A Purrfectly Perilous Plot

by Patricia Fry

  “As I understand it, it’s some sort of payback. I guess he and Mr. Stanley were involved in a business deal together, and Mr. Lang came out on the short end of the stick—or he believes he did. He thought he’d get back at Mr. Stanley by stealing his wife. When that didn’t work, he contrived this plan.”

  “Does his book explain why he decided to write a novel about it?” Savannah asked.

  “One can only guess. Some criminals are just more theatrical than others,” Craig explained. “They like the limelight, until they get caught, of course.”

  “Well, good job, Craig,” Savannah said.

  “Yeah, give your cat his due credit,” Craig suggested. “He’s one in a million.”

  “Isn’t he though?” Savannah said, staring across the room at Rags, who was stretched out in Buffy’s pink canopy bed. “Hey, let me finish my conversation with Iris, will you?”

  “Okay. Take care,” he said.

  “Now we know,” Iris said. “So you’re going into hiding with your writing, are you? I don’t blame you, although I hear you’re coming out to act in a play—you and Rags.”

  “Yes, in the city.” Savannah said.

  “San Francisco?”

  “Uh-huh. It’s a benefit for a bunch of neglected and sick cats,” Savannah explained.

  “Will you have to move there to rehearse?” Iris asked.

  “No, I’m rehearsing at home, can you believe it? We use FaceTime and videos.”

  “And Rags, does he know his lines yet?”

  “Not yet,” Savannah said, “but I’m taking him to see Sir Roscoe this afternoon. I want to learn some techniques for training him.”

  Iris laughed. “Oh, that’s hilarious. So you think you can teach an old cat new tricks, do you?”

  “I sure hope so,” Savannah said. “Buzz, the director, is counting on it.”

  “So, how’re you doing with your long-distance rehearsals?” Iris asked.

  “Okay, I guess. Buzz says he likes my style and that Arthur knew what he was doing when he suggested me to take over in the role. So I guess my acting is adequate.” Savannah laughed. “He likes Rags, too. Sometimes Rags wanders in when I’m rehearsing for Buzz and gets right up in the camera. Buzz thinks he’s a kick.”

  “Are you going to be ready?” Iris asked quietly.

  “I think so. We have eleven days.”

  “Only eleven days, and you’re just now getting Rags some lessons?”

  “Well, I would have started on this earlier,” Savannah said, “but Sir Roscoe has been traveling with his cats. He just got back. Anyway, all Rags has to do is walk onto the stage, look out at the audience, which will no doubt be a natural response once he realizes there is an audience. Then he has to pull something out of a basket and run off stage, which he could do with his eyes closed, if there’s something in the basket that interests him.”

  “That’s all he’s supposed to do?” Iris asked.

  “Yes, except he’ll be on stage with me a few times on his leash. It will be a dark leash, so it won’t show much, and I’ll use a collar instead of his harness so it will appear that he’s just following along with me.”

  “You probably don’t need a leash for that, do you?”

  “Well, you never know about Rags.”

  Iris laughed. “This is going to be something to watch. Can you get Craig and me tickets?”

  “Sure, I’ll check into it. It probably isn’t cheap,” Savannah warned. “It is a benefit, after all.”

  “Not a problem. It should be quite entertaining.” Iris laughed. “Yeah, this is a performance I don’t want to miss.”

  ****

  “Hi,” Savannah said, watching her aunt slide into her car later that day. She patted Margaret’s hand. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. How are you?”

  “Yes, you’ve been busy with murderous writer buddies and things.” Margaret shuddered. “That was really a shock. I’ve known the Lang family since high school, so a double shock. I would never have guessed.”

  “It seems that Rich Lang slipped,” Savannah said, driving out onto the highway. “It happens.”

  “Maybe more so to writers,” Margaret suggested.

  “Why would you say that?” Savannah challenged.

  “Oh, I don’t know, but haven’t you wondered about authors who write some of the weird stuff they write? You’d have to have a screw loose.”

  Savannah shrugged. “I guess. But yeah, that was awful. As I told Iris, I think I’ll become a solitary writer again, like God intended.”

  Margaret laughed. She petted Rags when he jumped into the front seat. “Does Arthur know what he’s doing involving this guy in a live play, for heaven’s sake?”

  “I hope so. There will be other cats on stage as well, so they can’t and don’t expect perfection.”

  Margaret looked into Rags’s face. “Well, I don’t know why you were recruited when our sweet Layla and your Buffy are so much more cooperative and eager to please.”

  Savannah grinned at her aunt. “Those two are beautiful and good-natured and sweet, but maybe a little bland to star in a play like this.”

  “Bland?” Margaret questioned.

  “Hey, I love Buffy to pieces,” Savannah said. “She and Layla are sweethearts. They have a sort of soft appeal. People want to cuddle and pet them and look at them, but neither of them is what you’d consider wildly fascinating.”

  Margaret gazed at Rags. “And he is?”

  “Yes, he is,” Savannah insisted. “He has more personality—you know, the kind that might appeal to an audience.”

  Margaret grinned. “If you say so.” She shimmied. “I’m just excited to finally get a chance to learn a few tricks from that circus-cat guy.”

  “Sir Roscoe?” Savannah said.

  “Yeah, whatever he calls himself.”

  “What will you do with the knowledge?” Savannah asked, grinning.

  “Oh, um, well, maybe teach some of my cats to do a few tricks.”

  “Why?” Savannah asked.

  “To amuse myself, I guess, and maybe make my life easier.” She faced Savannah. “Wouldn’t it be cool if you could teach a cat to take his medication without a wrestling match?”

  “Oh, Auntie, you and Max know how to give cats medicine.”

  “Yeah, but it’s difficult with some cats that come in—those we haven’t had a chance to bond with yet. Plus, if we could teach an easier method of handling things like that to those who adopt cats from us, think how much more pleasant their relationship with the cat would be.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” Savannah agreed.

  “Of course, it makes sense,” Margaret insisted. “I’m not a blubbering idiot.” When she saw the look on her niece’s face, she carped, “What’s that smirk about? Are you insinuating something?”

  “No, nothing. Here we are. This is where the circus cats live,” Savannah said, pulling into the driveway.

  Margaret narrowed her eyes. “Vannie, you’d better watch how you behave with your elders.”

  Savannah looked at her aunt and burst out laughing.

  Margaret huffed and stepped out of the car.

  When Savannah came around to the passenger side with Rags, she put one arm across Margaret’s shoulders and squeezed. “Whatever you say, old auntie of mine.”

  Margaret shook away from her and grinned playfully, saying, “Now that’s better.”

  “Hi,” Savannah said when Sir Roscoe opened the front door. “You remember my aunt, Maggie Sheridan.”

  “Yes,” Sir Roscoe said, holding the door open for them. Once they were inside, he leaned over and spoke to Rags, who was looking around the room from the end of his leash. “Hi there, boy—Rags, isn’t it?”

  Savannah nodded.

  “You’re looking good,” he crooned. “So you’ve come to learn a few tricks, have you, Rags?”

  “It’s me who needs the lessons,” Savannah said. “I hope to learn how to train him or teach him to do a few
things they want him to do onstage. As I think I mentioned, we’ll be doing a charity performance in San Francisco together soon.”

  “How long do you have to perform this miracle?” he asked, tongue in cheek.

  Margaret chortled.

  “Eleven days,” Savannah said.

  Sir Roscoe threw his hands in the air dramatically. “Mama mia!” He stared down at Rags. “Well, I can give you some basics and hope you can work with him from there. My best guess, from having observed this cat before, is that we need to work from the other end.”

  Savannah frowned. “The other end?”

  Sir Roscoe nodded. “Yes. Instead of creating something you want him to do, look at the task from his point of view. Create a scenario, perhaps with props or items that would spark his curiosity. Know what I mean? This cat probably isn’t as pliable as some. From what I’ve seen, he wants to run the show, not take direction.”

  Margaret nudged Savannah. “Isn’t that what I said?”

  Sir Roscoe glanced at Margaret, then looked down at Rags again. “Let’s say you want him to…um…”

  “He’s supposed to take something out of a basket and run off stage with it,” Savannah explained.

  “Ah…yes, then you would either use his favorite treat to condition him to do this very thing or, as I said, put something in the basket that he will surely want to have—one of his toys, for example.” Sir Roscoe added, “With most cats, the key is practice, practice, practice.” He looked down at Rags again and shook his head. “With this one, that might be the wrong approach.”

  “Oh!” Savannah yelped. “What, then? I mean, how…?”

  Sir Roscoe reached for Rags’s leash. “Here, let me see how he’ll work for me.” He motioned. “You ladies have a seat over there. I want him to forget you’re in the room.”

  When Savannah noticed Rags eyeing a couple of cats that had wandered in she said, “But how are you going to get him to forget about them?”

  Sir Roscoe raised one hand hushing Savannah, and walked away with Rags on his leash.

  The women watched as the trainer tried to work with Rags, encouraging him to walk up ramps, step through hoops, lift a paw, and sit on command. Margaret laughed quietly when Rags’s became so fixated on the treat bag attached to Sir Roscoe’s belt that all communication seemed to be lost.

  Several minutes later the circus-cat trainer sat down across from Savannah and Margaret and blew out a deep breath. “I don’t know,” he muttered, looking down at Rags. “I just don’t know.”

  When Margaret began to titter, Savannah nudged her and scowled.

  Margaret ignored her. Like I told my niece, you can’t teach an old cat new tricks.”

  “Especially when he’s stubborn,” Sir Roscoe said. He leaned toward Savannah. “I believe your only hope is, as I said earlier, to offer him something in that basket that he wants badly enough to do as you require of him. Otherwise,” he said, shaking his head, “you have a smart cat here. Probably above average, but boy does he have a strong mind. Frankly,” he said, shaking his head, “I’ve never encountered one quite like him. No, he would not make the cut if I were considering him as part of my cat troupe.”

  Savannah sat silently staring down at Rags, while Margaret did her best to squelch her desire to giggle.

  ****

  “Rags, take the toy. Pick it up,” Savannah urged later that afternoon. “See the toy? You love that little squirrel toy. Pick it up.” She took the stuffed squirrel out of the basket and handed it to the cat. “Here, just take it in your mouth. That’s all you have to do.”

  “I don’t think he wants to do that,” Gladys said as she walked into the room.

  “No, he sure doesn’t, but if he’s going to be an actor, he has to.” Savannah picked up the squirrel and held it under Rags’s nose. “Here, take it in your mouth. Take it. Open up.” She dropped her head in defeat, then said, “Maybe if we tie it around your neck.” She grimaced. “No, that won’t work. Treats!” she exclaimed. She reached into her pocket and fingered the kitty treats. “Okay, new plan,” she said with more energy.

  Meanwhile, Gladys continued standing in the doorway, watching with interest.

  “Okay, Rags,” Savannah said, “this is how we’re going to do it. She shortened her grip on the leash, then held the toy next to his face and walked with him across the room, where she dropped the toy. “Good boy, Rags!” She fed him a treat and petted him.

  Once he’d enjoyed the treat, Savannah returned the toy to the basket and repeated the exercise again and again. After a while she looked up at her mother and asked. “Do you think he has learned anything?”

  Gladys chuckled. “Yes, I think he has you trained pretty well to give him treats for doing nothing in particular.”

  Savannah sighed and stared down at the cat. “It’s hopeless,” she said, tossing the squirrel toy into the basket and removing Rags’s leash. “He’s hopeless. Well, I think I’ll start dinner,” she said, walking into the kitchen. She’d just washed her hands when she felt a furry nudge against her leg. She looked down and was startled to see Rags sitting next to her with the squirrel toy in his mouth. He dropped it on her foot and stared up at her. “Now you do it, huh?” she exclaimed.

  “Well, give him a treat, Vannie. He wants his treat,” Gladys said.

  “Of course,” she said, reaching into her pocket. “I guess you should be rewarded for that, even though it’s not exactly what I wanted you to do.” She watched him gobble down the small treat, petted him, and said, “Tomorrow we’ll work with the little pillow thing they sent me—the prop, okay?”

  “See he’s learning,” Gladys said.

  Savannah nodded. “Yes, he will work for food, that cat. He loves his treats.” Minutes later, as Savannah was preparing a casserole, she became aware of Rags’s presence again. “Now what do you want?” she asked.

  “He wants another treat,” Gladys said, giggling. She pointed. “See, he brought you his little piggy toy.”

  Savannah shook her head. “Good grief, I’ve created a monster. I wonder how I’ll ever stop him from emptying his toy box every few hours.”

  “You’d probably better not try that until after the play. You want him to perform that act for the play,” Gladys reminded her. “You might have to put up with his clutter in the meantime.”

  Just then Savannah’s phone chimed.

  “I’ll finish the casserole; go ahead and take the call,” Gladys suggested.

  “Oh, hi, Auntie,” Savannah said. “I was just working with Rags.”

  “Oh? How’s it going?” Margaret asked.

  “Well, I think my efforts have backfired. At first he wouldn’t take anything out of the basket—you know, that’s what we need him to do, take one thing out of a basket and carry it off stage. Well, when I brought treats into the equation, now he keeps bringing me toys from his basket and dropping them at my feet. My house is going to be a worse cluttered mess than it already is.”

  Margaret couldn’t stop laughing. “You know,” she said, between chortles, “you’re probably better off just leaving that cat to his own devices without showing him new ways to get into trouble.”

  “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. So have you tried any of Sir Roscoe’s techniques with your cats?”

  “Yes,” Margaret said. “We have a rescue that’s been with us for a little while. He contracted an ear infection and we’ve been treating it twice a day. The rascal really hates being held down and having us invade his ear. It’s probably a little sore. So this afternoon I gave him a treat before I took him out of his pen for the procedure. Then I put some treats in front of him and he focused on them while I quickly administered the drops. As soon as I was finished, he gobbled up the treats and began looking for more. So that trick alone might be a real game-changer for cats that are a little difficult to handle.” Margaret laughed. “I’m eager to try it with Layla when we trim her nails. The older that little girl gets, the more she hates having her paw-dicure.”

/>   “Paw-dicure? Cute,” Savannah said. “Well, good, I’m glad it’s working for you. I’ve been using treats with Rags for a long time, but not necessarily with any activities involved. I’ve done it more to change his focus, to get his attention, or to calm him. So I know treats work for him, if I can just find a way to communicate what I want him to do. Oh wait,” she yelped.

  “What?” Margaret asked.

  “Well, I haven’t done this in a while, but I used to have success with him using mind pictures,” Savannah said.

  “Yes, I remember you talking about that. I’ve used your technique a time or two myself. Then I forget about it and go back to communicating using my common sense—which isn’t so common to a cat.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” Savannah agreed. “Cats are on a totally different wavelength. The best way to reach them is through their senses. They—especially Rags—aren’t going to lower themselves to our way of communicating.”

  “Right,” Margaret agreed. “It’s too primitive.”

  Savannah giggled. “So you believe that cats are highly evolved?”

  “Something like that,” Margaret said. “Yes, mind talk might be the key to Rags’s successful acting debut.”

  “Sure,” Savannah said. “I mean think about it—this isn’t his first show. He stars in an internationally broadcast documentary, after all.”

  Margaret laughed. “Yeah, but he wasn’t required to do anything except be Rags. The film crew simply followed him around, didn’t they? He didn’t have to perform.”

  “That’s true,” Savannah confirmed, “but perform he did. Remember when he came out of my bedroom dragging my bra during a photo shoot one rainy afternoon? Gads, that was embarrassing.”

  “And that wasn’t the only time he ever embarrassed you,” Margaret said.

  “You got that right.” Savannah moaned. “I just hope he doesn’t embarrass me too much in San Francisco.”

  ****

  “Rags was rejected as a circus cat?” Michael confirmed that evening over dinner.

  “Are we going to the circus?” Lily asked.

  Savannah smiled. “No circus, punkin, but we are going to see baby Alana soon. Want to help me wrap our gift so we can take it to baby Alana?”