The Kitten Files, Season One

by Perry Kirkpatrick

  I peered out. I could see the back of the house now, and confirmed there were no dogs back there.

  I snapped a picture of the back porch and door. When I opened my messages, I saw that Keith had just sent one:

  We're on our way up the driveway. Any movement?

  Keeping the truck tires between me and the dogs in the front yard, I moved a little ways away from the end of the truck to get a better look. Then I attached the picture and replied:

  Nothing. This is the back of the house.

  I heard a distant bark. I added to my message.

  Just heard a bark. Sounded pretty muffled. Maybe came from the house??

  I quickly hit send. Looking up, I noticed two round, black circles in one of the windows. I cocked my head and stared at them.

  Had those been there a minute ago?

  Then they moved.

  With shock, I noticed what was below the black circles. It was a mouth. Opened wide in surprise.

  The black circles—which I now realized were the wide end of a pair of binoculars—lowered and I found myself gazing back at the dog-napper. He stared with a look of mixed shock and wonder and then waved at me excitedly.

  He had seen me writing.

  Fifteen

  Time seemed to freeze for a moment as we stared at each other. Then everything became chaos as the police with Keith at their heels burst out from the trees, the dogs in the yard began barking, more barking erupted from the house, and I dashed blindly away as fast as I could.

  In a moment, I found myself hiding behind a tree stump, listening as the police called to the man in the house. He came outside without giving them any trouble.

  The first thing he said in his quiet but excited voice was, "Fellas! You're never gonna believe what I just saw! There was this cat just over there and he was was writing—you know—on a phone. One of those smart cell phones with the big screen. He had one and was writing away just as merrily as you please!"

  I froze. My secret had just been told to an entire group of strangers. I began making plans. I would have to travel as far from here as possible. Maybe find a hermit-like person in the middle of nowhere to live with...

  I was going to miss Keith.

  Another voice said, "Chief, there are tons of smaller dogs in the house and down in the basement. We'd better get animal control to send reinforcements. It's going to take a lot of them."

  The dog-napper said sorrowfully, "Oh, you’ve come to take away my guests? Now I’ll be lonely again. I like them all so much.”

  One of the officers said, "Uh-huh. A writing cat and ‘guests.’ I suppose each of these dogs asked you to take them home with you. Come with us."

  I heard his voice growing more distant, alternately mourning the loss of his “guests” and exclaiming about the amazing cat.

  Then I heard Keith say, "I'm going to look around for my cat."

  "You mean there really was a cat here?" one of the remaining officers asked.

  "Yeah, how do you think I found this place? When your cat runs off without you and then you hear about a thousand dogs barking at her—well, you get the picture. I'm hoping she's still around here somewhere if that crazy guy saw her recently. But writing—!" Keith gave a chuckle. "That's quite a story even from someone crazy enough to steal that many dogs!"

  I let out all the breath I suddenly realized I'd been holding. Way to smooth it over, Keith!

  The next instant I almost gave my hiding place away I jumped so hard. My phone, which I had thought to set to silent mode—vibrated! ZZZZZTTT!

  Ugh. Have I mentioned how much I—yeah. I think I have.

  There was a new message from Keith.

  Hey, Mia. Don't run too far. I've got this covered. Wanna give me a hint about where you're hiding?

  Sixteen

  A short time later, Keith strolled casually down the driveway, my phone tucked safely in his pocket, and myself tucked safely in his arms.

  I don't think either of us was expecting the sight that met our eyes when we rounded the base of the hill. There was Keith's blue car, and all around it were police cars, animal control vans, a couple of news vans, and a good-sized crowd of onlookers.

  "Wow," said Keith. "Apparently this is the most exciting thing that's happened around here in a while."

  We tried to get to his car as unobtrusively as possible. Unfortunately, we were stopped by a heavily perfumed woman marching around in heels and towing a camera crew.

  "Candy Morris, Eastern Times," she introduced herself briskly to Keith. "This your cat?"

  Keith nodded, unsure what else to say.

  "If you were just back there, you must know the suspect has not stopped talking about some ‘writing cat’ since they brought him out. It's obvious the man is mentally disturbed—what with his penchant for collecting other people's dogs—but what do you think about his claims? Do you think he's referring to your cat?"

  Keith cleared his throat. "Well, with the poor guy’s state who knows what he could dream up. But he just as well could be basing the notion off seeing my runaway here."

  I didn't like all these questions. But what could I do in front of everyone and in front of that camera? If I reacted it might give it away that I actually knew what they were talking about.

  So I just played the part of scaredy-cat. Which, honestly, wasn't too hard at that point.

  "She looks pretty scared by the whole thing," said the lady moving in closer. I pinned my ears down and shrank back against Keith. This woman was making both of us nervous, and her perfume was killing my nose even worse than the smell of an entire yard full of dogs.

  "Here, Clyde," the woman said, motioning to her cameraman, "get in a little closer. Folks would like to see a close-up of the alleged 'writing cat.'" She made air-quotes with her hands, but I still didn't like it.

  Obediently, Clyde moved in closer. I refused to look at him. Instead, I tucked my head under Keith’s arm until it was over. I watched this Candy-person with one eye. She had moved over to let the cameraman in closer. She put one finger against her earpiece, and she appeared to be listening hard to something coming through her earpiece. She nodded to her cameraman who moved back to get a wider shot again. She stepped closer to Keith and me again saying, “So, Mr.—"

  "I'll remain anonymous, thanks," Keith said quickly.

  "All right, then Mr. Anonymous," the woman winked at the camera, "have you ever seen your cat exhibit unusually intelligent behavior?"

  What did this woman know? Or what did she think she knew? Why was she asking that question?

  To my surprise, Keith laughed at this uncomfortable question. The guy was a surprisingly good actor. Maybe it came from all the mystery books he read. I don't know. That wasn’t his real laugh, but it was realistic enough to fool anyone except me.

  "What animal-owner doesn't think their pet is unusually intelligent?” he said. “I mean, really, it's like asking a new parent if their baby is the most wonderful baby ever!"

  It was Candy's turn for a fake laugh. Only, I think everyone probably knew hers was fake.

  Keith continued. "There are times I think she's the smartest cat ever. And then there are times when she's trying to kill a spot on the wall that she's just sure is a bug." He shook his head and shrugged. "She's a cat."

  "A good description," the reporter said, looking amused. "Does this cat have a name?"

  Keith looked down at me and hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Let's just call her Kitten Anonymous."

  With a short laugh, the reporter turned to the camera and said, "And that is the witty owner of the cat the suspect may have been referring to. We'll be bringing you more updates on this very strange case of serial dog-napping. I'm Candy Morris, reporting live for Eastern Times."

  The cameraman pushed a button and lowered the camera. Candy handed her microphone to another crewmember and took a drink of water from a bottle someone handed her. Turning to Keith and I, she suddenly seemed a little more life-like and natural.

 
; "Sorry about the last minute question.” She gestured to her earpiece. “The station told me to specifically ask that one. Apparently some scientist-person called, inquiring for more details. Not sure what that was all about. Pretty unusual for Mickey to put through someone's question on the spur of the moment like that. Must have been a science big-wig or something.”

  I couldn't help myself. My hair stood on end when she said "Scientist-person." By the time she was finishing explaining, my claws were out and I was scrambling over Keith's shoulder. I jumped down and high-tailed it for the car.

  Apologizing for running off so quickly, but probably somewhat glad to get away, Keith followed me. He scooped me up and deposited me in the car. We wove our way through the mess of vehicles and people on the street. Keith drove a crazy, winding route through town, checking his mirrors frequently to be sure nobody was following.

  Only when we were on the country road, headed back to his sister’s house, did he speak. "Well, you did it, Kitten Anonymous! You found Dillon's dog." He looked over at me. I washed my face primly with my paw and tried not to look vain.

  "And I did it too. I kept your secret. Are you impressed? Of course you won't admit to—" he stopped short as he glanced at me and saw I was nodding my head. He smiled.

  Of course I would admit it. He had done an amazing, splendid job of keeping my secret. I had chosen a better person to trust than I had realized. Confidentiality was definitely his profession.

  Seventeen

  "Dillon! Diiiiillon! Dad's home—and he has Hero!!" Natalie squealed and jumped up and down with impatience for the entire 5 seconds it took for Dillon to join her at the front door, open it, and catapult himself outside.

  I watched through the front window as Hero, the Gigantic-and-Fluffy, took a flying leap out of the truck bed and ran to Dillon, barking and whining, and carrying on to no end. They rolled around the driveway for a few moments before Dillon came up glowing and breathless.

  Mrs. Adams came to stand beside Keith in the doorway. "I'm so glad you called him to pick the dog up on his way home from town," she said. "I don't know if Dillon could have gone another day missing him—especially knowing he'd been found."

  Keith nodded. "I think there are going to be a lot of joyful reunions over the next couple days because there were so many dogs found at once. Oh, and, Sis? If you all could keep from mentioning me and Mia, that would be great. I don't want to wake up one morning to the media on my doorstep."

  My thoughts exactly, Keith.

  His sister said readily, "Of course. Anything. We are so grateful that you found him, although I'm sorry this has turned into a working vacation for you."

  At that moment, Hero caught sight of me in the window. He excitedly wrenched himself away from another wrestling match with Dillon and came charging toward the house, a look of terrifying joy on his huge face. Without even pausing to arch my back, I fled from the windowsill, hissing and howling.

  When my mind cleared, I found that I had somehow scaled one of the tall bookcases in the living room and was now perched on the very top.

  You're welcome for finding you, dog, I shuddered. Welcome home, you crazy Hero.

  The Kitten Files #3

  The Case of the Cereal Robber

  Perry Elisabeth Kirkpatrick

  One

  The pathetic stems of Keith’s potted plant whipped around violently just outside our sliding glass door. Stormy autumn wind blew rain across our second-story balcony in sheets. I sniffed around the seal of the sliding door, smelling the rain smell—called “petrichor” according to the dusty dictionary in the office. I cocked my head, hoping it would look like I was contemplating the big word I’d discovered just the other day.

  In reality I was counting backward from 10, trying to avoid checking the front door again too soon. I mean, imagine if someone discovered I was pacing like a new father! Aside from that being weird because I’m a cat and a female one, it would never do for me to be waiting too anxiously for Keith’s return.

  Wouldn’t want him to think I missed him. That kind of behavior is for the dogs.

  Whatever experiments those scientists had done to me in the lab had apparently made me not only able to read and write, but also understand numbers—and count backwards. I tried not to think of the scientists and the lab. I had done a good job of keeping a low profile despite ending up on the evening news when we found a bunch of dognapped dogs. I had a good life now, and I didn’t want anything messing it up.

  My contemplation of the word “petrichor” and life outside the lab ended just about the time I finished my backwards counting. I left the balcony door and allowed myself a nonchalant stroll by the front door. I hopped up into the window that faced the stairs Keith would take from the parking lot to our apartment door.

  No Keith. His meeting with a new client was taking longer than I had expected.

  But I was okay with that, wasn’t I? Of course.

  I stared intently at the stairs for a few minutes, and then bent down to sniff around the lower edge of the window. Yep, smelled like rain over here too. It was coming down in icky, wet, furious sheets. This kind of thing was why, after escaping the lab, I had decided to get myself a house with a human instead of remaining on the run.

  Just then, I heard the sound of someone coming up the stairs. I quickly jumped out of the windowsill so Keith wouldn’t catch me watching for him.

  Sure enough, after a moment his key wiggled into the lock. The door flew open and a soaking wet Keith skidded into the house.

  He quickly slammed the door shut. “Whew! Can’t believe I forgot my raincoat!”

  I couldn’t believe it either.

  The man was dripping with rain from the top of his head to the soles of his shoes. He was causing a puddle on the floor. I yowled at him.

  Nasty, cold, wet, yucky— I kept yowling, reprimanding him for doing something so utterly gross.

  If only I could talk.

  I swatted his ankle in one last display of irritation before jumping up to the nearest pad of paper and pen. I quickly scratched out a note.

  What were you thinking?! That has got to be the grossest, nastiest, most irresponsible thing you’ve ever done. If you were a kitten I’d give you a good bop on the head.

  Keith’s chuckle interrupted my written rant.

  What are you laughing at?

  “Oh, I just find it funny my cat is scolding me for getting wet!”

  Well, it’s a horrible thing. You should have known better! Besides, I suspect all cats scold their humans for that. I just happen to be able to write it out.

  He got a crafty look on his still-dripping face. “It’s really not that bad being wet.” He gestured toward the back patio. “Want to give it a try?” He moved toward me.

  Except I wasn’t there anymore.

  I didn’t even bother writing “NO!” By the time he reached the spot where I’d been standing, I had streaked down the hall and was safely hidden away in my lair under his bed.

  I could hear him laughing his way to the bathroom.

  I pulled my smartphone toward me. It was a gift from my first client and great friend, Ms. Clara Thornblood. She was the only other person who knew I could read and write. I worked the stylus out of its slot at the top of the phone and grasped it with my teeth and front paws. Using the handwriting recognition, I scrawled out a text message to Keith.

  You’re crazy, you know.

  Right after I sent it, I heard the sound of the shower turning on. He wanted to get MORE wet?! Another text was in order.

  Make that double crazy.

  And then I had the most brilliant idea for how to get him back for his suggest-the-cat-go-out-in-the-rainstorm stunt.

  I sent a text message to Ms. Thornblood:

  I assume it’s storming at your house, too? Keith just came in soaked. He forgot his coat.

  I wished I had lips so I could grin wickedly. I could only lash my tail around as I waited impatiently for her reply. There it was!
>
  Really? That’s a cold rain! Is he all right?

  I quickly scribbled a reply and pushed send.

  I don’t know. He seemed a little loopy when he came in.

  What? It was true!

  There was no reply, but almost exactly five seconds later, I could hear Keith’s phone ringing and vibrating by the front door where he’d deposited it with his keys. It rang two more times before I heard Keith finish his shower and come out of the bathroom.

  He called her back almost immediately.

  “Hello, is everything okay, Cla—I mean, Ms. Thornblood? ... No, I’m fine. Sorry I missed your calls. No, really. I’m just fine ... Yes I did forget it. I got kinda wet. But how did you— ... Oh, right. My cat texted you ... Of course she thinks I’m loopy. She always thinks that. This is Mia we’re talking about ... Yes, I’ll do something about it if I feel sick. Really, thanks for your concern, but I’m sure I’ll be fine ... Okay, thanks. You have a great day, Ms. Thornblood. Bye.” He hung up.

  I had wisely remained in my lair.

  “Mia! Not funny!” he hollered.

  That’s odd. I thought it was pretty funny!

  Two

  After a while, my phone vibrated and I read a text from Keith.

  Truce? I want to talk to you about the meeting I had.

  Sounded like he’d gotten another tricky case to solve. I cautiously emerged from under his bed and slunk out to the living room to see what was up this time.

  All trace of the teasing, soaking wet guy was gone. In his place was the usual hyper-focused, messy detective I was used to. He had strewn notes from his meeting all across the couch.

  I walked across his papers until I got to the one he was currently reading. I sat down in the middle of it so I could read it too.