There’s one more floor of dingy metal stairs. I race up and sniff around. It’s the second door down from the stairway. Apartment 32.
I jump up trying to get to the doorknob but I can’t reach it. Instead, I sit outside meowing sadly in the general direction of apartment 33. That’s the apartment from which emanates the smells of cooked cabbage and warm milk and that pink medicine that human people take when they eat too much cooked cabbage and warm milk.
Perfect.
My pathetic mewling grows louder and more plaintive. Finally the door to apartment 33 opens.
An old grey head peeks out. I look over at her mournfully.
Meow meow meow.
“Oh, hello kitty. Are you okay?”
She takes a shuffling step out towards me, wearing slippers that were probably white once—but are now a splotchy shade of grey. Her quilted robe is pale pink and green and smells like the face cream my last human used to put on every night.
I stare at her. She comes over and reaches down to pet my head. “Are you Mr. Bronson’s cat? I didn’t know he had a cat.”
She hesitates then knocks on Rafe’s door for me. “Mr. Bronson. Hello. Mr. Bronson!” She knocks a few more times but no one answers.
“I’m sorry, kitty. But Andrew doesn’t seem to be home.”
Andrew? He said his name was Rafe.
She looks at me, wondering what to do now, so I make it easy for her. I get up and walk past her, right into her apartment.
“Oh dear,” I hear her mumble, but she doesn’t try to stop me. Instead, she closes the door behind me and puts the chain on. “Well, I suppose you could stay here until Andrew gets back. Why don’t you sit next to me on the couch.”
Already there.
I’m up on the sofa before she even sits all the way down. When she does, I climb onto her lap and lie there as she pets me gently.
“Aw. You’re a good kitty, yes you are. You’re a sweet one.”
I start purring. She reminds me of my old human. Of Agnes – we could sit like this for hours. I think if I try, I could almost believe she really is Agnes.
“I used to have a cat once. An Abyssinian. His name was Max.”
I can feel her sadness through her hands. I curl up against her. Purring louder.
“That’s a good kitty,” she says again. And soon…she’s sound asleep. The only noise is from the loud laugh track that’s playing on the TV.
I wait a few moments more, to make sure she doesn’t wake up, then I climb out of her lap and jump down onto the floor. I walk over to the long gold curtains and I push them aside. Then I nose the sliding door open and a moment later, I’m on the balcony.
I jump up onto the patio table and look over to Rafe/Andrew’s balcony next door. I see a bicycle. And some boxes.
I look back at her and see her sleeping there. I feel bad about leaving her. If anyone needs a good cat, it’s her. But I don’t have time for anything like that now. I have work to do. My plan is to jump across the space between the balconies without falling three stories to the ground below. Should be a piece of cake.
I jump onto the ledge. Look at my target. Then I leap.
I must have miscalculated because only my front paws reach the white stucco balcony. About to slide off… I cling on…and pull myself up and over. I stand for a moment, catching my breath. Then I hop down and walk right into his apartment.
I look around. It’s dark and dingy. A total sty.
The thing is, I heard him tell her that he had his own business. Then they drove off in one of those fancy cars with the low, fast engines. He wasn’t acting like someone who lived in a place like this. Someone who had a couch and an old TV and a sad looking dining room table with an old pizza box on it. Just what was this guy up to?
The other thing is, there is absolutely no dog here. Nor has there ever been one. I head into the bedroom where I hope to find some clue as to what’s really going on.
PENELOPE
At dinner, we’re getting along nicely. Rafe has a sense of humor, which I appreciate. He tells me a funny story about his dog, Elway. About their playing Frisbee in the park and how the dog ran right through a family’s picnic and ruined the whole thing. He tells me how he treated the family to lunch here at Le Jardins, just to make up for the damage.
“I’d love to see a photo of Elway,” I say. “Do you have one on your phone?”
He hesitates, then pulls out his cell. “I did.” He frowns as he scrolls through some images. “The problem is, it crashed the other day, and I lost everything. All my great videos and photos of Elway and everything else. Unfortunately.”
“How awful,” I say. But I can’t help but wonder…if he lost everything, why does he have so many other photos in his library?
As if reading my mind, he says, “These other photos are ones I managed to retrieve from my online backup but they’re all pretty old.”
“Ah. Of course,” I nod.
Question unasked and answered. I tell myself not to be so suspicious.
He orders Champagne and we toast. Then he wants to hear all about me.
I explain how I made my living working at a bookstore and my dream is to have a bookstore/café of my own. And how I’ve inherited Great-Aunt Agnes’s house and am in the process of cleaning it out. And how I hope I can stay here and make it work, even though Aunt Agnes owed thousands in back taxes – a debt I’ve inherited along with everything else.
“Well, your great-aunt’s house is beautiful,” he tells me. “I mean just from what I saw of it on the outside and in the entry. I’d love a tour of it.”
“Absolutely. Once I get it cleaned up. Until then I fear it’s a fire trap. I think GAA was a bit of a hoarder, actually. She travelled the world in her youth and collected everything that caught her eye.”
“GAA?”
“Great-Aunt Agnes—I call her that for short.”
He smiles and takes a sip of his Champagne. “And why’d she leave the house to you? Were you her only living relative?”
“Oh no. She had others. A distant cousin of mine who really wanted the house was one of them. But for some reason Great-Aunt Agnes wanted me to have it. And the cat.”
“Ah…the cat was hers too?”
“Yes. Mr. Bigelow – though I don’t think he likes me much.” I touch the stem of my Champagne flute.
“So what’ll you do with everything when you’ve got it all organized. A big garage sale?”
“Ha!” I laugh and take a sip of Champagne. “No, honestly, I don’t know what I’ll do with all the stuff yet. I mean I’d love to keep it all, but it’d be impossible. It’s a big house, but some of the rooms are stuffed so full you can barely walk into them. Especially the upstairs rooms which are a total obstacle course.”
He nods. “Well, I’m always looking to furnish my summer house, so let me know if you have anything interesting you want to get rid of.”
“Will do,” I smile. “If you’ll excuse me… I’m going to run to the ladies’ room.”
I get up and head to the bathroom and when I return, I see Rafe at the table waiting for me. I notice again how handsome he is. He immediately puts his phone into his pocket and looks up with a smile as I approach.
“Perfect timing. Our entrees are here.”
MR. BIGELOW
I realize I have to move quickly. Rafe could be back at any time. I sniff under the bed and don’t see anything of interest there except a lot of dust. This guy could really stand to do a little housekeeping.
I head into the closet and sniff around the shoes and bags on the floor. Nothing there to tell me what that smell is that I smell. Or what this guy is up to.
On an upper shelf I see a box that looks interesting. I jump up onto the shoe rack and from there leap up to the high shelf.
I paw at the box, but I can’t get the lid off that way. So without further ado, I nudge my nose against it with my entire weight behind me and the box falls to the floor with a loud, satisfying crash.
> Then I leap down and sniff around all the papers that fell out of it. A lot of it is that green stuff that humans use to get things with. I’m not interested in that…only the photographs that are in the box with it.
One photo shows an image of my old human, Agnes. She’s walking out of her house, dressed for the cold. It must have been taken many food bowls ago as she’s wearing a certain scarf that she lost in the leaves when they first started falling from the trees.
Then I see a more recent picture. This one is of Penelope. She’s carrying a box up the steps and into the house. It must be from when she first moved in. I place my paw on it and shove it away and see another one of Penelope. In this one she’s walking to my favorite place — the Pet Oasis food store.
Hmm…I think that’s where Penelope said she met this Rafe character. I’m pretty sure anyway. Sometimes I don’t listen to her that carefully.
I paw that one away and see a little metal thing. I sniff it. It has Agnes’s lotion smell on it and I know it’s important.
The thing to do is to take all these items home. But getting them out the door could be a problem.
I look around and spot a pair of red, high-heeled ankle boots in the corner. I drag one of them over and shove the photos and the little metal thing into it. Then I carry the boot out onto the balcony. I hold onto it with my teeth as I jump up onto the ledge…then I nuzzle and push at it until it drops over the edge to the street below.
I’m just about to head out the front door to retrieve it, when I hear something jiggle. I look up to see the front doorknob begin to turn.
He’s back!
I hiss, then I dart away and quickly dive into the bedroom and hide behind the laundry hamper in the closet.
Then I wait.
PENELOPE
“Mr. Bigelow! I’m home!” I look around, but I don’t see Mr. Bigelow in any of his usual spots. He’s not by his bowl, or on my computer keyboard or on my bed or on the couch or in any of the rooms that I can see.
“Mr. Bigelow!” I call again, growing a little nervous. He’s usually somewhere nearby when I come home, ready to greet me with a stare and a blink of his yellow eyes.
But now, nothing.
“Mr. Bigelow where are you?” I head down the hall, calling out again.
I realize it’s a big house and he could be anywhere. But all the doors to the spare bedrooms are closed and I’ve looked everywhere else.
I head back to the kitchen and see that his food is untouched. Which is unusual. He’s nowhere near his litterbox either.
It’s then I notice that the window in the living room is slightly open.
I don’t think I left it that way, but Mr. Bigelow couldn’t have opened it...could he?
I hurry out the door growing more and more panicked.
“Mr. Bigelow! Here kitty, kitty!” I call out. I look out into the dark night and see nothing.
Then I hear a noise to my right and look over. It’s not Mr. Bigelow but my neighbor Ben with his dog, Choxie.
“Everything okay?” he asks walking over.
“I can’t find Mr. Bigelow,” I say nervously. “I left him locked inside but I think that somehow he got out.”
“Yeah. I think he did,” Ben says, giving me a guilty shrug. “I saw him walking down the street right after you left.”
“You saw him? He’s been gone since eight o’clock! And you didn’t do anything?”
“What could I do? He’s fine, I’m sure. You’re overreacting.”
“Overreacting? Really?” I stalk off, calling out to Mr. Bigelow again.
Ben hurries to keep up as I walk down the block, looking everywhere for that little black and white form.
“Look, I didn’t mean to insult you, I just thought…”
“What?” I interrupt. “Just because you don’t like cats…”
“Me? I love cats! Where’d you get the idea I don’t like cats?”
I look accusingly at his dog.
“Choxie might not like cats,” Ben says, “but I have nothing against them. In fact, I happen to really like Mr. Bigelow. I’m just saying that he knows his way around town is all.”
“No, he doesn’t! He’s not an outdoor cat! He could get hurt!”
“He’s not an outdoor cat?” Ben stops walking and looks me in the eyes. “Does he know that?”
I stop walking now too, irritated beyond words. “Just what exactly are you insinuating?”
“Just that that cat is always outside. I think he’s outside more than he’s inside. I mean you might not realize it but...he is.”
I look down shaking my head. “I’m just really worried about him. I have a bad feeling. Maybe he does get out, and I don’t realize it, and maybe I am being irrational but… I can’t help it. I made a vow to Aunt Agnes that I’d take good care of Mr. Bigelow and now, after only one month he’s already missing. And I just…I sense that something’s wrong.”
“Fine,” Ben says, with a frown. “Why don’t you let Choxie help.”
“Choxie? How?” I look down at Ben’s dog.
Ben tells me to get something of Mr. Bigelow’s, so I hurry inside and grab his favorite pillow. Then I rush back out and hand it to Ben.
“Good,” he says. He holds it in front of Choxie’s nose. Choxie sniffs it – or at least, I think he’s sniffing it. He might just be trying to breathe with an irritating cushion blocking his air passages.
But Ben thinks otherwise. “Go get him Choxie! Go find Mr. Bigelow!” he commands, at which point Choxie takes off down the street, his nose to the ground, apparently on the trail of some invisible smell that only he can sense.
Ben and I look at one another, then quickly follow behind.
MR. BIGELOW
He doesn’t realize I’m in his apartment. He’s too busy talking on his phone. “Yeah, we went on our date,” he says. “Yeah, I think she likes me. It’s just a matter of time before I get it.” He moves the phone to his other ear as he looks into the refrigerator. “Huh? Yeah, okay, I will. But why? What’s the rush?”
I look over towards the door, wondering if I can make it out, when he spots me. “What the…”
I back up against the back wall and stand on my two back legs. I hiss, making myself as terrifying as can be. Which must be pretty fierce as Rafe backs away from me.
“Whoa, chill.”
He stares at me. I stare at him.
“How’d you get here, cat? Did you sneak into my car when I dropped her off?” He studies me with his cold, dead eyes. “Now what am I gonna do with you? Huh?”
I hiss again.
He grabs a blanket off the sofa and comes toward me. “Okay…easy does it,” he says, lifting the blanket up. “That’s a good kitty. Good and dead…”
I can see he’s going to drop it over me like a net but I can’t back up any further. I have to find a way around him. Or maybe I can rush between his legs before he has a chance to stop me. If I make it, I’m home free. If I don’t…well it’s better not to think about it.
I make a run for it.
“Gotcha!’ he says. He drops the blanket over my head.
Everything goes black.
PENELOPE
I have to give Choxie credit. He really doesn’t let up. His tail stays up in the air, pointing and wagging the entire time. And his nose stays down near the ground, sniffing in a very excited yet focused manner. Ben and I follow behind, walking quickly to keep up. In fact, Ben has to hold him back at the street lights or he’d walk right into traffic.
After about fifteen minutes we finally find ourselves down near the waterfront and Choxie’s pace slows. He stops in front of a pale green, three-story building with about twelve balconies in the front, facing the street.
“Where to now, Choxie?” Ben says to him, in that same excited tone. Choxie doesn’t answer. He sits down on the pavement and looks up at the building. Ben looks at the building, then over at me. “Seems like Mr. Bigelow might have gone into this building. Any idea why?”
“No. I don’t have a clue.” I stare at the building, then I walk over and look at the list of tenants’ names and intercom numbers.
“Anything familiar?” Ben asks.
“No. Nothing.”
As we stand there, a pizza delivery guy is buzzed in, and with a glance at Ben, I catch the door as it closes. Then I hold it open and the three of us enter.
Tail up, Choxie sniffs his way down the hall. Then up two sets of stairs.
He stops in front of apartment 33.
I look at my watch and consider knocking but it’s after midnight and it seems inconsiderate. Besides. I don’t really believe that Mr. Bigelow came here. Why would he?
I look at the name on the door. “Selma Slivovitz.” Did I really believe that Mr. Bigelow walked three miles from my house to come to visit Selma Slivovitz? No. I was pretty sure that Choxie was way off on this one.
“I guess it’s too late to knock,” Ben said as if reading my mind.
“Yeah. I’ll come back in the morning and check it out. I guess we should leave.”
Ben nods and we all head back downstairs.
But as we walk back down, I could swear I hear Mr. Bigelow meowing. I sigh, realizing it has to be my imagination. Either that or another cat is living in the building. After all, Mr. Bigelow isn’t the only the cat around.
MR. BIGELOW
“Shush! Stop it! Rafe hisses. I’m struggling and writhing like a maniac to get out of the black thing he’s thrown over me. I meow loudly and scratch at it but it’s so dark and thick and heavy that I can’t see a thing.
“I said stop it!” he says again in an angry tone. He clasps me so tightly I can’t move. He’s carrying me, probably moving towards his front door, trying to hear what’s going on in the hallway.
What is going on the hallway?
I have no idea. I pause in my struggle and listen. I sniff the air. I can’t make anything out through the black veil of evil. So I start meowing again.
Mr Bigelow Smells a Rat Page 2
