  “I’ll check out front,” Chris suggested.

  “I’ll go ask Cheryl and also Mr. Giddings on the other side if they’ve seen the rascals,” Irene said. “Poor Jazzie. I don’t think she knows her way around. She doesn’t go out—well, except for when she lived with the Bertles. She was allowed to roam then.”

  “Would she have gone back to their place?” Savannah asked.

  “After all this time?” Irene questioned.

  Savannah shrugged. “It’s something to consider.” She called out to the cats again, just as Irene’s cell phone rang.

  “Hello.” Irene glanced at Savannah wide-eyed and said, “Oh, Oh, this is a surprise. Cats? There are two of them, Jazzie and…” Irene paused to listen, then said, “Yes, Tracy, would you believe that big scary grey-and-white cat is a gentle being and he may actually be Jazzie’s brother? Yes, it’s true. We did a swab test today to find out—you know, DNA. Yeah, pretty off the wall, indeed. So you have them there? Would it be okay if I bring the big cat’s owner over to meet you? She has a few questions about when Jazzie lived with you. Oh good. Thank you. We’ll be right over.”

  “Jazzie went home?” Savannah asked, surprised.

  Irene nodded.

  “No kidding?” Chris said, rejoining them. She laughed. “So sister Jazzie wanted her brother to meet her original family. Now that will be an interesting story to tell in your book, Savannah.”

  Minutes later the three women joined a couple who were entertaining the two runaway cats on their spacious front porch.

  “Thank you so much for holding onto them,” Savannah said. “By the way, “I’m Savannah Ivey, Rags’s mom, and this is Chris Tomlinson, the scientist who’s helping me to locate and identify Rags’s siblings. I contacted you…”

  “Yes,” Tracy said. She motioned toward her husband. “Jim and I just returned from a business trip. I planned to call you this week, although I don’t have much to say, since Jazzie now lives with Irene.” She frowned down at the cats. “So you think these two are brother and sister? What makes you think so?” Before Savannah could answer, Tracy narrowed her eyes and said, “Wait, I think I remember this cat. He was a very tiny kitten then—smaller than Jazzie, actually—or maybe it just seemed that way because she was fluffier. Yeah, I guess that was quite a mixed litter—this calico, a fluffy Siamese-type kitten...” She pointed, “and him.”

  Savannah nodded. “Tracy, can you tell me where you got her?”

  “At that pet store in the mall—you know, on Avalon. Yes, I sure did see a cat like this there wit
h Jazzie. Gosh, he must weigh twice as much as she does now.”

  “What made you choose Jazzie?” Chris asked.

  “Her coloring. I’ve always liked the more colorful cats.”

  “Did you notice anything unusual about Jazzie’s habits, behavior, or demeanor when you had her?” Savannah asked. “You had her for what—four years?”

  Tracy glanced at her husband and he said, “Yes, three or four. She was a really nice kitten.” Jim asked, “Tracy, did you ever tell Irene about her sock fetish?”

  Tracy looked sheepishly at Irene and said, “I don’t think so.” She asked, “Does she still have it?”

  “Sock fetish?” Irene asked.

  Tracy said, “Yes, she used to pull socks out of the clothes hamper or out of our shoes, and she’d drag them through the house leaving them any old place. I had the hardest time finding the mates to everyone’s socks.”

  “Funny,” Irene said. “Well, she still has a klepto habit, but not with socks. However, I keep a lid on my hamper, and my sock drawer is pretty much always closed.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Actually, I believe I bought that hamper because of Jazzie’s tendency to drag laundry around—not just socks.” She laughed. “That’s also when I started buying her those little stuffed toys. Those are her focus now.”

  “So she’s had that behavior since she was quite small, then?” Savannah asked. “I mean, carrying things around in her mouth.” She asked Chris, “Is something like that an inherited behavior?”

  “That’s a good question. Certainly there are behaviors that sort of run in breeds. For example, the Abyssinian is supposed to be one of the most intelligent breeds. They love being higher than everyone and everything else. They’re climbers. The British shorthair tends to be less likely than most cats to seek human contact. The most active breeds are thought to be the Bengal, Cornish Rex, and Korat. The ragdoll is among the least active.” Chris looked at Savannah. “That doesn’t seem to be true with Rags.”

  “Well, I can’t say that he has a lot of energy, really,” Savannah said. “He’s just super curious and he seems to have more endurance than many cats.” After thinking about it, she said, “Maybe that’s because he is so curious, and when he gets focused on something, he’s unstoppable.”