“There you are!” Keith said, leaning forward to continue reading around me. After a moment, he said, “Right paw?”
I moved it down a couple inches.
A few seconds later, “Left paw?”
I sighed and moved it too.
After another moment he poked me and said, “The whole cat, please?”
I glared at him. After a moment’s deliberation, I stalked off to the side of the page so we could read the entire thing.
Or at least he could. I could barely read his chicken scratch.
It seemed someone was up to something in a neighborhood called Espla—something. That made no sense. And someone was worried about her kids not sleeping at night?
What were we—nannies? I scratched out a note to Keith on a nearby pad of paper.
Translation, please? The only thing I’m getting out of these notes is bizarreness.
Keith put down his pen and sighed, running one hand through his hair. “This is a seriously weird case. And I’m already stumped.”
He had a hard time admitting he was stumped by a case. It was something he avoided as much as possible—usually by throwing lame ideas out there.
True to form, he began again, “There have been a string of break-ins in a normally-quiet neighborhood.”
So we have a serial robber?
“Well, that’s just the thing: each time, the homeowners say nothing has been stolen or vandalized. I think it’s maybe just a series of pranks. Yep. Probably some kids who are bored and making trouble.” He tapped his chin. “Or maybe the neighbors are all simultaneously hallucinating...”
I twitched my ears and blinked my eyes slowly, incredulously.
He looked sheepish. “Well, okay, that’s probably not the case since how would that explain the security footage?”
I snatched a pen and scribbled in the margin of his notepad. There’s security footage? Tell me more about that.
He nodded. “Yeah, apparently a few of the residents have front door cameras. They’ve caught video of what appears to be the same intruders each time. One was dressed in slacks and a collared shirt and the other in jeans and a t-shirt. They pull stocking caps over their faces—they’ve cut eye-holes in them, obviously. Otherwise they wouldn’t be able to see and they’d be knocking into stuff left and right and...” he paused and looked down at what I’d just scribbled on the pad.
Rambling again.
“Oh, yes, sorry,” he said. I just shook my head. At least he was predictable!
He continued. “Like I said, there’s nothing missing. Expensive items are still there: cameras, computers, TVs, money, checkbooks. Everything you’d think these guys would be after is untouched.”
I picked up my pen again to ask a question, but paused when he said, “Oh, there’s one thing that has been touched... at every place there was a break-in, they reported finding a used cereal bowl and spoon in the sink. That’s literally the only thing out of place.”
I snickered (which sounds a little like hacking a hairball when you’re a cat). I scratched out on the paper: So we have a serial cereal robber on our hands?
This doesn’t happen often, but now it was Keith’s turn to roll his eyes. After a moment. The guy is a little slow to get jokes.
“Yes, you could say that,” he said, shaking his head and smirking.
But what’s this about somebody’s kid not sleeping? I jotted down and then swiped my paw over the spot in his scribbly notes.
“Oh, that. Well, the lady who’s in charge of the neighborhood watch group for that area has a little boy. He overheard his mother talking about the snacking habit of these guys and ...well, let’s just say he’s very fond of his cereal. He’s having a hard time sleeping because he’s worried someone is going to take his cereal.
“The police have no leads or resources to follow up,” he said, “but she won’t let it go. That’s why they gave her my number.”
He pulled out a map of the neighborhood in question, and I realized it was just to the north of our apartments. Hopefully we weren’t next. Hopefully the cereal robbers weren’t interested in cat food or goldfish crackers.
“I’ve numbered the houses that have been hit. I couldn’t find a pattern.”
That didn’t mean there wasn’t one, though. I looked the map over carefully. The first one was at the far end of one street, the second was half-way down another street. The third was in the center of a cul de sac. The fourth was at the opposite end of the first street. As it turned out, Keith was right. These guys weren’t going to give the police or us detectives any predictable pattern to follow.
“So,” Keith said, “the neighborhood watch lady is calling a meeting of everyone whose house has been hit. It’s this Saturday, and she wants us to come. Well, she doesn’t know about you, but I thought it might be—you know—helpful. So you could hear what they have to say.”
But neighborhood watch lady had a little boy. Little boys wear clompy sandals. Clompy sandals and cats should never mix...
One condition, I wrote. If that little boy stomps on my tail, I’m out.
Keith nodded quickly. “Of course.”
Okay, then, I wrote. Nobody makes little kids worry about their cereal on my watch. Let’s catch these guys.
Keith grinned. I guessed he had been hoping I’d say that, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to admit how much he needed my help.
Three
The neighborhood watch lady widened her eyes when she saw me tucked under Keith’s arm. “Hi,” he said, reaching to shake her hand.
“Hi,” she answered, somehow making it sound more like a question than anything. “Is that your cat?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. Her name is Mia.” He smiled cheerfully, offering no further explanation.
The woman eyed me and then Keith. I could feel her confidence in his abilities as a detective draining.
“Well, then,” she sighed, holding the door open.
Keith carried me into the house and headed into the living room. The neighborhood watch lady and her husband had a large house that was tidy to the point of feeling almost bare. They had arranged a circle of chairs, many of which were already filled with anxious-looking neighbors.
We got lots of strange looks as Keith carried me into the circle of chairs and took a seat. He ignored the awkwardness and smiled at everyone. “Hello,” he said. “I’m Keith and this is Mia.”
One of the women asked, “Is she some kind of service cat?”
Keith paused just a moment before telling the truth, “She’s actually my detective partner.”
Wow. That might have been the first time the guy had ever admitted out loud that I was a detective! I would have danced for joy, but I literally have two left feet. So instead I held perfectly still, wondering how this would be taken. Even though it was true, I wasn’t sure it was the smartest answer Keith could have given.
The woman squealed and turned to her husband. “Oh, isn’t that just so cute!”
He smiled weakly and nodded, shrugging his shoulders. The group quickly moved on to other light topics of conversation. I had to hand it to Keith. Sometimes the outlandish truth is just what the situation needs.
“Okay, everybody,” said the neighborhood watch lady, clapping her hands. “Most of you know me, but I’m Emily Madison head of Esplanade Neighborhood Watch. We’re here to tell the detective everything we can about the break-ins. He’s going to have a look at our case since the police can’t do anything more for us.”
She introduced the couples gathered in the circle and then said, “So, I’ll start. We came home to find our front door unlocked. It was closed, but unlocked. Now, I know sometimes people will forget to lock their doors, but I never do. I’m very meticulous.”
I believed her.
“So we called the police and they came and looked through the house. Everything seemed okay, so they had us come in and look for any missing valuables. I was beginning to doubt my sanity when I noticed the bowl and spoon in the
sink. I pointed it out to the officers.”
“Did you maybe just forget to wash one of your breakfast dishes?” Keith asked, looking up from the notepad on which he’d been scrawling details.
Emily Madison, head of Esplanade Neighborhood Watch looked slightly offended. “I wouldn’t leave the house with a dish left in the sink. I didn’t. I specifically remember wiping down a perfectly empty sink.”
She nodded as if in agreement with her own statement. “Anyway, my son is afraid someone is going to come back and eat his cereal again. I really need this to go away.” She gave Keith and I a serious look and then motioned to the next couple in the circle.
“I came home from work,” the burly man shrugged. “Noticed the door lock had been tampered with—”
“Tampered with how?” Keith asked.
“Scratches on the outside, that had to have been made when someone picked the lock. It’s a pretty tell-tale sign.”
I eyeballed the man speaking. We had a regular super-spy on our hands.
“So, anyway, I cleared the house and—”
“Wait, you cleared the house? As in, the way the police do?” Keith said, his pencil hovering incredulously above his paper.
“Yeah,” the man said, shrugging.
“He’s ex-special forces,” his wife interjected.
Okay, maybe not a super-spy, but I wasn’t too far off.
“So, yeah, nothing was out of place except the cereal bowl and spoon in the sink. I knew it wasn’t one of ours from that morning, because ever since we’ve had kids it’s been all plastic bowls all the time. This was one of our china bowls that’s been gathering dust in an upper cabinet.
“There was one other thing,” the man said. “There was the smell of cologne all around the house.”
“Hmm,” Keith grunted. “Anybody else remember cologne?” The others shook their heads.
“I’m not surprised. He has a very sensitive nose,” the wife interjected again.
The stories continued. Each couple displaying their own kind of anxiety and fear about what was going on. Keith filled page after page with his unreadable chicken scratch.
The families with front door cameras were particularly interesting. One had a basic camera that they turned over to the police when they discovered the break-in. The other had a fancy doorbell camera that alerted them on their cell phone that someone was standing at their front door. They got the best view of the strange criminals and had been able to call the police right away. The officers said they had just missed catching the men.
I flicked my tail in annoyance. Catching them in the act would have been the best case scenario. Now we were stuck with very few clues and no idea where the cereal robbers were going to strike next.
I blinked my eyes as I thought hard. What would be the best way to catch these guys? If we knew which of the two streets their next target was on, Keith could do a stakeout. His boring, nondescript car was perfect for things like that.
But, then, so was his nondescript cat...
Four
Keith looked at me doubtfully for a moment. “I don’t know, Mia. That’s a pretty big area for you to cover.”
I snorted and scribbled out a reply. Do you have any idea how far the average housecat roams? It’s a much larger area than those couple streets. I’ll be fine.
Keith nodded. “Well, you do have a point. So you’ll just stake out the neighborhood and let me know if you see anything suspicious?”
Pretty much. I do have one concern, though... I’m going to need a way to carry my phone.
“Aren’t you able to carry it with your mouth because of the gummy case it’s in?” Keith asked.
Yes, but if I’m going to be roaming an entire neighborhood I’ll need a better solution. Don’t want to wear out my mouth muscles. What if I learned to talk someday? I’ll need those muscles.
Keith looked pained at the thought of me talking. I snorted.
I’m kidding.
He tried to hide a smile. “So what did you have in mind for carrying the phone?”
A harness.
He cracked up. He completely, knee-slappingly lost it!
The nerve.
“Sorry,” he said, finally looking at least a little contrite. He wiped his eyes. “I’ve just seen people try to walk their cats, and the critters act like there’s an anvil strapped to their backs. If we get some kind of harness you won’t crawl around on your belly like that, will you?” He giggled again just thinking about it.
There are two reasons cats act like that when people try to take them for walks: one, it’s too much like being a dog; and two, it wasn’t their idea. This is my idea, so I’ll be fine.
I started sketching a design I thought would conveniently hold my phone. I based it off an ordinary harness and added a flat pocket to the underside. Once it was on paper, Keith seemed to think it was actually a pretty good idea. He decided to get right to work on it.
The rain had stopped, and beams of sun were piercing the clouds. He left his coat at home and told me he’d be back.
True to his word, he returned a short time later just as it was beginning to drizzle again. I checked him over carefully when he walked in the door. He was not wet except for a few tiny water droplets in the very top of his hair. I decided to let him off easy this time.
He dropped two shopping bags on the little round table in our kitchen. I jumped up to the surface for a better look. One bag said “Petz Plaza” on the side—that spelling!—and the other said “Cellular and More.”
Keith pulled a cat-sized harness from the Petz Plaza bag. At least, I thought it was cat-sized. Then I saw the tag and realized it was actually chihuahua-sized.
Charming.
I sighed, swallowed my pride, and tried it on anyway. It fit just fine.
Pulling a simple cell phone pouch from the other bag, Keith held it to the underside of the harness. “Yeah, that oughtta work, don’t you think?” he said.
There was no paper nearby for me to write on, so I tried something I’d seen people do a million times. I bobbed my head up and down and nodded “yes.”
Keith did a double-take and then laughed at himself. “I ought to be used to you communicating, but for some reason I don’t think I’ve seen you nod your head like a person before. Was that a first?”
I nodded again, pleased that it had worked.
He took the harness off me and I couldn’t resist shaking myself a bit.
“See, you still don’t like it,” he teased. “Even though it was your idea.”
I jumped to the counter where a pad of paper lay. You wouldn’t either, if you had to wear one, I wrote. Oh, and by the way. Since I’m able to answer yes and no questions by moving my head, I do believe we’ll be playing “20 Questions” sometime.
Keith groaned and stopped rummaging in one of several designated “junk drawers” in his tiny kitchen. “Why do you even know what that is?”
Your nieces and nephew were playing it when we visited.
“Oh, that’s right. Yay, mind games with the cat.” He resumed pawing through the drawer. Why people are able to “paw” things, but I’m not able to “hand” things remains a mystery to this day.
Finally, he straightened up, holding an obnoxiously neon green pouch. He sat down at the table and I joined him, bringing my pad and pen this time. I needed to be able to ask questions.
He unzipped the pouch and produced an odd plastic wheel full of needles. I backed away a bit. I knew all about needles from my time at the lab where the scientists had taught me to read.
I wasn’t a fan of them: the scientists or the needles.
He pulled out a small spool of grey thread and began unwinding a length of it. The tiny thing slipped from his grasp, rolled off the table, bounced once, and disappeared under the refrigerator. All the thread had unwound, though—all three feet of it.
I jumped down and fished under the refrigerator with my paw. I couldn’t feel the spool, so I figured it must be too far undernea
th. I peeked under the appliance just to be sure. It was gone, somewhere behind the dust bunnies and the spoon that had lived here longer than I had.
Five
By the time I got back to the table, Keith had succeeded in poking himself with the needle twice before he got the thread through the hole. He was currently trying to knot the ends together. His fingers looked too big and fumbly to make it a very easy job, but it wasn’t as if I could help. I had to watch in pained silence as he tried multiple times and finally got a very dubious-looking knot tied in the end.
Holding the cell phone pouch to the underside of the harness, he began stabbing the needle back and forth through the layers. I say stabbing because that’s what it took to get the tiny needle through the layers of cell phone pouch and harness webbing. He managed to stab himself several times, too.
I decided I didn’t want to wait around and watch the agony. I curled up to take a nap.
Next thing I knew, something poked my side. I popped my eyes open and glared at Keith.
“ALL DONE!” he said, beaming and talking far too loudly.
I rapidly shook my head, stretched, yawned, and sat up.
Your loud. I scribbled on my notepad. Then I blinked and shook my head. Yikes! I must have still been groggy.
You’re, I corrected myself.
Keith laughed at me. “I’m not really that loud; you just woke up hard!”
I yawned again, not sure what he found so funny.
“Check it out!” he said, holding up the completed contraption.
I looked it over carefully. His stitching left a lot to be desired in the looks department, but overall he’d done a good job.
“I couldn’t find your phone,” he said. “I was going to load it in there for you. I didn’t hear anything when I called it, either.”
There are good reasons for all of that, I wrote. I purposely stash it somewhere where you won’t find it. You’d play some kind of weird prank on me if I didn’t.
“So little faith in me!” he protested. I noticed he didn’t outright deny it.
And you know I hate loud ringers and the vibration settings. My phone is silent and stealthy just like me.
The Kitten Files, Season One Page 9
