Hairball Hijinks

by Nancy J. Cohen

  Marla remembered driving by that house and noting the artificial plants. It struck her as strange that someone wouldn’t use natural landscaping elements.

  “My name is Marla,” she told the visitor. “What’s yours?”

  The woman’s face fell. “How thoughtless of me. I’m Betsy Stanton. I’ve been so worried that I forgot the social niceties. Mr. Stanton tends to wander the neighborhood when he gets out, but usually he ends up back home. I can’t imagine what’s happened to him this time.”

  Marla knew about the Silver Alert for old people who had cognitive deficits, but maybe that wouldn’t be necessary in this case if they could find the man. He might still be in the area.

  “What does Mr. Stanton look like?” Marla asked, peering up and down the street. All appeared calm in suburbia with manicured lawns and rows of single-story ranch houses lining the street. Not even a lawn cutter or repairman was in sight this sunny afternoon, although she heard the drone of a mower from farther away.

  A tear leaked down Betsy’s cheek. “He’s a big guy. I know he’s a bit on the heavy side, but he has too good of an appetite. He’s got a sneaky disposition and tends to bring back souvenirs that you wouldn’t want to see on your front stoop.”

  Oh great, we’ve got a missing old man who steals from his neighbors.

  “You’re admitting that he has escaped the house on other occasions, then? What’s the longest amount of time he’s been gone?”

  “Once he got out after lunch and didn’t come back until that evening. He knows where his next meal is coming from, the sly minx.”

  “But he’s only been away now for an hour or so?”

  “Oh no, child. He’s been gone since early this morning.”

  Heck, lady, why didn’t you say so earlier? “Have you thought about notifying the police?”

  “I’d rather not cause a ruckus. People might object to Mr. Stanton, you see, and they’d make me send him away. He doesn’t mean any harm when he takes things.”

  “Your husband has Alzheimer’s Disease? How long has he been ill?”

  “Are you losing your marbles, child? Mr. Stanton is my cat.”

  Marla gaped at her. All this fuss was for the woman’s pet?

  Nonetheless, she’d promised to help, and now she was committed. “From the way you spoke about him, I just assumed—”

  Betsy’s wrinkled face took on a pained expression. “My husband’s been gone for six years now. This stray cat kept coming to my house. He had no collar or other means of identification. That’s when I realized my Tom must have sent him to watch over me.”

  “And so you adopted him?”

  “That’s right. Tom’s playful spirit lives inside of him. That’s why I named him Mr. Stanton. He’s my only companion now. I’ll be beside myself if anything bad has happened.”

  “Let me tell Tally what’s going on, and then I’ll follow you home. You can show me where you saw him last.”

  “Thanks so much, child. I knew you’d be the right person to ask.”

  Tally, preparing a bottle for Luke in the kitchen, verified the woman’s story. “Poor lady, she’s been alone since her husband died. You think she’d move to be near her children, but she seems entrenched in that house. I don’t see her outside too often and have wondered if she had someone to look in on her.”

  “She thinks her husband’s spirit inhabits her cat.”

  “It’s a cute creature, although a bit too plump. I suspect she feeds it too much.”

  “So you’ve seen Mr. Stanton around the neighborhood?”

  “That’s right. I left a pair of socks once on our front porch, and one of them disappeared. I suspect he took it. That cat likes to bring things home that don’t belong to him. Maybe if you locate where he stashes his treasure, you might find him.”

  “Good idea. I’ll see what I can do for Mrs. Stanton, and then I’ll unload the rest of the baby’s things from my car trunk.” Marla grabbed her purse and hastened back outside to where Betsy paced the driveway. The woman looked frail in a pair of loose-fitting pants, a blousy top, and worn loafers. Was she still able to drive to get groceries?

  That’s none of my business. Focus on finding the cat, and then finish your chores here.

  “Show me your house and where you last saw Mr. Stanton,” Marla said.

  They proceeded down the street. “He was in the den playing with a plush toy shaped like a mouse. The doors were all locked, and I don’t keep any windows open. When I went out, I was careful to watch for him. He’s been known to escape when I open the door a crack.”

  “When you came home, did you notice his absence right away?”

  “I figured he was sleeping in another room. He has his favorite haunts in the house, like all pets do. I went around from room-to-room looking for him but didn’t see him anywhere.”

  “Could he have slipped outside through the garage door when you came home?”

  “No, I’m especially careful when I come or go from the place.”

  “And you said the longest he’s been gone before was several hours?”

  “That’s right, and he always shows up again on my doorstep. Mr. Stanton would never leave me alone for so long. I don’t have one of those pet doors on my screened patio, either.”

  “Do you have an alarm system? You could leave the alert sound on for whenever a zone is opened.”

  “I turn it off during the day. Besides, Mr. Stanton can’t twist a door knob by himself, although he’s pretty good about pushing at the door if I leave one the slightest bit open.”

  “Do you have any children?” Marla asked, keeping pace with the woman who walked briskly for someone her age. Maybe Betsy was younger than she looked. Loneliness could age a person’s appearance.

  “My kids live up north. I have a daughter in Maryland and a son in Atlanta. Linda wants me to move nearby, but how can I give up my house? I’ve lived in Florida over forty years.”

  “Have you thought about downsizing into a senior community? They have lots of activities, and you’d make friends.” Or maybe assisted living? Marla thought but didn’t say aloud.

  “I’m fine where I am,” Betsy stated with conviction.

  Marla knew it was hard for the elderly to give up their familiar surroundings to move near their children. Loss of independence was a fear of many people in their later years. It wasn’t easy to change environments at any age, but more so for folks to give up a home they’d lived in for decades. And usually, they were forced to downsize at a time when their faculties were failing.

  She shot a glance at the older woman. Despite her resolve not to get involved, Marla wondered if she ate properly. Did she have any friends, or had they died off or moved away? How often did her children check up on her or come to visit?

  It wasn’t her place to question the woman’s life, she reminded herself. She was only coming along to locate the missing cat, and even this excursion would steal valuable time from her schedule.

  Marla sniffed the aroma of freshly mowed grass as they neared Betsy’s modest house. “Looks like your lawn was just cut,” she said.

  “The landscapers were here this morning. They do a lot of lawns in the neighborhood, so they seem to be here forever. I had to go out on some errands, thank goodness. I can’t stand the racket they make with those hedge trimmers and blower machines.”

  “I know what you mean, and it always seems like they’re right outside your window.”

  Betsy unlocked the front door to her home and ushered Marla inside. A vinegary scent and a gleaming tile floor made her wonder if Betsy had cleaning help or did the housework herself.

  “Show me the last place you saw Mr. Stanton,” Marla directed the older woman.

  Betsy led her to a room set up as a study. Pet toys were strewn across the carpet, with a scratching post off to one side. “He was in here the last time I saw him. As you can see, there’s nowhere he can hide. Come with me into the family room. That’s where he likes to sleep.”


  They passed the kitchen, which appeared clean with no dirty dishes in sight, to a cozy room at the opposite end of the house from the bedrooms. Here Betsy pointed to a pet bed nestled in a corner.

  “He’ll lie on his cushion there and lick his paws before he naps. I thought he might be in here but his bed was empty. I searched everywhere, including the bathroom where I keep his litter box.”

  “May I take a look around?” Maybe the cat had hidden in a closet or on top of a piece of furniture where it was difficult for Betsy to search.

  “Be my guest. Don’t mind the mess in my bedroom. Mr. Stanton must have been chasing a lizard in there to have upset everything that way.”

  Marla’s brow wrinkled as she went from room to room searching hidden corners, inside closets, and on top of bookcases. She discovered a layer of dust, lots of photo albums, and fancy dresses in plastic bags that probably hadn’t been worn in decades. The woman’s children would have a tough task sorting through these items someday, unless they helped their mother now.

  It’s not your affair, Marla. Let it go. You’re only here to find the cat.

  Marla stopped at the entrance to the master bedroom, her jaw dropping at the sight that greeted her. The dresser and both nightstands had been emptied. The drawers lay askew on the ground, their contents strewn across the carpet.

  In the adjacent master closet, purses and shoeboxes lay on the ground. So did an unlatched jewelry box. Betsy’s footsteps sounded from behind. Marla’s heart thumped as she whirled to face the woman.

  “Your room has been ransacked. Somebody must have broken in.”

  “Oh no, child. Mr. Stanton got into my things. He can be rambunctious, you know.”

  “A cat wouldn’t cause this level of destruction. Nor could he pull out your drawers and dump them on the floor.” Reentering the bedroom, Marla pointed to the disarray.

  Betsy’s gaze clouded in confusion. “I don’t understand. No one could have gotten inside. I keep everything locked.”

  “Maybe your cat got out the same way this person came in.” Marla strode into the bathroom and tested the cabana door. It felt secure. Back in the bedroom, she eyed the narrow windows behind the bed. A crook couldn’t fit in that way. Nonetheless, she tried to open them and they wouldn’t budge.

  Her gaze swung to the drapes in front of a pair of doors leading to the patio. One of them was swaying, but the air-conditioning wasn’t blasting at the moment.

  “Do you always keep these curtains closed?” she asked.

  “Those glass doors face west, so the sun streams in here every afternoon. I keep the drapes shut to cut down on the heat. I’d replaced the doors with hurricane impact ones after the storm last year. The men had a hard job installing them. It’s wonderful how they cut down on the noise from outside.”

  Marla opened both sets of drapes. The doors appeared to be securely closed. “If they’re like my hurricane impact French doors at home, you lift the handle to secure the pins, right?” She tested the one on the left, and it held fast. But when she touched the handle on the other side, the entire mechanism came off in her hand. A hole remained in the door that swung open at her touch.

  “Well, there’s your means of entry,” she said in a wry voice. She let the handle drop. It hung there, supported by the piece on the exterior.

  “Those idiots,” Betsy exclaimed. “I knew they didn’t know how to install the damn thing. I had to buy the hardware separately from the doors. I’m always testing them after my housekeeper leaves to makes sure she didn’t leave anything open. I must have loosened the screws in this one. It was never right from the beginning.”

  “Your intruder may have gone around the house looking for an opening and had a lucky day.” Marla peered outside. The outer screen patio door hung open to the backyard.

  “I would have heard someone, unless they came in while I was out on my errands. Then again, the noise from the lawn service might have covered up any drilling the thieves did to loosen the bolts. That is, if it wasn’t my fault for breaking the lock.”

  “Maybe Mr. Stanton heard the noise and came back here to investigate. Can you tell if anything is missing, like your jewelry or other valuables?”

  “I don’t care about my stuff. I want to find my cat.”

  “We’ll look for him, but please check to see what might have been taken. It’ll help the police determine who robbed you.”

  Was it someone who’d been watching the house, waiting for the woman to leave? Marla’s pulse accelerated as she resisted the urge to summon her husband. This wouldn’t fall under his purveyance. Dalton dealt in homicides, not burglaries.

  “You’ll have to call a locksmith, but not until the police dust for fingerprints,” she advised Betsy.

  “Will the cops help us look for Mr. Stanton?” Betsy said with a forlorn look on her face.

  Realization dawned. Mr. Stanton wasn’t the only one who was lost. Betsy needed help. She seemed to waiver between clarity and confusion. The woman shouldn’t be living here alone.

  “We’ll search for your cat after the cops get here, okay? We can ask them if there have been other burglaries in the area. Have you had any repairmen in the house recently? Maybe there’s a pattern in the neighborhood.”

  Betsy wrung her hands. “All I care about is finding Mr. Stanton. He’s very protective of me. He snarls and shows his claws when anyone comes near who isn’t familiar to him.”

  “Please take a look around and see what the thief might have stolen. That will help determine if this was an act of opportunity or something more.”

  “All right.” Betsy’s shoulders slumped as she rummaged through her belongings. A shout of dismay from the closet brought Marla to her side.

  “My costume jewelry is still here, but my good stuff is gone. Damn thieves found my hiding spot.”

  “We definitely have to call the police. They’ll want a description of your items. Then I’ll help look for Mr. Stanton.” She hoped the creature wasn’t lying limp outside somewhere, kicked by the bad guy. Was it one person or a team who worked together?

  While they waited in the living room, Marla sent a text to her husband informing him what was going on. How did she get stuck in these situations? Why couldn’t she live a peaceful life without dead bodies popping up or neighbors in distress seeking her out?

  The first responder was an officer she knew from the police department’s annual barbecue. In his forties, he had a paunch and a receding hairline. Marla stated her role, her observations, and her intent to steer clear of this investigation other than helping to locate the woman’s cat.

  “We didn’t touch the patio door handle on the outside or the screen door, so you might want to dust those for prints. Also the drawer knobs in the bedroom and the jewelry box,” she suggested. “The backyard might have footprints. We haven’t gone out there.”

  Maybe she should search the rear of the house. The cat might be hiding there, but she dare not disrupt the crime scene. She could let herself out through the front door instead to scour the perimeter for the missing feline.

  “I doubt we’ll find anything,” the officer said, shaking his head. “This same M.O. has been seen at other houses in the area. We know it has to be someone familiar to the residents. We’ve examined video footage from the front gate, and nobody unknown has shown up on the feed.”

  “Could the thieves be coming from one of the canals behind the houses?”

  “It’s possible, but they’d have to come by boat that way, and it would preclude taking anything too large. They seem to target jewelry and electronics.”

  Standing next to a painting on the wall that was a reproduction from an old master, Marla tapped the officer’s arm. “It’s a good thing Betsy wasn’t home when the intruders came inside, assuming that’s when they made their hit. Do you suspect it’s a single person or a team effort?”

  “We’re not sure, ma’am. They seem to know when people go out, though.”

  “Betsy didn’t even recogni
ze that she’d been robbed. She attributed this mess to her missing cat. I’m concerned about her living alone. Perhaps her children should be notified that she needs more oversight?”

  “As a friend, you might want to speak to them. We’re here to deal with the break-in. You’ll need to call a locksmith to secure this door when we finish.” Before Marla could protest that she had just met the woman, he tipped his head to her and turned away as backup arrived.

  Marla returned to Betsy, who sat in the living room. “The police will want to interview you. I’ll call a locksmith before I search for your cat. Where does he put the things he drags home? Does he leave them outside? Are they dead rats or lizards and such?” She wrinkled her nose at the thought.

  “He prefers stuff like clothing, rags, pet toys, hair bands, anything accessible from someone’s yard or open patio. He’s even dragged home a pair of swim goggles.”

  “What do you do with these things? Try to find the owners?”

  Betsy gave a rueful chuckle. “My neighbors know his habits. They’ll let me know when something goes missing.”

  “Are any of them resentful enough to want to get back at you?”

  “I doubt it. Mr. Stanton hides his loot under the lounge chair on the patio. He thinks I don’t notice.”

  “Okay. Let me have a look around. I might go talk to your neighbors as well.”

  “Take some treats along in case you find him. He can be wary of strangers,” Betsy suggested. “I’ll go and get you a handful.”

  Soon Marla had completed a search inside the house and around the back patio. The fat gray cat was nowhere to be found. Marla proceeded to knock on neighbors’ doors. She asked if they’d seen Mr. Stanton and also inquired about strangers in the neighborhood without mentioning the break-in. Her efforts yielded little in the way of new information.

  Scratching her head, she stood on the sidewalk while a warm breeze stirred the hairs on her arms. A sweet floral scent from a flowering bush drifted her way.

  If she were a cat spooked by an intruder, where would she go? Would she hide in the bushes or the hedge bordering the lawn? Or better yet, did the cat have a hiding place outside that Betsy didn’t know about?