The Kitten Files, Season One

by Perry Kirkpatrick

  I jumped down from the table and trotted out of the room, down the hall, and into Keith’s bedroom. I wormed my way under his bed. My eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, and I found the outline of my phone. Grasping the soft, gummy case in my teeth, I picked it up and brought it out from under the bed with me.

  I jumped in surprise to find myself looking at Keith’s feet. “You’re keeping it under my bed! Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?” he said.

  I glared at him and stalked back to the kitchen. I would have to find a new place to stash my phone. Apparently.

  Chuckling, Keith joined me at the table, and I reluctantly gave him the phone. He helped me into the harness and then popped my phone into the empty pouch. He then adjusted the harness to fit snugly and stepped back to have a look.

  I felt just a little claustrophobic. I wasn’t used to having anything around me besides my collar (and even that bugged the daylights out of me sometimes, to be perfectly honest). It felt kind of heavy and made moving around awkward. I walked back and forth on the kitchen table.

  After a few minutes, I began to adjust. Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

  I jumped down to one of the chairs. That felt different. I weighed more than I was used to, so I made a slight thump. I narrowed my eyes. I needed to practice maintaining my usual stealth while wearing the contraption. Trying again, I jumped to the floor.

  Making my way back to the tabletop where my notepad lay, I jotted a quick note to Keith. I think it will work; thanks!

  “Try taking your phone out,” he suggested.

  I was able to grab the gummy case with my teeth and tug it out of the holder. Putting it back in proved to be very tricky, though, taking me several tries and some neck strain.

  I’ll just have to leave myself plenty of time to put it away after use, I wrote. Hopefully I wouldn’t find myself in any emergency situations.

  Keith looked a little dubious, but just shrugged and began tossing the scraps of thread into the trash.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon practicing how to move with (almost) my normal grace and speed while wearing my weird phone holder. By the time Keith went to bed, I felt I was ready to patrol the neighborhood the next day.

  Six

  I had tried to sleep through the night so I could take less cat naps the next day. By the time Keith woke up in the morning, I was excessively rested, energetic, and itching to get going.

  Keith gave me the stink eye as I jumped from floor to table to counter to floor and back again while he slowwwly ate his breakfast. I checked for the thread spool under the refrigerator. It was still there, and I still couldn’t reach it.

  “Mia, why are you fishing under the refrigerator? Better question: why are you so wound up?”

  I slept most of the night. Let’s get going! Most of the people in the neighborhood are going to be gone for work now. The robbers are going to get there before us! I wrote on his napkin.

  Keith grumbled something sleepy and incoherent, but he put his cereal bowl in the sink and headed to his room to dress. By the time he returned, I was pacing by the front door. He helped me into my phone harness and picked me up.

  We managed to make it to the car without any interruptions from our elderly neighbor who very opinionatedly preferred dogs. (Although, one time, she had grudgingly said I was a good cat—for a cat.)

  We drove north a block and entered the neighborhood I’d be staking out. Keith spoke his first fully-awake words of the day. “Well, I’m glad this place is so close. That way, if you have a problem, I’ll be able to reach you quickly.”

  I glanced at him and scratched a note on a pad of paper we kept in his car.

  Aww... you’re worried about me?

  He blinked slowly. “Oh. Well—” he said a little sheepishly, “everyone needs backup at some time or another...”

  I smirked. He wasn’t wrong, but it was fun to tease him sometimes. Okay, it was always fun to tease him.

  The car rolled to a stop near a large bush. ”Here we are,” he said, glancing around for anyone who might see him drop me off. The neighborhood was very quiet. As I suspected, most of the residents had just left for work.

  I gave him a quick nod. He reached across and popped the passenger door open a bit. I slipped out and slunk behind the bush. Keith eased the car away from the curb and headed out of the neighborhood.

  I took a deep breath. This was it.

  Checking that my phone harness was secure, I prepared for a sweep of the neighborhood. I slunk from house to house but saw nothing out of the ordinary. The other street yielded the same: nothing. The Esplanade neighborhood was quiet.

  I paused near a backyard gate and glanced around, wondering what my plan of action should be. I could wander back and forth between the two streets endlessly until I either saw the robbers or didn’t. Or...

  I gazed up at a tall tree rising from behind the fences. That would be perfect. I approached the yard slowly, cautiously. A strong smell of dog hung around the area. I grimaced. Great.

  I needed that tree.

  Peeking through the slats of the wooden gate, I couldn't see a dog, although from the scent, there was definitely one in residence. I just hoped he was some indoor yapper.

  I jumped to the top of the fence, pausing to regain my balance which was still suffering from the harness. I took another quick glance at what I could see of the yard and jumped in as quietly as I could. Slinking along the wall of the house, I paused at the corner and eyed the tree just ahead.

  I need the tree, I reminded myself.

  I took one more step, peeked around the corner, and froze.

  Sprawled—or more accurately, melted—across the back porch was a huge, snoring hound dog. His eyes weren’t entirely shut, but all I could see of them were the whites. I figured he was truly asleep but had forgotten closing one’s eyes was supposed to be part of the deal.

  I gave an involuntary twitch of anxiety before carefully placing one paw in front of the other with the greatest possible stealth. As I walked, I gradually flattened myself against the ground, swivelling my head and pausing every couple of steps.

  I was about halfway across the yard when he woke with a snort and a big stretch.

  I froze.

  He looked right at me—cross-eyed. As soon as his eyes focused, I knew I was in trouble. He leapt up just as I jumped into action.

  I had to reach the tree before he reached me.

  Short legs, short legs, short legs! He has short legs! I reminded myself, scampering as fast as I could. I glanced behind me.

  Yikes! His short legs moved a lot faster than I’d expected!

  I jumped, sunk my claws a few feet up the tree trunk, and climbed with more speed than I knew I possessed. Mr. Melted Hound Dog barked and bayed and made a generally ridiculous racket at the base of the tree.

  I made it to a comfortable limb, caught my breath, and then glared down at the frenzied dog below. “I got away, so just go back to your nap! It’s not like I’m going to come down just because you say to,” I hollered down to him. It came out as a yowl.

  He growled and barked. With surprise, I realized I knew exactly what he was barking: “Trespasser! Trespasser! Tresssspasser! Get! Cat! Get! Cat! Don’t! Nap! Nooooooooo!!!” He ended with a howl.

  I rolled my eyes and climbed higher in the tree. Despite the danger getting here, I was pleased with my position. I had a decent view of both streets and every house along them. Nobody would enter the Esplanade neighborhood without me noticing. I settled in to watch.

  Eventually Mr. Melted Hound Dog returned to melt on the porch. He barked a few more gruff, “Watching! Watching!” at me before drifting back to sleep.

  Not watching so much anymore, are ya.

  The neighborhood had returned to its former, quiet state. I saw a chihuahua in a yard on the other side of North Street rush a fat pigeon.

  He shrilled, “Catch! Catch! Catch! Catch, catch, catch, catch, catch, catch, catch, catch!!!” He kept going long a
fter the bird had flown clear to the other side of South Street. Eventually, but not quickly enough, the chihuahua stopped yipping and disappeared through a doggy door in the side of his house.

  A postal truck entered the neighborhood along South Street and stopped at the community mailboxes where the street curved into North Street. The mail carrier, a round man in a blue uniform, opened the back of the mailboxes and stuffed each compartment with mail. I snickered as he paused to read a postcard ad.

  When he had left the neighborhood, it was very quiet for a while. It was like the calm before the storm. Something was about to happen. Or at least I hoped so, because I was getting pretty sleepy.

  Seven

  A moment later (I hope it was only a moment later), I blinked my eyes open and focused my ears on a distant noise. Scanning the neighborhood, I spotted two men walking along the south side of South Street. One wore slacks, a white shirt, and a tie. The other wore jeans and a worn t-shirt. Their voices carried just enough to catch my notice, but not quite well enough for me to make out what they said.

  I blinked in the bright afternoon sunshine, sighing as I watched them. If they hoped to sell to or convert anyone, they’d be disappointed. This neighborhood completely cleared out on weekdays. I yawned and something niggled at the back of my mind. I felt like I was missing something important.

  I watched lazily as they gestured to one of the houses and walked toward the door. They each pulled something dark out of their pockets. I got to my feet, focusing hard to make out the details. They began pulling the dark things over their heads.

  Then it dawned on me: one in business clothes and the other in casual clothes. Stocking caps over their faces. These guys were the guys!

  I scrambled partway down my tree and jumped to the nearby board fence. Mr. Melted Hound Dog woke up and started barking at me, “Trespasser! Trespasser! Trespasser!” as if we hadn’t done this whole thing already. I ignored him and scampered along the fences of the yards between me and South Street. One of the masked men glanced over his shoulder at the sound of the hound dog barking. They paused in their lock-picking attempt and exchanged a few tense words.

  After a moment, the dog quieted since he couldn’t see me anymore, and the men relaxed. When they turned back to the lock, I quickly crossed the street and ran to one side of the house, noting the address painted on the curb.

  I didn’t detect any dogs in this yard, so I scrambled over the fence and quickly rounded the house. There was no doggy door in the back. Bummer. That would have been an easy way in.

  My ears picked up a soft click. They had the front door unlocked. There had to be some way I could get inside. I slunk along the back of the house. There was a connected garage on the far end, and one of the windows was open a few inches. I jumped, hooked my paws onto the window sill, and wormed my way through. My eyes instantly adjusted to the dim light.

  Okay, I had made it inside the garage. That didn’t help a whole lot. Was there a way to get into the house? I glanced around and spotted a stack of plastic totes just beneath an open trap door in the garage ceiling. Attic space!

  I jumped and climbed my way up the boxes and then through the trapdoor into the attic. The homeowners apparently stored stuff up here.

  YES!

  There was a cat-sized space between the boards and insulation separating the garage attic from the house attic. I squeezed through and crept across the rafters until I heard the men below me.

  “I’ll go this way; you go that way. Let me know if you find anything,” said the one who was apparently in charge.

  “Sure, sure, Nate. I’ll check the kitchen, too,” the other man said. He sounded like he might not be the brightest kitten in the litter.

  Nate grunted in response.

  Great. They were splitting up. I decided to follow Nate—since he seemed like the one in charge—and hope for the best.

  I snuck super quietly through the attic, trying to stay with the man below me. I could hear him opening doors, rifling through things, and generally not being very stealthy.

  But why should he be when, as far as he knew, there wasn’t a human or an animal in the—

  “JOE!” he suddenly shouted.

  I jumped and tried to coax the hair on my back to return to its normal, flat position.

  Eight

  “Joe! Quit with the cereal and get in here! I just found a litter box!”

  I heard the distant, but distinct sound of a bowl hitting the bottom of a metal sink. I heard Joe, the sidekick muttering as he came closer. “I just wanted a snack, man. Just a bit hungry, you know?

  The litter box comment puzzled me. I waited to see if they’d say more.

  “What are we supposed to do now?” Joe asked.

  Nate answered, “Try to find the cat. See if it’s my cat. And leave the cereal alone this time, Joe. This is the first time we’ve found anything remotely useful.”

  They were looking for a cat? Weirdos.

  They crept through the house together, calling, “Here kitty, kitty!” Trying to sound sweet and non-threatening and succeeding at neither. I hoped the cat who lived here had the sense to stay out of sight.

  What kind of robbers looked for a cat?

  “Check under the beds,” Nate ordered. “Cats like to hide under beds.”

  I felt the hair on my back stand up involuntarily, and this time I couldn’t get it to lie down. This felt entirely too personal.

  I followed through the rafters, tracking the sounds below as the men poked around under each bed in the house. There was a repeated clicking noise that sounded very familiar. After a moment, I realized it was the sound of a flashlight turning off and on.

  Nate seemed to be muttering to himself, but I couldn’t quite make out what he said. There was something about budgets and grants and cats and setbacks. And then, a little louder: “That cat better be somewhere in the master bedroom or else we’re going to have to tear this house apart board by board.”

  “If we did that, then the homeowners would know,” Joe protested slowly.

  “I’m guessing they’ll already know due to your cereal habit!” Nate snapped.

  Joe huffed.

  Nate made a grunting sound and I assumed he was getting down on his knees to peer under another bed. The flashlight clicked on and a moment later, he said in a grim, but somewhat relieved voice, “We’ve got glowing eyes.”

  It took Joe a moment. “Oh! You mean you’ve found your cat. Sorry... I was thinking you believed in monsters under the bed or something—aaaaiiii!!!” With monsters on the brain, it was little wonder the man’s sentence ended in a yell of surprise. The cat under the bed began yowling a warning.

  “MOOOOOVVVE! LEEEEEEAAAAVE! GRRRR.... THIS IS MY HOUSE!!!”

  Nate tried here-kitty-kitty-ing to no effect. The tongue-lashing from the scared cat continued, although I was the only one who could understand any of it.

  “She’s backing away. Probably going to run out the other side of the bed!” Nate called to Joe. “Get over there to stop her.”

  Her? Well, it certainly didn’t smell like a girl cat. I wondered why he assumed the cat was a girl.

  “I’M HIDING!!!!!!” squalled the cat one last time. He must have rocketed out from under the bed because there was a shout from Joe, followed by one from Nate. Some thumping and scrambling and frustrated exclamations. I tried to follow through the rafters as the men dashed out of the room in pursuit of the resident cat. They split up, however.

  “Did you catch what color she was?” Nate shouted across the house.

  Joe hollered back, “Um... something darkish?”

  Nate growled. (It always amuses me that humans growl on occasion.)

  “Well, it was dark in the room! I know at least she wasn’t white or orange!” Joe complained loudly.

  “We’re not leaving until we find that cat!” Nate announced.

  Well, that suited me just fine. I grabbed the gummy edge of my phone case and dragged it out of my harness. I was just pul
ling out the stylus to write a message to Keith when I heard Nate say something that made my blood run cold.

  “That cat is going to be found and returned! I won’t lose everything just because those dumbbells at the lab made a cat who is smart enough to escape them!”

  I fumbled with my stylus and watched it fall, slow motion, into the insulation below the truss I was sitting on. I stared at it for a moment.

  I thought I remembered reading somewhere that insulation was made of fiberglass and could leave tiny slivers of glass in skin if touched without gloves. I crouched carefully on the lowest board of the truss and extended the claws on one paw as far as I could. I needed to hook the stylus with my claws and not let the tender pads of my paws touch the dangerous fiberglass.

  Below me, I could hear the men ransacking the house, looking for... the cat.

  Me.

  They were actually looking for me. The man called Nate wanted to take me back to the lab!

  I reached and stretched for the stylus. My claws hooked around it and I withdrew them just slightly to squeeze it into my paw. Gingerly, and as slowly as my panic would allow, I drew the stylus upwards until I could grasp it in my teeth.

  I heaved a sigh of relief and headed back to where I’d set my phone. The men were no longer below me, but had moved to the next room in their frantic search. I quickly scribbled a message to Keith, the handwriting recognition changing my words into typed text.

  QUICK! THEY’RE HERE. HOUSE 340 ON SOUTH ST. THEIR DESPERATE. B CAREFUL!

  I hit send before I spotted the typo and realized I’d used an abbreviation. Hopefully Keith wouldn’t notice. I usually prided myself on grammatically perfect text messages.

  After a few excruciating moments, Keith’s reply came.

  On my way.

  I took a deep breath. Everything was going to work out. It was going to be fine. I began trying to maneuver my phone back into the pouch. This was the hard part. I wasn’t sure I could actually do it.