The Cat Megapack

by Gary Lovisi

  “I won’t bother you long,” he promised before bothering her at all. “I just want to know when you expect your husband home.”

  She answered that readily enough. And the chief wanted to know if Harvey would realize anything from his uncle’s will. Julie couldn’t say. She just didn’t know anything about it, but probably if there was a will Harvey would be mentioned.

  The chief meditated on that for a while and concluded that he’d have to get a court order and have a look at the will himself. Then he took out of his pocket a pair of slim-nosed pliers. Radio nippers, he called them.

  “The plumber found these down a drain tile just outside Charley Pedlow’s front door,” the chief explained. “That was Tuesday. The plumber came late Monday evening to locate a stoppage that had been flooding Charley’s basement. He pulled a downspout and got to exploring and figured the stoppage was in the tile. He didn’t have time to work on it then, but got to work Tuesday morning. These nippers were down the drain and they aren’t the plumber’s.”

  Julie frowned at the pliers.

  “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”’

  “Plenty. Maybe you saw in the papers that somebody worked on the lock on Charley Pedlow’s door. That’s a snap lock. When you slam the door it locks, but the key isn’t much. You could reach through the keyhole with nippers like these, get hold of the key, and twist it from the outside. That’s what was done. Nipper marks on the tip of the key.”

  “But—”

  Julie checked herself in time. She had been about to say that the person who had worked on Charley Pedlow’s lock had been frightened away by her arrival, and that after the prowler had left, Uncle Charley had been very much alive.

  The prowler couldn’t have returned with the nippers because he had dropped them when Julie’s arrival had surprised him. That was the metallic ringing she had heard—the pliers bouncing from the stoop. And then she had heard a duller sound, which was the pliers falling into the open drain.

  The chief regarded Julie carefully, his eyes bright and sharp. “You’ve never seen these nippers, I suppose?”

  Julie shook her head. “We haven’t any tools around here except a hammer to hang pictures with. My husband is absolutely helpless mechanically.”

  The chief smiled broadly and hoisted himself out of the chair.

  “Guess I don’t have to bother you any longer,” he said. “Many thanks.”

  When he was gone, Julie was left small consolation. The police were on the wrong track. But suppose they made an arrest—some guiltless person who might have been trying to break into Charley Pedlow’s house but who had certainly not killed Uncle Charley? What would Julie do then?

  She went into the bedroom, threw herself face down on the bed. There was a cool breeze blowing through the window. It played with her ruddy curls, caressed her hair as Harvey sometimes did. Julie smiled faintly into her pillow, thinking of Harvey, and gradually the worried tenseness left her body.…

  “Me-ow!”

  Julie propped herself up on elbows, eyes wide awake, staring into darkness. She had fallen asleep. She had been dreaming about cats.

  The cry came again. This was no dream. She sat up stiffly on the edge of the bed, looked out the window. There was a baleful flash of green eyes in darkness, a scampering of small feet. Another pair of eyes stared eerily out of the darkness, and then another.

  Julie rushed to the light switch, snapped it on. For a moment she leaned against the wall, her heart doing crazy things that made her gasp.

  She listened to the patter of paws outside her window, heard the rattling of shrub branches. Not just one cat, several cats. Her flesh began to crawl, and a nervous trembling shook her body. She went to the bedroom door and in front of her lay the blackness of the living room. She plunged into that blackness, ran to the living room light switch, pushed it on. And then to the front door to snap on the porch light.

  Opening the front door, she stood there trying to determine if the light had frightened the cats away. It hadn’t. A sleek black cat bounded up the porch steps, rubbed head and neck on the porch rail, greeted her with a friendly yowl.

  “Skat!” Julie whispered without making an impression on the black cat.

  She stepped onto the porch intent on chasing the cat away. Suddenly she stopped a yard from the door. A stifled cry fled to her lips and was never uttered. Out there on the front lawn were six more cats—calico cats, tigers, a white cat, the unmistakable gray Tom cat with one eye.

  All of Uncle Charley’s cats were out there in front of her house. Julie’s mind took a sickening backward lurch, recalling what Harvey had said about cats: “They’ll go to anybody who feeds them.”

  Julie flung up a hand to her forehead as though to stop the dizzy whirl of her brain, as though to tear aside the smothering veil of blackness that descended before her eyes.

  * * * *

  “Julie!”

  Someone was shaking her. The acrid fumes of ammonia burned her nostrils. She didn’t open her eyes right away. She didn’t want to come back.

  “Julie, the police—”

  Her eyelids snapped open. She was on her front porch, and the arms of little Dr. Palet were around her. The veterinarian’s watery blue eyes were fixed strangely on her face. “You must have fainted,” Dr. Palet whispered. “You’ve got to snap out of it.”

  Julie’s gaze shifted to the top of the porch steps. The white cat was there, washing its face. At the other end of the porch, a tiger and the half-grown calico were brawling amicably.

  “Can you stand up, Julie?”

  “I—I can try.”

  She tried, the doctor holding her tightly all the while.

  “My car’s waiting,” he said. “I’ve got to get you out of town.”

  “Out of town?”

  “Yes. The police. Someone saw you going into Charley Pedlow’s house Monday night. They’re coming to arrest you for murder. I just heard. There’s not a moment to lose.”

  Julie’s frightened eyes went back to the cats. She shivered in the doctor’s arms.

  “All right,” she agreed dismally. “I’ll go.”

  “No one will know,” Dr. Palet said. “Mrs. Palet’s gone to the movies. We’ve got to hurry. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  Dr. Palet hurried her off the porch. His car stood in the drive between the two houses, its front door open. He all but lifted her in, slammed the door, then hurried around the front of the car to get in under the wheel. He backed out of the drive, nosed the car north.

  It was the only thing to do, Julie decided. Hide out of town until Harvey could come to her.

  The car flashed by the city limits, ripped off the main highway into a narrow twisting road. Dr. Palet’s right hand left the wheel long enough to shyly pat her arm.

  “Don’t be afraid, Julie,” he said.

  “I’m not,” she said. “This is sweet of you. You know of somewhere I can hide overnight?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’ll telegraph Harvey as soon as you get back?”

  Dr. Palet laughed shortly. “I’m not going back!”

  Julie looked sharply at the doctor’s small-featured face.

  “And you’re not going back either,” he added. “We’re going away together. Didn’t you know that?”

  He jerked the wheel recklessly and the car slowed around a steep curve.

  “What do you mean?” she gasped.

  “I mean just what I said.” His laugh was reckless, and his voice was hoarse with emotion. His bright eyes were frightening. “Harvey doesn’t love you—not as I do. And you won’t be able to come back without facing a murder charge. I’ll take care of you. I’ll have lots of money. Charley Pedlow’s will, you know. He showed it to me. A hundred thousand dollars left to me to take care of his cats.”

  Julie put her hand on the latch of the door. She spoke calmly though her heart was hammering wildly.

  “I think you’d better stop right here and l
et me out, Doctor.”

  “Don’t be silly. You’ll go to the chair.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “You haven’t got any. If you go back, I’ll see that you get the chair. I’m the one who saw you go to Charley Pedlow’s house.”

  “And you told the police?”

  He laughed. “No, but I will, I’m a realist, Julie. And an opportunist. I tell you that you haven’t any choice.”

  He tried to get an arm around Julie. She shrank away from him, turned her back against the door.

  “You—you were the one standing beside the door of Uncle Charley’s house that night?”

  “Yes. And I was watching through the window when you hit the man with your purse. You haven’t any choice.”

  The car had come to the top of a hill. At that moment, Julie saw something glowing faintly in the back seat of the car. She twisted her head, saw a single green cat’s eye watching them from the back seat.

  Julie screamed. Dr. Palet was startled into jerking the wheel. He had to fight to keep on the road as the car careened down the hill.

  “Screaming won’t get you anywhere,” he told her tensely. “Except maybe land us in a ditch.”

  “But the cat!” she gasped. “Why did you bring the cat?”

  “You’re crazy.” He laughed. “I didn’t bring any cat.”

  “The one-eyed cat is in the back seat.”

  At the foot of the hill, a narrow iron bridge loomed in the blaze of headlights. Dr. Palet tried to take a look back over his shoulder, didn’t dare at this speed. And then it happened.

  The big gray cat sprang from the seat cushions, straight at the bald head of Dr. Palet. Its saber claws raked across Dr. Palet’s head and face. Then it tumbled upon his lap, clawing wildly at his coat pocket.

  Dr. Palet uttered a hoarse, hurt cry. He made a frantic stab for the cat, but missed. The animal yowled, its eyes glowing strangely. It seemed to have dissolved into a whirling blur of fur in which that single eye was a pin-wheeling shaft of green light.

  The cat kept clawing and raking at Dr. Palet’s suit. One claw slashed bloody furrows across the back of his hand. An upward leap sent another crimson track across his face.

  Julie tried to close her eyes to shut out the terrifying sight of the iron bridge looming in front of them. But her eyes were irresistibly drawn to her approaching doom. Sheer desperation made her lunge for the wheel. But at that precise moment, the doctor’s arm was flung up to ward off the cat.

  He lost complete control of the car. It slewed across the road, plunged head-on into the bridge. There was a rending crash of metal, the screech of tires, and the tinkling dissolution of shattered glass. Julie was hurled roughly about. A heavy weight crushed down upon her, and she seemed to drop into a black pit that had no bottom.…

  * * * *

  Julie was in the hospital three weeks, recovering from shock, a broken rib, and body bruises. Harvey was with her most of the time. He had obtained a leave of absence from his new job. Just as soon as she was well enough to be released from the hospital, they planned to move to Washington.

  Dr. Palet had died in the accident, Harvey informed her, which was just about the best way it could have turned out.

  “Because the police were going to arrest him for the murder of Uncle Charley! They’d found a pair of pliers which had been used to unlock Uncle Charley’s door from the outside. Those pliers belonged to Dr. Palet. And when the police examined Uncle Charley’s will, they knew Palet had a strong motive.”

  Julie listened quietly until the nurse had gone out of the room. Then she told Harvey the truth. She explained how Dr. Palet had dropped the pliers before Uncle Charley was dead, which proved that the doctor simply couldn’t have got in to kill Charley Pedlow. She told how she had left Uncle Charley and closed the door quietly behind her.

  “If you didn’t slam the door,” Harvey said, “it wouldn’t have locked. It’s that kind of a lock. From what you just told me I guess you surprised Palet right after he had forced the lock open. In running away, he dropped the pliers. He no doubt was ready to commit the murder when you came along. He must have been watching through the window when you and Uncle Charley were scuffling and saw you strike Uncle Charley on the head with your handbag. After you left, he went in and killed Uncle Charley by simply raising Uncle Charley’s head and bringing it down hard on the doorstop. He was the murderer, all right.”

  Julie was still worried. A deep frown creased her smooth forehead.

  “It seems to me the police are only guessing. Of course, the pliers are a clue, but I don’t think it is enough. They could still suspect me if they ever found out about my visit.”

  Harvey laughed and petted her shoulder. “Forget it, darling. The police have another clue. The whole town knows Dr. Palet’s passion for flowers and particularly for heliotrope. Well, he must have been planting it that day, because when he killed Uncle Charley, he dropped a withered sprig of it on the floor beside Charley’s head. It must have been caught on his clothes.”

  “Then I’m in the clear. The police can’t possibly suspect me.”

  “That’s right, darling. Don’t you see? Palet knew he’d committed a murder, but he was afraid you had identified him when you saw him lurking in the shadows. He knew you had knocked out Uncle Charley. Only if he could convince you that you had done the killing could he feel safe. So he decided to play up to your suspicions, worry you. If he could make the cats hang around our house, he figured he could break your nerve.”

  “But I don’t see how.” Julie protested. “Did he get Uncle Charley’s cats together and dump them on our front lawn? How could he make them stay there?”

  “Didn’t you tell me he planted some flowers in our front yard the day after the murder?”

  “Yes. Heliotrope.”

  “Garden heliotrope is one name for the stuff. Valerian is another. Cats are wild about the foliage, the flowers and even the roots. That’s why he planted the stuff—to keep the seven cat witnesses in front of your eye.”

  Julie was silent for a long moment. She still looked puzzled.

  “But I still can’t understand,” she murmured, “why that one-eyed cat attacked Dr. Palet. It—it was almost as if that cat knew Dr. Palet had killed its master and—”

  Julie broke off, a tremor in her voice.

  “You are a silly one,” Harvey chided. “Palet guessed right about your superstitions. There was nothing funny about the cat jumping on him. It was going after the scent of valerian. It had caught the scent of the stuff and followed both of you into the car. When he turned around, the cat leaped and landed on his head and started to claw him in its wild frenzy to get at the valerian.”

  Harvey came closer to the bed and leaned over Julie. “Your experiences should teach you to stay away from amorous, middle-aged men.”

  Julie smiled, and her eyes sparkled.

  “But I’ve no objection to the amorous advances of a certain young man named Harvey Enders,” she reminded him.

  THE CATS, by H. P. Lovecraft

  Babels of blocks to the high heavens towering

  Flames of futility swirling below;

  Poisonous fungi in brick and stone flowering,

  Lanterns that shudder and death-lights that glow.

  Black monstrous bridges across oily rivers,

  Cobwebs of cable to nameless things spun;

  Catacomb deeps whose dank chaos delivers

  Streams of live foetor that rots in the sun.

  Color and splendour, disease and decaying,

  Shrieking and ringing and crawling insane,

  Rabbles exotic to stranger-gods praying,

  Jumbles of odour that stifle the brain.

  Legions of cats from the alleys nocturnal.

  Howling and lean in the glare of the moon,

  Screaming the future with mouthings infernal,

  Yelling the Garden of Pluto’s red rune.

  Tall towers and pyramids ivy’d and crumbling,
<
br />   Bats that swoop low in the weed-cumber’d streets;

  Bleak Arkham bridges o’er rivers whose rumbling

  Joins with no voice as the thick horde retreats.

  Belfries that buckle against the moon totter,

  Caverns whose mouths are by mosses effac’d,

  And living to answer the wind and the water,

  Only the lean cats that howl in the wastes.

  THE HEMINGWAY KITTENS, by A. R. Morlan

  Some people may say that cats and bookstores don’t mix, that small beasts with claws and the occasional ability to spray have no place among shelved books which reach from the floor to near-ceiling…but answer me, is there anything more appealing than the sight of a cat curled up next to an opened book? With its softly-pointed chin resting on the creamy-white printed pages?

  True, initially I began shutting cats up inside my bookstore to take care of a minor mouse problem before it became a multiple mice problem, but after the first time I approached the store minutes before opening time, and saw that small crowd of people standing before the shop’s display window, cooing and oohing over the sight of Chatty and Muffin curled up into tiger-and-white commas next to the shiny-covered copies of the latest Stephen King novel, I realized that I was on to something. I hadn’t seen people react like that since I’d last been in New York City during the winter holidays, when Macy’s set up its annual Christmas window displays—and that had been the year they’d done the Little Women scenes, back in 1979.

  The connection with the name of the store didn’t hurt, either—Barrett and Browning’s did have that “couples” connotation, and the fact that Chatty was a she and Muffin was a he (even if he was smaller than she was) only seemed to enhance the store’s image. Pretty soon, customers started asking where “Barrett and Browning” were, and if I could coax those two sleepy felines out among the shelves during regular store hours, it usually meant a few extra dollars in the till, especially those small—but expensive—items like bookmarks or protective covers for paperback books…all of which I managed to order in cat designs.