Cats of a Feather

by Patricia Fry

  “Listen, Pam,” Chris said. “I’d take that cat to a veterinarian and make sure she’s not being drugged.” When Pam started to protest, she said, “I realize you don’t know all that’s going on here. From what you’ve told us, your sister’s husband sounds at least a little misguided, perhaps. And if he’s drugging cats for some reason, well, something is wrong with him. Are the children okay?” Chris asked compassionately. “What?” Pam shouted. “Are you suggesting…?” Without warning, she began to sob.

  Savannah moved closer to her and said quietly, “I’m sorry. You must be under tremendous pressure here.”

  “It’s awful,” Pam said. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

  Savannah touched Pam’s arm. “Why don’t you take the children and the cat and convince him they should stay with you? Can you take them to your home in Oregon?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ve actually suggested it numerous times—coming up with different reasons why it would be good for all of us. He refuses. I’m a prisoner here. I can’t leave because of my sister, and she can’t leave because of the children. I honestly believe she feels safer where she is. It’s almost like a vacation for her—a vacation from the disruption he brings to this house.”

  “Is he hurting the children or the cats?” Savannah asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Pam said. “Not physically, anyway, but his punishment techniques border on torture. I’ve never had children, but that’s how it seems to me. I’d like nothing more than to rescue these kids from his clutches, and the cats too.” She took a ragged breath. “Last week he withheld food from Angel because she spilled her water. He also finds ways to punish the cats if they miss the litter box. My gosh, if you saw how small their cages are! They can hardly turn around in there without stepping in a bowl or the litter box. I don’t think their beds are adequate, either; they each have just a single layer of flannel spread over the wire mesh.”

  Savannah winced. “How many cats are there?”

  “Come on, I’ll show you,” she said. She stood up, then faced the two women. “I don’t know why I feel compelled to talk to you ladies.” She took a ragged breath. “I’ve been under so much pressure. I guess I felt a need to finally release some of it.” She started to say something else, but stopped herself; then motioned toward another room. “Come on. I’ve already opened a can of worms; we might as well let them crawl on out.”

  Savannah and Chris glanced at each other and Savannah rolled her eyes. They followed Pam through a spotless kitchen and into the attached garage, where they saw seven small cages on the workbench, on the clothes dryer, and on a pallet on the floor. Each had a large ragdoll cat inside, and as Pam had said, each cat had barely enough room to turn around.

  “How often do you let them out for exercise?” Savannah asked, looking more closely at the cats.

  “Every once in a while he brings one out to show someone, but there is no exercise routine. No.” Pam blew her nose and said, “When Jeannie’s here, she spends more time with them—brushing them, clipping their nails, just letting them be cats. Drew won’t let me handle them except on rare occasion. So no, they get fed, and I clean their litter boxes and make sure they have water. That’s it. He doesn’t even want me out here talking to them, but I do every chance I get.” She put her hand against Angel’s fur as the cat lay alongside the mesh in her cage. “I feel so sorry for them. This is no way to treat cats. Drew says that’s how breeders do it. The breeders he’s spoken with all keep their cats in pens.”

  “Yeah,” Savannah said, “maybe pens and maybe under certain circumstances, like when a dam is about to give birth, or to separate the males from the females, but not twenty-four-seven in tiny cubicles like these. Poor kitties.” She felt herself choke up. She looked around again and asked, “Where does he keep the queens and their kittens?”

  Pam waved her arm around the garage. “They stay in those cages.”

  “Oh, my gosh,” Savannah said. “That’s unacceptable.” She faced Chris. “I’d like to see about getting someone out here to take care of these cats until Jeannie comes home, then perhaps educate both of them on the needs and humane care of breeding cats.”

  Chris nodded. “Of any cat, really.” When she saw Pam’s shoulders heave, she put an arm around her to comfort her. “Pam, I really do think we should call animal services. This is just— well, it’s inhumane. Cruel. Those cats are suffering.”

  “Jeannie’s friend Marilyn may be able to help,” Savannah suggested. She moved closer to Pam. “I think you should leave, too. Take the children and get out of here.”

  “Drew would…”

  “What?” Savannah challenged. When Pam remained silent, she added, “I’m curious; has anyone ever stood up to your brother-in-law?”

  “Sure,” Pam said, her shoulders shaking, but he always manages to get his way. He squirms out from under any accusation and becomes more angry, vindictive, and mean. You just don’t know,” she wailed.

  Savannah comforted the woman and looked at Chris, trying to figure out what to do or what to say, when she noticed that Rags was no longer at her feet. “Rags!” she called. She looked around. “Where’d he go? I’m sorry, Pam, I thought he was right here with me. May I go look for him?”

  “Yes,” Pam said. “I’ll help you. He can’t have gone far.”

  After checking the living room and kitchen areas, Savannah asked, “Where’s the sick child?”

  Pam pointed into the hallway. “Do you think he went into his room?” She panicked and said, “Oh, no! Drew thinks Evan’s allergic to cats. He said that’s why he keeps the cats locked up like that.”

  “It seems like he’d find a new hobby if his child is allergic to them, rather than abuse the cats like that,” Chris huffed.

  Savannah nodded. She followed Pam into the child’s room and found the four-year-old sitting up on his bed with his arms around Rags. Rags lay across the boy’s lap quite contentedly.

  “Look, Aunt Pam,” the boy said, “I found a kitty.”

  “Or he found you,” Pam said. She sat down on the bed next to the boy and petted Rags. “He’s a nice cat, isn’t he? His name’s Rags. Rags,” she said, “this is Evan.”

  “Hi, Evan,” Savannah said, smiling. “Do you like cats?”

  The boy nodded. “A lot.”

  “What’s this?” Pam asked, when she saw something on the floor next to the boy’s bed. “Is this yours, Evan?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “The cat brought it.”

  “Oh dear,” Savannah said. “Sounds like he found some mischief. What is it, something important?”

  “It’s a baggie of powder,” Pam said. “It’s not labeled or anything. “I wonder where he got it and what it is.” She glanced at the boy. “I don’t think he would have found it in Evan’s room.”

  “Probably not,” Savannah said.

  Chris reached for the bag. “Let me see that.” She held the baggie up and examined it, then opened it and sniffed. “It looks suspicious. I’d like to take it to the lab and have it analyzed. Do you have another bag like this? Or an envelope will do.”

  “I don’t know,” Pam said, taking it back and holding it close. I’d better put it back—but I don’t know where the cat might have found it.”

  “All I want is a pinch of it. Your brother-in-law, if it’s his, will never miss it,” Chris said.

  “But what if it’s…”

  “If it’s what I think it is,” Chris said, “you do not want it around this child.”

  Once Pam had provided Chris with a small envelope, Savannah said, “Let me help you figure out where Rags got it. I pretty much know how he rolls.” She picked up the cat and asked, “Now, which rooms have open doors where Rags could get inside? I see that there’s one closed door.”

  “Yes, that’s Drew’s and Jeannie’s room.” She pointed. “That’s my room, and this is Drew’s study or trophy room or whatever you want to call it.”

  “This door was open
?” Savannah asked.

  “Yes, probably. Shall we go see if anything’s disturbed?” Pam suggested.

  Savannah said to the cat, “Rags, can you show us where you got this?”

  “Will he mind you?” Chris asked.

  “It happens occasionally,” Savannah said. She placed the cat on the floor and held onto his leash. “Did you find this in here, Rags?”

  Rags leaped up onto a desk and slipped a paw into a top drawer that was slightly open. He dug around for a few moments, then pulled something out.

  “It’s another baggie with a prescription bottle in it,” Pam said. She took it from Rags. “Looks like the same sort of powdery stuff that’s in that baggie.” She studied it more closely, then dropped her hand to her side and leaned on the desk for support.

  “What is it?” Savannah asked.

  Pam lowered herself to a chair. “You’re right,” she said almost inaudibly.

  “About what?” Chris asked.

  Pam looked up at the other women and said, “I sometimes see a powdery substance in Angel’s food bowl. I just figured it came from her food. I didn’t think anything of it. It was so minimal.” She handed the bag to Chris. “It’s a sedative, all right. He must be giving it to her. But why?” she demanded.

  “To keep her quiet, I guess,” Savannah said. “Otherwise she’d probably be causing a commotion.”

  “Oh my gosh,” Pam said. She rested her head in her hand for a few moments, then stood up. “Listen, you’d better go. I’ve said enough. Please, for the children’s sake, don’t say anything about what you’ve seen here.”

  Chris thinned her lips in contemplation. “Pam, I’m sorry.” She glanced at Savannah. “I, for one, have a real problem with what’s going on out there in that supposed cattery. The man is either evil and uncaring, or he just doesn’t know any better. Either way, he is abusing those cats. I have no recourse but to…”

  When Pam started to protest, Savannah spoke up. “I agree, Pam. I’m awfully sorry you’ve been caught in the crossfire, but we can’t stand by and watch those cats suffer. Please understand.”

  “I should never have let you in!” Pam shouted.

  “Or it might have been the best thing you could have done,” Savannah said quietly. “Best for everyone. Take care, Pam.” She handed her a card. “Please call me if you need help with anything. Anything at all, okay?”

  “Just leave,” Pam said nervously.

  Savannah picked up Rags and followed Chris out the door and to the car. “Are you going to call animal services?” she asked.

  Chris looked at her. “When’s our next interview?”

  “I’m still trying to get in touch with April’s family—you know, one of Rags’s ragdoll sisters. We have a meeting with Marilyn at the shelter in about an hour.” She shimmied excitedly. “Later today we have an appointment with Cathy, the gal who first adopted Rags and who gave him away when he was only six months old.”

  “Cool,” Chris said. “That ought to be an interesting interview.” She turned toward Savannah. “Why don’t you call Marilyn now and tell her what we found at the Gerard’s home? She can probably take care of the situation or tell us who to call.”

  Savannah considered Chris’s suggestion, then said, “Let’s think before we act on that, shall we?”

  “Think about what?” Chris asked, frowning.

  “I don’t know. Yes, I think we need to take action on behalf of those cats, but I don’t want to be too hasty in how we do it. Let’s get some lunch and let the horror of it settle a little. I think we should go ahead with our twelve thirty meeting with Marilyn. Let’s take care of that nasty business then. Okay?”

  Chris stared at Savannah for a moment, then said, “Okay, whatever you think.” Savannah rested her head on the steering wheel. “My heart just breaks for those poor cats.”

  “I know,” Chris said, rubbing Savannah’s back.

  Savannah took a deep breath. “Hey, let’s go get lunch, shall we?”

  ****

  Marilyn graciously showed Savannah, Chris, and Rags into the lounge at the shelter later that day. “He really is a healthy-looking boy,” she said once they were seated. “Look how shiny his fur is.” She put one hand down and attempted to lure Rags to her. Savannah slackened his leash. “Well, hi there,” Marilyn said when he approached her. She petted him. “Yes, you’re a handsome boy, and sweet.” She watched as Rags proceeded to explore the lounge from the end of his leash, then she asked, “So how’s the investigation going?”

  Savannah and Chris exchanged looks. “Interesting,” Savannah said. “We ran into Rags’s calico sister, Jazzie, quite unexpectedly last night.”

  “Yeah,” Chris said. “Rags found her.”

  Marilyn raised her eyebrows. “Really? How did that happen?”

  “Well,” Savannah said, “after we left you last night, I noticed that Rags had a claw growing into one of his pads and we took him to an emergency clinic where I used to work. Lo and behold his sister, Jazzie, was there for a follow up visit.”

  Marilyn looked surprised. “No kidding?”

  “Yeah,” Savannah said. “We visited with her in her home this morning and found out that she has some tendencies similar to Rags’s.”

  Chris grinned. “They ran off together this morning—the two cats, I mean.”

  “Ran off?” Marilyn repeated.

  Savannah nodded. “Yes, to Jazzie’s former owner’s house, so we got to talk with them, too.” Savannah rolled her eyes. “It’s been quite an interesting expedition so far.” She cringed. “Only…”

  “Only what?” Marilyn asked, concerned.

  Savannah glanced at Chris before saying, “Marilyn, we need your help. We believe that your friend Jeannie’s husband is either purposely or maybe unintentionally abusing or maybe just neglecting cats.”

  “What?” Marilyn questioned.

  “The cats are in these tiny cages, he punishes them if they spill water…” Chris said.

  “They get no exercise—never, except when Jeannie used to let Angel out behind his back,” Savannah added.

  Chris nodded. “And we’re pretty sure that at least Angel, and maybe the others, are being drugged—you know, sedated.”

  Savannah added, “Chris got a sample of a powdery substance Rags found in Mr. Gerard’s study, and Pam says she’s seen this residue in Angel’s food bowl.” She spoke even more quietly, “We both saw signs in the cat that she may have been drugged.”

  Marilyn blew air between her lips. “That’s just…” She slumped. “Gosh, I’m sorry to hear that, but it’s not totally unexpected.”

  “You knew about this?” Chris asked.

  Marilyn squirmed in her chair. “We’ve suspected he didn’t know what he was doing, but we haven’t had the opportunity to—or any real reason to—you know…” She grimaced. “I had hoped to wait and do an investigation after Jeannie got home.”

  “Well, we don’t think you should wait,” Savannah asserted. She glanced at Chris. “We think he should be reported, but I wanted to talk to you first, in case you follow a certain protocol. Do you work with animal services in situations like this?”

  “We sure do,” Marilyn said. “Did you get pictures?”

  Savannah shook her head, but Chris pulled her phone out of her pocket and said, “Yes.” She grinned at Savannah. “I snuck in a few.”

  “Good,” Savannah cheered.

  “Oh my gosh,” Marilyn said, looking at Chris’s pictures, “no wonder Jeannie doesn’t let me in this area when I visit. She always has an excuse, or she’ll bring a cat out for me to see. Pam actually let you in there?” Marilyn asked, surprised.

  “Yes,” Savannah said. “As much as she protested, I think there’s a part of her that knows this is wrong, and she wants to do what’s right for the cats and for the children.”

  “The children?” Marilyn repeated quietly.

  “According to Pam, he’s kind of rough on them too.”

  “And she’s wound
as tight as a top,” Chris added.

  “Yeah,” Savannah agreed. “I don’t know how much more she can take.”

  “Okay, from what you’ve told me, it sounds like we’d better take action sooner rather than later. I’d like to talk to Betsy and see what it will take to get the ball rolling. Can we get together on that other matter another time? I mean your cat-genealogy search.”

  “Absolutely,” Savannah said. “I’m so glad you’re going to help those poor cats. Bless you.”

  “Well, bless you,” Marilyn said. She stood and shoved her hands into her pockets, suddenly remembering something. “Oh, I have something for you. I dug this up from our files. I don’t know how helpful it will be, but it’s the name and address of the woman Jeannie and Drew got Angel from. She was a breeder of good standing in the ragdoll community. She ran a cattery here for a long time,” she lowered her voice, “until she went missing. I heard that her children took over the cattery after she disappeared. I assume they’re still running it.”

  “She disappeared?” Savannah asked, puzzled.

  “Yeah, didn’t I tell you about that?” Marilyn asked.

  “No.”

  “It wasn’t too long after Jeannie and Drew got Angel, actually. It really hit the ragdoll community hard. Dreama Gallagher was a sweet gal and well-respected.”

  “And she was never found?” Chris asked. “Do they suspect foul play, or what?”

  “They checked all the possibilities at the time and never could find a lead—all dead ends.” Marilyn glanced at her watch. “Hey, thanks for bringing this sad news to my attention, I want to take care of it as soon as possible—you know, get the ball rolling.”

  “Cool,” Savannah said. “Let us know what happens and whether we can do anything to help.”

  “Will do,” Marilyn said, waving.

  “Now what?” Chris asked, once they’d returned to the car.

  Savannah looked into the backseat at Rags. “What do you want to do, Ragsie?”

  He stood up in the car seat with his paws on the window looking out, and Chris laughed. “I think he wants to stay here at the shelter and play with the cats.”