Meowmoirs of a Klepto Cat

by Patricia Fry

  Rags and I’d been together for about two months when he dropped the next bombshell.

  Chapter 3 – He’s Large and In Charge

  I knew he was still stealing from neighbors, but I didn’t realize to what degree. I thought I was keeping up with his occasional takes and I did my best to reunite the items with the owners as soon as I discovered them. I’d pretty much adjusted to Rags’s almost overpowering purr sonality by then. At least I knew what to expect—or did I?

  I was certain that he wasn’t carousing like he did at first. Oh, I still found a toy, flip-flop, or baseball cap around my apartment now and then, but the thievery seemed to have slowed. For that I was thankful. Maybe Rags would settle down and decide to stay home and out of trouble. But my wishful thinking was short-lived.

  One evening when Gwen visited, I wanted to show her an adorable little jogging purse my Aunt Maggie had sent me. It had a picture of a cat on it that looked just like Rags. When I went to my bedroom to get the purse, it wasn’t where I thought I’d left it on my dresser. I looked in the drawers in case it had fallen inside. I searched on, in, around, and under both dressers; under the bed; in the bathroom. Where was that little purse? When I couldn’t find it in any of the obvious places, I wondered if I was losing my mind.

  Soon tiring of my accelerating anxiety, Gwen suggested we just forget about it. She said I could show it to her another time. But I was frantically determined by then to find it and I began tearing into every cupboard and closet in the place. Gwen reluctantly joined in the search. Once we’d exhausted possibilities in the other rooms, we decided to look in the kitchen.

  “Maybe you accidentally dropped it into your trash can,” she suggested. “Or you absentmindedly stuck it in the breadbox.” She admitted that once she had found her new lipstick tube in a bag of tangerines. While that helped me feel a little less stupid, we still couldn’t find the little purse. Yes, we looked in my fruit bowl. And Gwen sneaked a peek in my refrigerator.

  When she headed for the cabinet at the far left of the kitchen counter, I said, “Don’t bother. I never open that cupboard. That’s where I store the large appliances I rarely use—you know, things my mother thought I needed—her old rice cooker, mixer, food processor.” I was in the middle of explaining this when Gwen let out a yelp. She’d ignored what I’d been telling her and opened the cupboard anyway. Now she was on her knees, leaning back on her heels and grinning up at me.

  “What?” I insisted, sure that she’d found a mouse or a package of moldy tortillas, perhaps.

  “Maybe you don’t use this cupboard,” she said, laughing her head off, “but someone sure does.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I moved closer and there I saw it. She’d removed the rice cooker and the large mixing bowls to reveal a pile of clothes and other items, including, right on top of the heap, the purse Auntie had sent me. Needless to say, I was stunned. I’d had a glass and a half of wine by then and began seriously questioning my sobriety and maybe my sanity. “Did I put that stuff there without realizing it?” I asked. I grabbed Gwen’s arm and pleaded, “Am I blacking out and doing strange things without knowing it?”

  Gwen laughed at me, which didn’t help. She then began pulling things from the cupboard. She held up a man’s polo shirt and a large knitted beanie. “This doesn’t look like your stuff, Savannah, unless you’re into hoarding men’s clothes these days.”

  Stunned, I examined some of the items and that’s when it dawned on me. I looked across the room at Rags. I swear I saw guilt written all over his furry face. Or maybe it was a sneer.

  Gwen shook her head and said, “I want to see what else is in here. Rags, what else have you been stealing?” Suddenly, she pulled back and screeched, “Ewww! What’s that?”

  When I saw what she was staring at, I moved closer. “Ohhh,” I wailed, “it’s Bubbles’s little carcass.”

  Gwen frowned. “Your goldfish? How did he get in here?”

  I looked at Rags and told Gwen, “It’s a long and sad story. But I guess I owe Rags an apology. I accused him of cannibalism—you know, eating his sibling. It appears that he only wanted to play with Bubbles. Poor little fish.”

  Yes, we’d discovered Rags’s first known stash and that’s when I realized that he was still sneaking out much more often than I had imagined. How would I handle this situation? Sure, our closest neighbors already knew about Rags, and most of them kind of got a kick out of his crazy habit. But seeing this large stockpile of other people’s belongings really threw me for a loop. I wasn’t sure how I would handle it, so I focused on the here and now. “How did he get into this cupboard?” I asked, not expecting an answer. I got one, anyway.

  Gwen said, “Well, easily, actually. You just push against the door and it opens. Any smart cat could figure that out.” She laughed. “What I don’t get is why he closes it afterward.” She looked at me for validation. “I mean, he must close it or you would have noticed this stuff before, right?”

  I nodded, then explained, “Oh, that’s simple.” I picked up one of Rags’s balls and placed it in the middle of the kitchen floor. We watched as it rolled slowly toward the counter. “The floor’s on a slant, so it closes on its own.” But that didn’t make me feel any better. I wondered how I would face my neighbors. How would I get all this stuff back to the right people? I remember looking at the cat that night and wondering if his virtues were really as appealing as I’d first thought, and if his life of crime was actually something I could live with.

  By then, I had the sneaking suspicion that Rags was grabbing not only what he could find outside the neighboring apartments, but inside them as well. Not everyone in California uses air conditioning. And not everyone has secure window screens. Some of the things we found in Rags’s stash that evening were items that probably would not be left outside; for example, a piece of costume jewelry, a makeup brush, a set of keys on a leather strap, and, heaven forbid, even money.

  Now I don’t know if there’s actually a distinction, but in my mind there was. I figured that what people leave outside is pretty much fair game. If Rags or another klepto cat didn’t find it, surely a dog, raccoon, squirrel, or even a person might. But going inside someone’s home—that, as far as I was concerned, took this to another level. That’s when I realized that Rags had become a true cat burglar. What in the world was I going to do?

  First I had to deal with his booty—the loot he’d accumulated in the kitchen cupboard. I decided it was time to make Rags own up to his thievery. Oh, we’d made the rounds several times with a basket full of the relatively few items I’d found in my apartment. But this latest discovery would take more time, more strategy, more courage, and a larger basket.

  I would try to find the owners of the items, and Rags was going to accompany me. I sure didn’t want to take the blame. But would those who didn’t already know Rags believe that an ordinary cat would sneak into people’s yards, onto their decks and patios, even into their homes and get away with their belongings? Why would he do it? And how could he carry a man’s shirt half a block all by himself?

  The neighbors we’d met by then were familiar with Rags’s habit, but now I’d probably be facing new people. I’d have to try explaining the behavior of this cat all over again—behavior that I still found hard to comprehend. Yeah, I might be setting myself up for blame—or at least ridicule—for attributing the pilfering to a cat. But I had to try to return the stuff. It was the right thing to do.

  That weekend, using a wagon I’d borrowed from the cat shelter, Rags and I made the rounds. My first challenge was to figure out where to start. Since I didn’t know many people around there, it made sense to begin by approaching the people I did know. So I knocked on Terry’s door; he was Rags’s first victim, after all.

  Bingo. The large-size shirt was his and he was pretty sure the granny glasses belonged to his mother-in-law, who was visiting. I left them with him and moved on. When I saw a yard sale going on across the way, I walked over there w
ith Rags riding in the wagon. Before I could say anything, a woman approached me, stared hard at the wagon full of stuff, and demanded to know, “Where did you get that?”

  “Um…what?” I asked, looking down at the wagonload. “Do you see something here that belongs to you?”

  “Yes,” she assured me in less-than-pleasant terms, “and I demand to know where you got it.”

  Gosh, here I was in one of those situations I’d feared most. I believed I was being accused of burglary. Now what? I looked down at Rags, who obviously wasn’t going to be any help at all, took a deep breath, and said, “Well, I think my cat…”

  “Your cat?” she repeated, and not in a very nice way.

  “Yes,” I said. “You see, he’s a klepto. He has evidently been running around the neighborhood taking things and he brings them…”

  Before I could finish, the woman grabbed a child’s bathing suit from the heap. “Well, that’s a likely story,” she carped. She stared me in the eyes and spat, “I don’t know who you are or what’s wrong with you, but I warn you, stay out of my yard.”

  Just when I thought I would faint of embarrassment, I heard a man’s voice behind me. “Oh, come on, Staci, she didn’t take Annie’s bathing suit. It was her cat. He really is a klepto.”

  Thank heavens, it was Terry. He leaned over and petted Rags, who was by then rubbing against his legs.

  “What are you talking about?” the woman insisted.

  “What she’s trying to tell you is true. The cat gets out and he takes things. She found all of this stuff in her apartment and she’s just trying to return it. Better look it over and see if there’s anything else of yours.”

  Staci frowned at me skeptically and began picking through the items again. Suddenly, she yelped, “Good God, here’s my charm bracelet!”

  “Thank heavens,” I said with a sigh. “I sure hoped I’d find who that belonged to.”

  Staci continued to scrutinize me. Gads, that was uncomfortable.

  Thankfully, another woman came to my rescue. She stepped closer, a cordial smile on her face. “Let me see that stuff. Did he bring home a pair of manicure scissors? I seem to have misplaced mine.”

  I shook my head. “I sure hope he doesn’t try to carry something like that. He could get hurt.”

  “Well, it’s a wonder he didn’t get hurt when he took this from Clementine,” another woman said, pulling a rubber toy from the wagon.

  I asked, “Clementine?”

  She explained, “Our rottweiler.” She looked at Rags and shook her head. “Clementine hates cats.”

  “Did you hear that?” I said to Rags. “Stay out of these people’s yards.” Of course, he simply looked up at me and meowed, as if I’d told him what a handsome boy he is.

  Whew! I was glad when that day was over. We’d returned most of the items and we’d made a few friends—well, acquaintances. But this wasn’t the end of it. Over the next few months, I’d develop a Saturday routine of returning the things Rags had taken during that week. In fact, I bought a wagon at a yard sale for our weekly jaunt through the neighborhood.

  As time went on, I pretty much knew what items came from which apartment or house. Neighbors also came to me when they were missing something, and often, we’d find it in Rags’s stash. One of the most embarrassing and potentially volatile encounters occurred one sunny Saturday morning.

  As often happened, Rags beat me to the front door to see who was knocking. “It’s probably Gwen,” I told him. “She’s going with us to return your treasures today, then I’m taking her out to breakfast.” I started to invite Gwen in, when I realized it wasn’t her. I made sure the screen door was secure so Rags wouldn’t run out and I greeted the stranger.

  The woman looked to be about sixty. She was short and plump and seemed somewhat agitated. “I’m looking for my string of pearls. Mary told me I might find them here. She said your cat…” She looked embarrassed, then continued, “…well, it was hot last night and I left my bathroom window open.” She looked down at Rags and stammered, “Does he…I mean…um…she said you have a cat who…”

  Now I was the one who was embarrassed. “Yes, he’s a thief,” I admitted. “Please come in.” Once I knew the screen door was secure behind her, I offered my hand. “I’m Savannah Jordan.” I motioned toward Rags. “This is Rags, the neighborhood klepto cat.”

  The woman stared down at him. “I’ve actually heard of cat burglars before, but I never…”

  I told her, “Me neither. This is a first for me and I can tell you it’s mighty exhausting and embarrassing.”

  She said her name was Meredith or Matilda or something like that and she was missing a single-strand pearl necklace. Wow! I hadn’t seen one of those in Rags’s stash. I asked her when she discovered it was missing.

  “This morning as I prepared the ensemble I’ll wear to church tomorrow.”

  Gosh, I thought, she’s organized.

  I asked her when she had last seen the pearls in her home. By then, Rags was sitting on the arm of the sofa, reaching a paw out toward her. He’s one curious cat. When she felt the prick of a claw, she recoiled, moved away from Rags, and responded, “Yesterday or maybe a few days before that.” She wasn’t much help, but I’m not sure that knowing the exact moment the pearls went missing would assist us in locating them. I had to search through Rags’s stash and I invited Mildred—or was it Marjory—to help. She was pleased to find her granddaughter’s doll, but the pearls were not there.

  Don’t you know I felt even more uncomfortable under her scrutiny? But there was hope. I led her toward the bedroom, where Rags sometimes dropped his treasures. First I looked in the bathtub. The only thing in there was a child’s shoe—one of those with lights in the heel. There was nothing except my own things in the closet. I didn’t know what to tell Melinda…or Marvona. I was about to suggest that she look more closely around her own home, when she gasped and pointed. By then, Rags had joined us. He was sitting on my dressing table stool.

  “Those are my pearls!” she exclaimed. Before I could respond, she walked toward Rags, snatched the necklace from the stool where he sat and clutched them to her chest.

  I was stunned, and not in a good way. I was glad she’d found her pearls, but her dubious stare was painful. How in the world would I explain this, except to spout the truth, which was, “I don’t have the slightest idea how those got in here.” Well, I guess I did. Rags had dragged them in and dropped them a few feet from my jewelry box, making it appear as though I had…well, you know. I’m sure that’s what Mildred (or was it Madelyn?) thought too.

  At least she left happy—probably deeply questioning my integrity, but happy to have her pearls back. I’ll bet she didn’t leave that bathroom window open again.

  ****

  How did Rags react to our Saturday return-the-stolen-property outings? I think he rather enjoyed them. He’d often ride in the wagon from door to door and he seemed to have fun interacting with the children, especially when I’d give them treats to feed him. Together we met a lot of new people, and some of them had interesting stories about Rags. There’s always a learning process when it comes to bonding with an animal, especially an older one that has already established some habits and idiosyncrasies. One of the things I learned about Rags was how far he would travel in search of trinkets and treasures.

  I was stunned to discover that he had wandered into a nearby tract to find a set of keys.

  This family lived the equivalent of a city block from us and they had been leaving their sliding door open at night for their own cat. When things started going missing—the keys, a couple of their cat’s toys, and a two-dollar bill they’d planned to give as a gag gift, they thought a homeless person might be coming in. So they started closing the door at night.

  As word quickly circulated about my klepto cat, other neighbors became more diligent about closing their doors and windows and tidying up their outside areas...in Southern California people do a lot of their living, relaxing, eating
, and entertaining out of doors on their lawn, deck, patio, or balcony. But there still seemed to be an endless supply of items left outside that attracted Rags’s interest and an endless stream of people who knew where to come if they were missing something.

  Even though I continued to be embarrassed by Rags’s actions, most of our neighbors had a sense of humor about his escapades. But there were a few sourpusses, if you will, and I was subjected to some rude remarks and even threats on Rags’s life. The most common ones were, “If I see that mangy cat in my yard again, I can’t be responsible for what my dog might do.” And, “Someone ought to call animal control.” Even worse, “You should be reported; what kind of pet owner are you, anyway?”

  Following a statement like that, I’d sometimes close Rags in the bedroom for a couple of nights, although, I’m sure the punishment was more extreme for me than for him. Imagine spending even just one night closed up in a small room with a hyper kangaroo or a nursery full of energetic baby raccoons, or a pack of…well, you get the picture. Serious confinement was one thing Rags did not tolerate well. I don’t know if that’s because he’s an innately high-energy feline, or if he suffers from PTSD because of an accidental or even deliberate imprisonment earlier in his life. With this curious, thrill-seeking cat, anything is possible.

  There were definitely times when I considered relocating Rags—to a large farm, perhaps. I even wonder if he’d like to live on one of those islands in Japan where cats roam free all day and night without rules or restrictions. Or he could be a regular on Japan’s cat train. He likes to travel and entertain people. I could get him a job. That’s it! He could be a library cat and greet patrons by day and hunt mice at night. Or he could work on a fishing boat. He couldn’t get into much trouble in the middle of the ocean.

  Yes, he was a handful. But as challenging as he was, I couldn’t imagine life without him and I certainly couldn’t imagine anyone else putting up with his monkeyshines. Besides, I must admit that sometimes I got a kick out of even his naughtiest antics. He makes me laugh and we all know how important laughter is for our health. What puzzled me more than anything back then was the fact that he was so full of surprises. Just when I thought I’d seen it all with Rags, he’d come up with something new.