Cats in the Belfry (A Klepto Cat Mystery Book 24)

by Patricia Fry

  “Help!” someone called out. “Help, please!”

  Savannah walked slowly in that direction and saw Penelope cradling Buffy in her arms and crying out in alarm. Savannah pushed through the crowd and approached Penelope. “What happened?” she asked.

  “Oh my God,” she cried, “I think she’s choking on a square bead. I dropped it. She eats things.” She looked down at the barely conscious cat. “I think it’s choking her.”

  “Give her to me,” Savannah said, reaching for the cat. When Penelope resisted, Savannah said, “I’m a veterinarian.” Savannah gently took the cat, entered Penelope’s booth, and sat down in a chair with the cat lying across her lap. She tilted Buffy’s head back, opened her mouth, and reached in for the object. “I can see it,” she said. She lifted the cat, placing her in a sitting position against her chest. She then laid her hands against the cat’s abdomen and performed a series of abdominal thrusts. The third one was the charm as the cat sputtered and out popped the square bead. Savannah examined the cat, making sure she was breathing normally, then hugged her, spoke softly to her, and handed her back to Penelope.

  “Oh my God, Savannah. You saved my Buffy.” She hugged the cat tightly and kissed her face and head, but Buffy began to squirm and push away.

  “She could probably use a sip of water,” Savannah said. “I’d want water after an ordeal like that. Do you have a bowl here for her?”

  At that, several bystanders held out their water bottles and offered them for Buffy.

  “Here’s her water bowl,” Penelope said, lifting it and placing it on a table in the back of the booth. She lowered the cat onto the table and smiled when she began lapping the water.

  “Good girl,” Savannah said, running her hand gently over Buffy’s fur.

  Penelope grabbed Savannah around the neck. “Thank you so much.” She stepped back and looked at her, “But how did you know what to do?”

  Savannah smiled. “I really am a veterinarian. I’m practicing being a mommy, more recently, but I’ve had experience with choking cats before.” She placed her hand on Penelope’s arm and said, her voice cracking a little, “I’m so glad Buffy cooperated and spit that thing out.”

  When Savannah returned to Rochelle’s booth about thirty minutes later, Rochelle asked, “So did you see some interesting products?”

  “Sure did. I may go back and buy a little dress I saw for Lily. It was handmade and had kittens on it. I had a turkey sandwich for lunch. You go if you want. I’ll hold down the fort.”

  “Thanks, I’m ready. Oh,” she said, pointing to a necklace and matching earrings, “a guy is coming back to get this. He still owes $25 on it. He went to the ATM. Name’s Peterson.” She started to leave, then asked, “Hey, what was all that commotion a while ago? Do you know?”

  Savannah grinned. “Well, Buffy got herself into trouble. She tried to swallow a bead and it got stuck. I had to do a Heimlich maneuver.”

  Rochelle started to walk away, but turned back quickly and stared at Savannah. “You did what?”

  “Yeah, well, it’s similar to the Heimlich maneuver.” When Rochelle still looked confused, Savannah explained, “It was part of my veterinary training. The cat’s okay.”

  “I’d forgotten you’re a veterinarian. Wow. Glad you were in the right place at the right time.”

  “Me too. She’s a lovely cat. But it can be a real worry when you have one who likes to eat foreign objects. Usually they can get it down and usually it comes out. But sometimes it gets stuck in their throat or the cat needs surgery to remove it from the intestines.”

  Just then a few people walked up to Rochelle’s booth and addressed Savannah. “You were amazing!” an elderly woman said. “I watched you save that cat’s life. You were as cool as a cucumber and you knew just what to do. Did I hear you say you’re a veterinarian?”

  Feeling only slightly embarrassed, Savannah glanced at Rochelle, then responded. “Yes, I’m not practicing right now, but…”

  A man in the group laughed. “You don’t need to practice. Looks like you know exactly what you’re doing.”

  “Oh, well, thank you. It’s pretty basic. And good to know, because cats as well as dogs can get themselves into choking trouble sometimes.”

  A small boy said, “My dog choked on a ball once. But he coughed it up all by himself.” The child looked down. “Dad said, ‘don’t give him small balls anymore.’ Now Snickers and I play with a sponge football.”

  Savannah tousled his hair. “Good idea.”

  Another woman spoke up. “That gal said you have a famous cat.” She squinted at Savannah. “Is his name Rags?”

  Savannah nodded.

  “I told you so, Robert. That’s Savannah Ivey. I saw her in the movie with her cat, Rags.”

  “Well, it was a documentary,” Savannah corrected. When she saw Rochelle standing back grinning, Savannah said, “Hey, have you seen my friend’s jewelry? She actually has a line inspired by Rags.” She pointed to a velvet-lined tray that showed off an array of silver jewelry. “See the graceful curves around the flower petals on this pendant? That’s reminiscent of a cat stretching. And here’s one of an actual cat on his back holding up a tiny pearl with his feet. Ever see your cats do that?”

  “Yes,” the sixty-something woman said. “And my Jibby, he likes to sit on his haunches with one leg out, you know, and just stare at you. We laugh every time we see that.”

  Savannah picked up a pendant and held it out for the woman to see. “Yes, Rochelle saw our Buffy do that once and created this one because of it. Buffy is a part-Himalayan, similar to the Buffy who just had the choking problem.”

  “Really?” the elderly woman said. She took the necklace from Savannah.. “I must have this one.” She held it to herself as she announced, “And it has pansies on it. Pansies are my favorite flower. Now how much is it, dear?”

  “One forty-nine,” Rochelle said. “All of my pieces are pure silver and, except for a few, they’re one of a kind. That one is an original.”

  “I’ll take it,” the woman said, pulling out her credit card. She looked down at the jewelry and said, “I’d like this ring that follows the lines of the stretching cat. May I try it on?”

  “Certainly,” Rochelle removed it from the tray and handed it to the woman.

  “It fits. Robert, look at that.” She faced her husband. “You asked what I want for my birthday.” She held out her hand. “This ring.”

  “Okay, sold,” he said, grinning as he reached into his pocket. “I’d planned to get her a new sports car, but hey, if all she wants is this ring…”

  “Yeah, right,” his wife said sarcastically. “It would be more like a plastic toy car.”

  ****

  An hour had passed when Savannah said, “Rochelle, you’d better take a break.”

  “Yeah, that was quite a flurry of activity, wasn’t it? And all because of you.” She giggled. “I want you to help me with all my shows.”

  “I’d do it. This is fun. There are really some nice people here.”

  “Yes, and you seem to have the ability to attract a crowd. I’m impressed. I sensed that using cat-like designs in my pieces was a good idea, but I didn’t know that you…” she chuckled, “and your cat would actually sell it. Way to go, Savannah.” She turned. “Okay, I’m going on break. Are you okay here on your own?”

  “Sure. Oh,” she said, laughing. “I called Michael a while ago. They were at the petting zoo.”

  “Oh, that’s funny. Peter at a petting zoo? Hard to imagine.”

  “He said they were all having a good time. Peter was eating cotton candy.”

  “Cotton candy?” Rochelle smiled. “How neat. We all should visit our inner child from time to time. Good for Peter.”

  “Go,” Savannah said. “Take a break. We’ll chat more when you get back.” As Rochelle walked off, Savannah called, “Take your time.”

  Chapter 8

  Later that evening the Ive
ys and the Whitcombs were seated around a table at a local restaurant rehashing their day and catching up with each other. They’d dropped Lily off at Margaret’s and Max’s.

  “Tell us about your wedding,” Savannah said once the waiter had taken their order.

  Rochelle and Peter looked at each other and he said, “It was nothing special—just a ceremony, is all.”

  Now he had Rochelle’s full attention. “Nothing special?” she carped.

  “Um…well…”

  “How would you describe it, Rochelle?” Savannah asked, chuckling.

  “It was absolutely lovely. We were married on a private dock at dusk against a magnificent sunset and we had a few of our close friends and associates standing with us.”

  “I don’t even remember what the preacher said,” Peter complained.

  Michael grinned. “Does that mean you won’t be following the rules?”

  “Rules?” Peter repeated, feigning ignorance. “Um, there are rules?”

  “Sure, the rules of marriage,” Michael explained. “You know, do unto others…”

  “Michael,” Savannah scolded.

  “Oops, I mean, for better or worse.”

  “Oh, I know about worse,” Peter said. He leaned toward Michael as if sharing a secret. “We’ve lived together for a year or so, you know. I’ve seen her wearing that green stuff on her face, I’ve lived through one of her severe colds—all that coughing—ick. And then there was the time…”

  Rochelle groaned. “Just never you mind, Peter.”

  “Green stuff?” Michael asked.

  “My facial mask,” Rochelle explained.

  Michael looked at Savannah. “Do you have a green mask?” He asked Rochelle, “Why do you wear a mask?”

  By then the two women were laughing hysterically.

  “Yeah,” Savannah said. “I have a mask, but I use mine when you’re at work.”

  “Why?” Michael asked.

  “It’s a beautification thing,” Rochelle said, still laughing.

  He looked at both of the women and winked. “Seems to be working.”

  “Good answer,” Peter said, slapping Michael on the back.

  “Your wedding sounds beautiful,” Savannah said. “But didn’t you get married on New Year’s Day? Wasn’t it cold out on that dock?”

  “Absolutely,” Rochelle said. “As soon as the sunset and the ceremony were over, we jumped onto our friend’s luxury boat and celebrated all night inside the cozy and spacious cabin.”

  “Yeah, here are a few pictures our friends took,” Peter said, passing his phone around.

  Savannah swooned. “Oh, very nice. And did you get a honeymoon?”

  The couple nodded and Peter said, “Now that was something to talk about.”

  Rochelle put her hand on Peter’s arm. “Don’t you dare.”

  “What? Didn’t you have a good time?”

  “Wonderful,” Rochelle said, “but you don’t go into detail about your honeymoon.”

  “I was going to tell them about the kite-flying contest we won.”

  “Oh yeah, that you can talk about.”

  “You won a kite-flying contest?” Savannah asked.

  “Sure did, with an eagle kite. And we learned how to surf.” He looked at Rochelle. “Well, one of us did.”

  “Let me guess,” Michael said. “Rochelle rode a wave and you did a belly flop.”

  Peter laughed. “Something like that.”

  “So did you go to an exotic island?” Savannah asked.

  “Southern California,” Rochelle said. “Remember, that’s where we fell in love two years ago. And we happened to hit it when the weather was unseasonably warm. It really was a great honeymoon.”

  “Well, here’s to the happy newlyweds,” Michael said, raising his bottle of beer. Savannah raised her glass of water and the Whitcombs clinked their glasses of wine.

  “Thank you,” Rochelle said. “Wish you could have joined us for our wedding.”

  Savannah winced. “We sure wanted to, but we were dealing with some scary stuff with Rags about then, as you know, and I just couldn’t leave him.”

  “I understand.” Rochelle turned to Peter. “Babe, you have no idea how famous that cat of theirs is. We ran into more people today who know about him.”

  “You did?” Michael asked.

  “Yes,” Savannah said. “He has made an impression, that’s for sure.”

  Suddenly Michael grabbed Savannah’s right hand and looked at it. “Hey, I thought you were going to wear that ring I got you for Valentine’s Day. Did you forget it?”

  Savannah thinned her lips. “I can’t find it.”

  “What? Did Rags get his paws on it?” he asked.

  “No, I don’t think so. I was wearing it yesterday and I took it off to rub some sunscreen on Lily. I set it on that same table where I’d put my bracelet last week. About then, after she was all greased up, Lily asked to go potty.” She looked with wide eyes at Rochelle. “That’s huge. Of course, I had to take her right away. When we came back, the ring was gone. Michael, someone’s coming onto our property and taking things. I mean, they took Lily’s play set of keys and some of your tools…”

  “You have tools missing?” Peter asked. “That’s no good. I mean, you like your tools as much as I like my art supplies.” He looked at both Savannah and Michael. “Who do you think is taking them? Have you seen anyone around?”

  Savannah shook her head. Everyone was quiet for a few minutes and Savannah asked Rochelle. “What are you thinking? You seem to be thinking about something. Do you have a vision of who it is?”

  “Or what it is,” Rochelle said. “A bird, perhaps. I see feathers.”

  “An Indian headdress?” Peter quipped. He addressed Michael and Savannah, “Do you know anyone who wears an Indian headdress?”

  Savannah shook her head, then said, “I saw a neighbor the other day walking through our property toward the highway. He had a feather in his straw hat. I remember, because I thought it looked rather sharp.”

  “Bingo,” Peter said. “Isn’t my wife clever and smart and well-attuned? That must be your culprit, your neighbor.”

  “I sure don’t like to think so,” Savannah said. “He seems like a nice gentleman.”

  “Where does he live?” Michael asked.

  “I think he’s renting a room from the people who bought Kyra’s family’s home next door. You know, it was a young couple who bought it and I think they’re renting out rooms.”

  “There you go,” Peter said. “Keep an eye on that guy. He probably has your ring.” He turned to Michael. “…and your tools.”

  ****

  Two mornings later after seeing the Whitcombs off, Savannah kissed Michael goodbye and wished him a good day at work, then she stepped back into the house, put Lily down for a nap, and went into the office where she’d been making notes for Rags’s memoir. “Oh, hello there, Rags,” she crooned when she saw him saunter into the room. “Did you come to help?”

  Rags rubbed against her legs and she reached down and ruffled his fur.

  “I could use some inspiration, boy, if you have any to spare.” She watched as he stepped into one of the cat beds, rolled over, and went to sleep on his back.

  ****

  Later that evening over dinner, Savannah shared her progress on her writing project. “Michael, today I talked to a few of my friends and co-volunteers who knew Rags when we were still in Los Angeles, and they brought up things I’d totally forgotten about. I still have email addresses for some of my former neighbors there and I contacted them as well. I’ve heard back from one of them. One woman—Nancy—thinks it’s hilarious that I’m writing a book about him and she wants a copy hot off the press.”

  “Cool. That’s one sold,” Michael said.

  “Oh, and I talked to the pet store clerk at the place where I adopted him. He was surprised that we’re still together—Rags and I. He said the original o
wner had some stories to tell. I asked him if he could put me in touch with her. Turns out it’s a guy and he emailed me this afternoon. He’s a kick. I’ve decided to quote some of the people who have stories about Rags—with their permission, of course. I also talked to Rob, and he’s thrilled with my progress so far.”

  “Well good. I suppose you’ll want to interview me.”

  “You? Why?”

  “For my perspective. Remember, not only do I live with him, I’m his veterinarian.”

  “Oh, that reminds me,” Savannah said, “I had him groomed once and the grooming staff had quite a time with him that day.”

  “Why did you have him groomed?”

  “Long story short, he must have rolled in something dead. It was when I used to let him roam the neighborhood, so I don’t know exactly what happened, but he came home stinking all to heck. I knew a groomer who worked with us at the shelter where I volunteered and she agreed to clean him up. What a fiasco. That’s a whole chapter—his experience at the groomer.”

  Michael smiled at his wife, then asked, “So how many pages do you expect the book to be? Has the publisher requested a certain number?”

  “From what Rob said, he just wants me to go with the flow and write a cogent story with a lot of anecdotes and see what we end up with. Rob suggests around a hundred-and-fifty manuscript pages.”

  “So have you started the actual writing?”

  “No. I met a writer at Rochelle’s show over the weekend and I’ve been in touch with her. She’s writing a cozy mystery featuring horses. I told her I’d give her some ideas for stories from Peaches’s life. She used to write nonfiction and she suggests I organize my material and sort of outline my chapter topics before actually writing anything. That makes sense to me, so that’s what I’m doing now—organizing it as I collect it.”