by Morgana Best
Then an idea occurred to me. “A Peeping Tom? What exactly are you saying that I saw? Sure, go ahead and tell the police what I’m supposed to have seen.”
For the first time since she had entered my house, Paula looked somewhat taken aback. I was sure she wouldn’t want the police to know that she was on friendly terms—very friendly terms—with her neighbor, Herb Green, and no doubt this had been going on since before her husband was murdered.
Paula opened her mouth to respond, but then let out a shriek. “That’s the ugliest cat I’ve ever seen!”
“How dare you!” I said. “You have no right to say that about my cat, especially in front of him.” I turned around to see Mongrel staring fixedly at Paula. “He’s had a hard life!”
“Haven’t we all!” Paula said rudely. “Let’s get real,” she added. “I know it was the two of you staring through the window, so stop playing games. We don’t want the police to know, and you don’t want the police to know, so let’s not pretend you’re going to call them. Now tell me why you were staring at us? And Herb says that you’ve been snooping around his store and his house, too. Tell me what it’s all about!”
I sighed. I supposed there was no point trying to keep it to myself any longer. “Well, if you must know, I thought you might have killed your husband.”
I watched as Paula’s expression changed to one of shock, to disbelief, and then to anger. “Killed my husband? Of course I didn’t kill my husband.”
“Well, you certainly had the motive,” I said. “You’re going to inherit everything, and what’s more, you’ve obviously been having a long-term affair with Herb Green. For all I know, the two of you were in it together.” I wondered if it had been wise to say what I did, given that I had watched many movies in which the main character, confronted with the murderer, opens her mouth and says far too much which puts her in mortal danger.
“I didn’t kill Peter, not that it’s any of your business. The police are investigating it, so why do you feel you have to stick your nose into my business?” She was yelling now.
I tried to think of something to say, but drew a blank. If only I could remember where I’d put my phone.
“So you don’t have anything to say for yourself then!” she snapped.
I felt something brush past my leg so I looked down. It was Mongrel. He appeared to be stalking Paula. I studied her once more, and I couldn’t see why he was interested—after all, she wasn’t wearing a rope necklace and her purse didn’t have rope-like handles.
“Mind your own business from now on, or you’ll be sorry!” Paula made to get up, but at that moment, Mongrel leaped at her.
It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Paula fell backward into her chair, and then overbalanced. Her legs flew back behind her ears. I noticed with some relief that Mongrel did not attack her, but instead jumped on the coffee table. He made horrendous growling sounds as he scratched and killed something on the coffee table. Paula managed to right herself, all the time screaming, and grabbed her purse. Mongrel was doing whatever he was doing on top of the coffee table and fur was flying.
“Make him stop!” Paula yelled.
“I’m not going near him!” I said. “I don’t even know what he’s doing!”
“He’s eating my keys!” Paula’s voice had gone from a yell to a wail.
I was confused. “Mongrel wouldn’t eat a key,” I said, puzzled.
“There was a rabbit’s foot on my keychain,” Paula said.
Now it all made sense. Mongrel had probably lived on rabbits in the past, and he was certainly a cat who liked his food. I couldn’t see why Paula was so upset that Mongrel had eaten her rabbit’s foot. I assumed it was a lucky rabbit’s foot, but surely she could get another one. After all, I think they were only about five dollars. Hell, I’d even pay for it!
Finally, Mongrel finished. He jumped from the coffee table and ran back into his carrier basket.
“My keychain is gone!” Paula said.
“What, the key chain as well as the rabbit’s foot?” I said with alarm.
Paula had gone white. “He’s eaten my house key! And my car key too!”
I gasped. “But I have to call the vet!”
I hurried to the kitchen and my phone was there after all, right next to my coffee machine. I picked it up and called the vet, and while I was waiting for the vet to answer, I looked back at Paula who had slumped back in the chair. She no longer appeared to be angry, but had a blank look of shock on her face.
I had a short conversation with the vet, who told me that Mongrel would likely be fine, but advised me to bring him in to the clinic for a check-up the following day. I agreed to do so, but I had no idea how I would be able to do that.
“I need my keys,” Paula wailed.
“Surely you have spare keys,” I said.
“I only have one car key because I lost the other one,” she said.
“Oh well, never mind. You’ll just have to leave your car here until you get your key back.”
Paula looked up at me. She was still clutching her purse to her. “Get my key back? How will I get my key back?”
“I promise I’ll clean it for you first,” I said.
“I don’t understand. Your cat ate it!”
I looked over at the cat basket. Mongrel stuck his head out of the door. He looked quite pleased with himself. “Well, err, my cat ate it, so we just have to wait for it to come out, um, the other end.”
I watched as the realization dawned on Paula. “No!” she said.
“I’m afraid so,” I said. “Would you like me to call you a taxi?”
Paula nodded weakly. All the fight appeared to have gone out of her. I called a taxi for her, and she sat in silence while I did. All the while, Mongrel shot her smug looks.
“I’ll wait outside for the taxi,” she said after an interval. I think she was a little worried about Mongrel sizing her up.
I followed her to the door, and opened it for her. “I’ll clean your keys really well,” I said. “I promise.”
She shuddered.
Chapter 17
“Oh, come on, it’s for your own good!” I said firmly. I was frustrated with Mongrel, but more frustrated with the dawning realization that he couldn’t understand me. “Just come inside your carrier basket,” I pleaded. Mongrel responded by meowing loudly and running to the other side of the house, out of sight. Of course, this is the only time you don’t want to get inside your basket, I thought bitterly.
I briefly wondered if it would be possible to build some sort of trap, but figured that luring him in with food was probably less insane by several degrees. I waited until he peeked around the corner again and filled his bowl with his favorite—and incredibly expensive—cat food.
Ever so slowly, Mongrel walked over to the bowl of food I had placed on the floor. As he drew nearer, I moved it to the back of his carrier basket, making sure he saw me do it. Mongrel regarded me suspiciously, clearly working out if the food was worth the risk. Fortunately for me, he decided to run inside. I immediately slammed the door shut behind him, and locked it tightly.
“Yes!” I said, punching my hand in the air triumphantly. “It’s for your own good,” I assured Mongrel, though he was too busy eating to notice my explanation.
Right on cue, the doorbell rang. I ran over and looked through the window carefully to see who it was. The last time I had suddenly opened the door I was accused of all manner of things and the cat had eaten almost everything that he shouldn’t have. Luckily, this time it was Carl, impatiently tapping his foot as he waited.
I opened the door and waved him in, glancing around my front yard and closing the door quickly as soon as he got inside.
“You’re late,” I said to Carl, raising an eyebrow.
“You’re lucky I came at all!” he retorted. “I’m half afraid that Mongrel will eat me, much less what he’ll do to my car. Let’s just get him there in a hurry.”
I nodded and picked up Mongrel’s carrier case, an act which caus
ed him to screech violently. “Oh, calm down!” I said as I looked inside. I could scarcely make out his small glowing eyes as he screeched at me from the back of the carrier basket.
“What’s he doing in there?” Carl asked as he looked inside. Before he got too close, two furry arms flew out of the basket’s grating and flailed at him wildly. Carl took a step back, looking as though he’d just become a victim of an attempted murder. “Put him in the trunk,” Carl demanded, taking another few steps away.
“Oh, come on, Carl,” I sighed. “He’s just angry because we’ve locked him in his carrier basket. He’ll calm down once he’s in the car,” I assured him, though we both knew it was a lie.
Carl helped me hold the basket steady as we walked it out to the car. Mongrel was rocking it violently, apparently hoping somehow to bust it open and escape. While the basket was sturdy, it was hard to hold it when Mongrel was behaving like he was. We had to stop several times on the short walk to the car to make sure we didn’t drop it. I couldn’t imagine what would happen if we had accidentally made Mongrel even more upset.
Eventually, we managed to place him in the back seat of Carl’s car. We sat his carrier basket behind the passenger seat so he couldn’t rock the carrier basket too much, vainly hoping that he’d calm down before we arrived at the vet clinic.
I buckled my seatbelt and sighed loudly, wanting nothing more than to have finished this entire trip. I was worried that Mongrel was in danger from eating the keys, and I did not want to take him to the vet, especially since he was so difficult to handle. Carl sat in the driver’s seat and glanced over his shoulder at Mongrel every few seconds, swallowing nervously.
It was only a short drive to the vet, but it was one I wasn’t looking forward to making. The second Carl started the car, Mongrel made a sound that can only be described as unspeakably unholy. Carl pulled over immediately, very nearly crashing into a nearby house. I jumped out of the car and opened the passenger seat door, checking on Mongrel. He was sitting calmly in his carrier basket, watching me innocently.
The second the car started again, Mongrel repeated his awful sound. He was screeching more loudly than I thought was possible, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was going to cause us some kind of permanent hearing damage. Carl pulled over again so I could make sure he wasn’t hurt, but of course Mongrel was calmly watching me when I checked on him.
I got back into the car and we drove away, but it wasn’t long before Mongrel shook the entire car and screeched again. Carl looked as though he was about to have a nervous breakdown, and I briefly wondered if maybe I could cure Mongrel of key-eating by just squeezing him hard enough. Luckily, we arrived at the veterinarian clinic before I could put my theory to the test.
Mongrel calmed down when we stopped, but became immediately irate when I picked up his basket. Carl walked ahead of me and opened the door as I struggled to maintain control over the violently shaking carrier, though I managed to get inside the vet’s office itself, if only barely.
When we were inside, Mongrel did not stop screeching. I looked over to see a man with a cute, fully-grown Labrador. He was cowering at the sound of Mongrel’s screeching, and his dog was too. There was also a woman with a Saint Bernard, and the dog had decided to climb on top of his poor owner to get slightly further away from the horrible noise.
I sat Mongrel’s carrier basket down in front of the counter, feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and absolute terror. Carl stood behind me at a safe distance, clearly ready to sprint out of the office and into the car if Mongrel accidentally got loose.
“What is it?” A woman appeared from behind a door. She was probably the nurse, I reasoned, judging by her clothes.
“It’s my cat,” I said, motioning to Mongrel’s basket. “I called about him and made an appointment. He swallowed two keys, and I’m worried about what it’s doing to him.”
“Well, it was stupid of you to let him swallow keys,” the nurse said condescendingly.
“But I didn’t…” I began, but was abruptly cut off.
“What do you want us to do?” she asked.
I looked at Carl and shrugged, and Carl shot me an even more confused look.
“Make sure he’s okay?” I suggested, unsure of what to say. “I did call, and was told to bring him in.”
The nurse exaggerated a sigh. “We’ll give him an x-ray. Just wait here.” She moved to pick up the basket.
“Wait!” Carl said. “Be careful with him.”
“I’m always careful with animals,” the nurse said dismissively. “I won’t hurt him.”
“No, I mean be careful that he doesn’t hurt you,” Carl explained with a genuinely worried look.
“Oh, please,” the nurse said scathingly. “I’m sure I’ve dealt with much worse than this little cat.” At that, she took Mongrel’s carrier basket into a back room. The screeches were muffled as the door closed behind her, and Carl and I both took a seat, eagerly awaiting some kind of news. The two other pet owners still looked terrified, and I was worried that the Saint Bernard would crush his poor owner, who was an elderly lady.
Before I could help the elderly lady, a loud scream erupted from the room where Mongrel had been taken. There were several loud banging sounds as the ceiling shook, and a blue light started flashing. Several other staff members appeared from various doors and sprinted into the room. As they rushed through the door, I spotted something metal flying through the gap, but couldn’t make out any details. Carl looked like he was about to burst into tears, and I didn’t blame him.
After several more minutes, the nurse returned. She was covered in band-aids and even some bandages, all of which were partially concealing some kind of strange green powder.
“What on earth is that?” Carl asked, his mouth hanging open.
“I think it’s some type of cat topical ointment,” I explained with a shrug. “I have some at home. I suppose all the vets and staff self-medicate with animal stuff. I mean, why wouldn’t you?”
Carl stared at me as if I had lost my senses. Before he could speak, the vet beckoned us into the treatment room. We dutifully followed, terrified about what we’d see.
On the treatment table sat the cat carrier basket, shaking violently. Instruments were strewn about the room, and there were several strangely colored liquids scattered about. The vet was standing behind the nurse.
“What happened?” Carl asked, horrified.
“We had some trouble,” the vet admitted, clearly not interested in going into any more detail. “Anyway, we got the x-rays,” she said, motioning to a large screen on the wall. “The keys are progressing nicely, and I don’t think there’ll be any complications. If that monstrous…” She stopped speaking for a moment to clear her throat. “If the cat shows any signs of discomfort, please take him to see a vet.”
I noticed that she had said ‘to see a vet,’ and not ‘back here,’ but wasn’t about to bring it up.
“Are you sure he’s okay?” I asked, worried that he’d hurt himself when they’d let him out.
“He’s fine,” the vet assured me, though the angry glare she gave the carrier basket didn’t exactly fill me with confidence.
“I’ll just open the carrier basket to check on him…”
“No!” Carl and the vet yelled in unison as they backed away. The nurse ran out of the room. The cage shook gently as Mongrel seethed, and I decided that they might have a point. I picked up the carrier basket, struggling to maintain a hold as Mongrel shook it, and carried it back out to the entrance. I sat it on the floor. The two dogs in the waiting room backed away, and the old lady with the Saint Bernard was now completely obscured by the terrified dog on her lap.
Once I was back in reception, the nurse re-appeared. “I’ll just get your bill,” she spat, sounding much angrier than I thought she had any right to be. She was gone for several minutes, and I thought that perhaps another emergency had come up. Eventually, though, she returned with two other staff members and the bill. “Here
it is,” she said dryly, handing me the slip of paper.
“What!” I said loudly, causing everybody in the room to jump. “This is insane! There’s no way an x-ray could cost this much.” I was exasperated.
“The fee is higher on a Sunday,” the nurse explained coolly.
“Even so, this is ridiculous,” I said.
“Well, feel free to take your future business to another vet clinic,” she retorted with a mean smile as green powder fell from a deep welt on her forehead.
“Please,” another staff member asked, looking as though he were about to burst into tears. I sighed and paid the bill, picking up Mongrel’s case and carrying it back out to the car. The relief was palpable as Carl and I left the office with Mongrel and got in the car.
Mongrel was silent again as soon as I sat him on the car seat, but I knew he’d start up again as soon as the car did.
“Are you okay, Narel?” Carl asked, raising an eyebrow. “That was quite intense.”
“I thought it went well!” I said, smiling. “It’s good to get Mongrel socializing, you know. Maybe we can do this more often.”
For some reason, Carl looked as though he were about to faint. He stepped on the gas hard and we were home before Mongrel had the chance to screech.
Chapter 18
Carl helped me inside with Mongrel’s cat carrier basket. Carl was unable to stay because he was heading straight to the gym. I opened a can of Mongrel’s favorite food and put it in his bowl, which I placed in front of his door. Then I stood at the side of the carrier basket and opened his door. He shot from his door like a champion racehorse out of the barriers and landed on his food, which he proceeded to kill noisily. Obviously, the keys were not that filling.
I felt ill, after the shock of the police seeing me as their main suspect, and then being threatened by Paula Prentiss, and then the worry of Mongrel swallowing the keys, not to mention the huge vet bill. I lowered myself onto the couch and put a pillow over my face, and tried to concentrate on breathing deeply.
