by Patricia Fry
Chris stared down at Rags. “I read that ragdolls are quite smart and can be trained like a dog can. I don’t imagine you found it very difficult to leash-train him, did you, Savannah?”
“No,” she said, “but training him to stay home—now that’s a challenge. Hey, which breeds are most inclined to wander—you know, to be adventurous? Do you know?”
“I believe the Bengal is one and the Abyssinian,” Chris said. “But then there are exceptions in every breed and in every cat.”
“Of course,” Tracy said. “Boy you gals know a lot of about cats, don’t you?”
Jim chuckled. “Not enough to keep the cats at home.”
“Good point,” Savannah said. She asked, “Was Jazzie an escape artist when you had her? I hear she visited Irene quite often.”
The couple looked at each other. He said, “Oh yes. She seemed always to be worming her way outside. We planned to keep her inside. She was not happy. She wanted to be outside with us. We spend quite a bit of time out here in our yard with our children. Jazzie didn’t like being left out of things. She wanted to be out here with us, like our dog does, but we couldn’t trust her to stay close. Cats don’t respond to commands like dogs do.”
Tracy nodded. “The children loved Jazzie, but they wanted a pet that was more fun to play with, so we decided to get a dog. I know that people have dogs and cats together, but we couldn’t see Jazzie willingly sharing her space with a dog. We thought she’d be happier in a dogless home.”
“So, Tracy, was Jazzie creative in finding ways to escape from the house?” Savannah asked.
“Oh my goodness, yes.” She laughed. “Of course, when you have children going in and out all day, a cat doesn’t need a lot of smarts or craftiness to slip out around them.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Savannah agreed.
“We found her on the roof one morning with no way to get down,” Jim said.
“Oh?” Irene questioned, petting Jazzie, in her lap. “How did she get up there and not be able to get down? She seems smarter than that to me.”
“And she is,” Jim said. “She’s so smart, in fact, that she climbed up a stack of towels and tablecloths in our linen closet and on up into the attic space. We’re still not sure how she managed to get on the roof, except that there was a broken vent cover. I assume she squeezed out through there and clawed her way onto the roof. There are no trees hanging over the roof, as you can see, so no way for her to get down.”
“We were glad she didn’t try to shimmy back down through that vent into the attic—or maybe she did and couldn’t find her way to the opening in the closet.” Tracy threw her hands in the air. “Who knows exactly how she did it. All we know for sure is she was on the roof that morning, crying her lungs out. Jim had to climb the ladder to get her down.”
He chuckled. “She was still young and lightweight, so I had her ride down the ladder attached to my leg.”
“Ouch,” Chris said. “By the claws?”
He nodded. “Yeah, it stung a little, but it worked. I was afraid to try coming down one-handed, and putting her on my shoulder didn’t seem like a very good idea, either.” He smiled at Jazzie. “Yes, I guess you’d say she’s creative.”
“Jim,” Tracy said, “remember the time she crashed the wedding?”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes, that was almost a disaster. At least the bride and groom are still married.”
“What happened?” Savannah asked, amused.
Tracy glanced at Jim. “We invited friends of my sister to have their wedding here. We’d just moved in a few months earlier and the yard was at its peak. It was ideal for a small wedding. Plus, I love to entertain. So we made sure Jazzie was comfortable—you know, away from the hustle-bustle in a quiet place with her most familiar things. Well, one of the guests must have been looking for the bathroom or something and he opened the door to her room. Whether Jazzie ran out or he left the door open and she came out later, we don’t know.”
“I’ll tell you what happened,” Jim flashed a look at Tracy, then said quietly, “That guy was up to no good. He was looking for something to steal, maybe, or for a place to shoot up or smoke a joint.”
“Why do you think that?” Chris asked.
“Well, he claims that Jazzie attacked him for no reason at all. He came out of the house all scratched up and bleeding.” He shook his head. “I wonder what he did or tried to do to that poor cat. Well, she comes tearing out of the house through the sliding door, which we’d been leaving open for guests, since Jazzie was secured and all. She saw the people and started to run back inside, but someone was coming from that direction, so she darted back out. Long story short, she made a leap, I guess she thought to safety, and landed in the middle of the wedding cake while the bride and groom were cutting it. It was one of those tiered cakes and oh what a mess.”
Tracy nodded. “My sister and I spent thirty minutes trying to get all the icing off the bridal gown.” She chuckled. “…not to mention off poor Jazzie.”
Savannah laughed along with the others. When she finally caught her breath she said, “Yup, she must be Rags’s sister.”
“He does things like that?” Tracy asked.
“Oh, you just can’t imagine,” Savannah said, “but I’ll leave you with my book, which pretty much details Rags’s story ever since I adopted him. I think you’ll get a kick out of it.”
“I’ll bet,” Jim said.
“So is that the real reason you let me have her,” Irene asked, still petting Jazzie, “because she was being a naughty girl?”
Looking sheepish, Tracy admitted, “That’s only part of it.” She asked guardedly, “How are you getting along with her by now?”
Irene smiled. “I adore her. She hasn’t caused me much trouble. I thought she was kind of a handful until I heard your stories. Actually, she’s a dream cat. I sure wouldn’t think of giving her away.” Irene asked hesitantly, “You don’t want her back, do you?”
“Oh no,” Tracy said.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Jim said. “She’s one cute cat and a lot of fun, but we’re too busy to give her what she needs.”
“Which is?” Chris asked, amused.
“Constant companionship.” He smiled. “She’s really rather a prima donna, don’t you think so, Irene?”
Kissing the calico on top of her head, Irene said, “Yes she is, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Everyone watched Jazzie give herself a lick bath, then Savannah stood up. “Well, thank you for squealing on these two miscreants. We have more interviews to do today, so we’d better be on our way. It was so nice to meet you, Tracy and Jim.”
“So what did you learn?” Jim asked, also standing.
Savannah looked down at the two cats and laughed. “That the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, perhaps.”
Chapter Seven
“Savannah, you weren’t kidding when you said hanging around with Rags can be amusing and full of surprises,” Chris said. “So far he’s possibly found his own sister and participated in a jail break when the two of them escaped from Jazzie’s house. What else are we in for?”
Savannah smiled, then asked, “Do you want to run the samples by the lab now or…”
“I hope to get one from the sister that looks like the mother cat,” Chris said. “When are we scheduled to see her?” Before Savannah could respond, she asked, “You only found one of the ragdoll sisters? Weren’t there two?”
“Yes,” Savannah said. “Marilyn knows this gal who adopted April. I guess she has lost track of the people who took the other one. But, yes, we can probably see April this afternoon after we visit Jeannie’s cat—you know, the mother cat. I spoke with Jeannie’s sister, Pam, and she said she’s home all day with a sick child, so we can come by any time.”
“Sick?” Chris asked.
“She says he’s not contagious. It’s his allergies acting up. He had an asthma attack last night, and they decided to let him rest at home today.”
“Not too far from here.”
Fifteen minutes later Savannah pulled up in front of a neatly kept home in a cul-de-sac. A woman, who introduced herself as Pam, opened the door and invited them in.
“Is it okay if the cat comes in?” Savannah asked.
“Yeah, I guess,” Pam said a little nervously. “Just watch that he doesn’t mess up anything or hurt any of the other cats, that’s all.”
“Of course,” Savannah said.
“My brother-in-law’s very particular. He’s at work now, then he’s going to some event, so we should be free to visit.”
“He won’t approve of us being here?” Savannah asked.
Pam winced. “I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for my sister. She begged me to take care of the kids and the cats for her. I guess she didn’t trust who he might hire.”
“I don’t blame her,” Savannah said. “Bless you for helping out.”
Pam looked at Savannah, then Chris. “I love these kids. I don’t have any of my own, but I’d sure rather be back up in Oregon stocking my store. As it is, I’ll have to delay my opening.”
“What kind of store?” Chris asked.
“Secondhand and antiques,” Pam said. “I may call it, Pamela’s Vintage Junque—you know, with a q-u-e. It’s mostly things our mother hoarded over many years. She passed away last September, and this is my way of honoring her while doing something I love.”
“How nice,” Savannah said. “Hopefully you’ll be able to get back to it soon.”
Pam nodded. “And I hope to get Jeannie involved in it with me.”
Savannah leaned closer and said, “It’s none of my business, but I sure can’t imagine your sister doing what she’s been accused of.”
“She didn’t,” Pam spat. “She’s taking the hit for someone else.” She glanced around. “Hey, that’s all I can say. What is, is and it will be over soon, unless...”
“Unless what?” Savannah asked.
Pam took a quick breath. “I don’t even want to go there. Let’s just hope this is the last time.”
“It’s happened before?” Chris asked.
Pam looked at Chris, then Savannah and said, “I’ll go get the cat.” She asked, “It’s Angel you want to see, right?” She stopped at the doorway and asked, “Now why is it you want to see her? You know there are no kittens in the cattery right now. Do you have a sire you’d like to breed or something? I was kind of busy when you called and I didn’t understand what you wanted with Angel.”
“Well,” Savannah stalled. “We’re pretty sure Rags, my cat here, is one of her kittens, and…”
“What?” Pam shrieked, leaning against the doorjamb.
“I’m tracing his family tree. We’ve already met one of his sisters, a cute calico.”
“Angel had a mixed litter? I didn’t know that. And Jeannie said it’s okay for you to see her?” Pam shook her head. “Oh, I don’t think Drew would allow that.”
“Yeah, from the sounds of it, he wouldn’t, but Jeannie’s the one who gave me your number. So yes, it’s okay with her.” When Savannah saw Pam staring down at Rags, she explained, “It was just about eight years ago. Angel evidently had a date with a cat of a different color.” She chuckled. “And Rags is one of the products of that union. He’s quite an unusual cat, which is what inspired me to go on this genealogical journey.”
Pam stood quietly for a moment, finally saying, “Well, if Jeannie says it’s okay, I guess…I’ll be right back.”
“Thank you,” Savannah said.
Pam returned carrying a cream-and-brown ragdoll cat almost as large as Rags. She sat down with her on her lap, and Savannah moved closer. “She’s beautiful.” She looked at Rags. “Ragsie, this is your mother. Do you remember her? Isn’t she gorgeous?”
Pam stared down at Rags and said, “Doesn’t look like he got any of her genes. What a…”
She cleared her throat. “Well, I guess he’s good-looking in his own way, but he sure isn’t a ragdoll.”
“No, not in looks. He does sprawl, though. He’s floppy and kind of laid back and relaxed, friendly, social.” She grinned. “And he can be wildly adventuresome.”
Chris chuckled. “He’s a thrill-seeker.”
“Hmmm,” Pam mused.
“I’d love to take a picture of the two of them together, if you don’t mind,” Savannah said.
“Okay, I guess,” Pam said nervously.
After Savannah and Chris had both snapped a few pictures, Chris asked, “Okay if I swab her while she’s all quiet there?”
Pam frowned. “Swab her?”
“Take a swab so we can test her DNA,” Chris explained.
“I don’t know about that,” Pam said. “I wasn’t told anything about taking her DNA.”
“We just want to have her DNA in the mix so it’s easier to determine the ancestry on both sides,” Savannah said. “Isn’t that right, Chris?”
Chris nodded.
Pam glanced around. “Gosh, I don’t know. They breed ragdolls here. If it were to become public knowledge that Angel had a batch of off-breed kittens…” She became slightly agitated. “No, I don’t think I’d better allow a DNA test on her. That might just open a can of worms that I sure don’t want to be responsible for. I’m walking on eggshells here as it is. I’m trying to do my best to follow his ridiculous rules and just take care of the children and the cats.” She stood up. “I’d better put this one back in her pen.”
Savannah gasped. “You keep her in a pen? I thought she was a pet.”
Pam stopped and stared at Savannah. “She’s a breeder, and Drew says…” She shook her head and quickly left the room.
“Is there any possibility that we could talk to Mr. Gerard?” Savannah asked when Pam returned. “Do you think he would give us permission to swab Angel?”
“Probably not,” Pam said. “Well, I guess it depends on what you plan to do with the information.”
“I hope to write a book. I’ve already written one book featuring Rags—a sort of memoir. I have a sequel in the works. I envision this new book focusing on Rags’s family. I expect it to be a study of genetics—you know, what traits seem to be inherited and which of them might be taught or maybe environmental. The first step is to positively identify members of his family. That’s why we’d really like to swab all the possible key players, even Angel.”
“And you want to write about this in a book?” Pam shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I’m sure Drew would not want the publicity. I don’t know a lot about the inner workings of their cattery, but I’m quite sure he wouldn’t want word to get out that one of his breeders had a cat that looked like that one,” she said, pointing at Rags
Chris leaned forward. “What if Savannah doesn’t name him or his wife or Angel in the book or provide any information that might identify them? Do you think he would allow her to proceed?”
“Oh, you aren’t using names?” Pam asked.
“Not if someone doesn’t want me to,” Savannah said. “The identity of the cats and the cattery is not important to my story. I’m not trying to cause anyone any trouble. My focus is to find out if Rags’s siblings and parents have traits in common with him. I see it as sort of a study on cat genealogy and genetics—how to trace a cat’s beginnings, but it will consist mostly of stories—unusual behavior in some of the cats from Rags’s gene pool. Know what I mean?”
“Oh,” Pam said. “Well, I don’t think Drew would want to be a part of that. No. I’m sorry, but I have to protect my sister and her children at all cost. However, you can call him. Maybe he would be willing to work with you. It’s hard to predict what he might or might not do.”
“What if she signs something here and now saying that she won’t publish anything that would implicate or identify Angel or the Gerards or their cattery in any way? All we want is to verify that Angel is this cat’s mother and the mother of the kittens thought to be his siblings
,” Chris said.
Savannah nodded. “She’s right. I won’t use any identifying information without written permission. So there’s no reason why I can’t eliminate your sisters and her husband’s names and the name of the cattery altogether or use assumed names.”
Pam looked at Savannah and shook her head. “Oh, I don’t think so. No. I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t work. He wouldn’t trust you. I mean, he doesn’t trust anyone.”
Chris asked quietly, “Pam, the cat you had out here earlier—Angel—is she being drugged?” “What?” Pam shrieked. “Why would you ask that? Certainly not. She’s simply a quiet, gentle cat.” She looked off into space for a moment and said, as if she were thinking out loud, “She was more active when she was younger, though. I remember Jeannie telling me how much energy she had.” Pam shook her head. “Of course she was younger then.”
“Yeah, what is she–about nine or ten by now?” Savannah asked.
“I imagine,” Pam said.
“Are they still breeding her?” Savannah asked.
“I don’t know,” Pam said nervously.
“Who feeds her?” Chris asked. “He does,” Pam was quick to say. “Drew insists on feeding her as a bonding activity, he says.”
“Bull-ony,” Chris snarked. “He’s drugging her. I can tell by looking at her eyes. The more I think about it, the more concerned I am about that cat. I think we should call animal services and report what’s going on here. Something’s not right.”
“Get out!” Pam shouted. “You do not come into this home and make false accusations like that!”
Chris quickly apologized. “I’m sorry. That was blunt of me. I know you’re just an innocent bystander, but I’m concerned about that beautiful cat, and you should be too.”
Pam looked at Savannah, who said, “Yes, Pam. I agree. I’m a licensed veterinarian and I have to tell you I’m also troubled by what I saw. I compared Angel’s pupils to Rags’s when she was out here a while ago, and Angel’s are definitely dilated. It could be that she was a little nervous, but…”
