Patricia Fry - Klepto Cat 05 - The Colony Cat Caper Page 9

  “Wait,” she said as she pulled the bottle from his hands and took a drink.

  The couple had been sitting and talking quietly, sipping the wine for nearly an hour when they heard a loud “SNAP.”

  “Caught one,” he whispered.

  Next came the sound of thumping and rattling from within the metal trap, along with soft mews.

  “Poor kitty,” Brianna said. “It’s scared.”

  “Yeah, I hate the trapping process, but it’s best for the cats in the long run. They can contract diseases and get awful wounds when they’re out like this. They sometimes need medical treatment. And it’s important to spay and neuter them so they don’t bring more cats into situations like this.”

  “Mew, mew.”

  “At least this one’s not a screamer,” Bud said. “…nice quiet mews.

  “So can we leave now? We caught one,” Brianna said.

  “No, let’s hold out and see if we can catch one in the other trap.”

  “Well, I have to go potty, where’s the bathroom?”

  “Uh, anywhere you want it to be,” he said with a devious grin.

  “Oh no, this is like camping out, isn’t it? Okay, give me the flashlight,” she said as she removed the blanket from around herself and stood. She looked in all directions and then began to walk toward the north side of the building. Once she was out of Bud’s sight, she glanced around the area. Suddenly, something caught her eye. What the hell’s that? She stood stock-still and killed the flashlight. There’s someone in that building…or something. What is that? It’s grotesque. I’m outta here. “Bud, Bud,” she called in a strained whisper as she rounded the building toward him.

  He jumped out of his chair and jogged up to her. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his brow creased with concern.

  “I want to go home, now,” she said. She pointed in the direction she’d come from, her breathing accelerated. She spoke in a loud frantic whisper. “Someone…or something’s in there!”

  He looked over at the dark building and said, “Brianna, you’re imagining things.”

  “Oh no, I’m not,” she said, pushing past Bud toward their chairs. “And what I saw is not even human. I’m leaving.”

  Bud grabbed her arm and pulled her around to face him. “Not human? What are you talking about?” he asked. “Show me what you saw. I’m sure there’s some sort of explanation.”

  “You go look, I’m going to the truck and locking the doors.” Using the flashlight to light her way, she rushed out the gate and back to the truck. She was just climbing into the cab when Bud caught up with her. “Brianna, give me the flashlight. I have to get that trap.”

  She handed him the light, settled in the seat, and started to close the door.

  Bud stopped the door and said, “Here are the keys; warm up the cab. I’ll be right back.” As he walked over to where the cats lived, he stopped. He then shined the flashlight toward the north side of the building. Curious now, he used the light to see his way around the building, where he looked it up and down, focusing on each window and door. Nothing. He stood for another few minutes, scanning the area with the flashlight and then staring at the windows again before walking back to where the cats congregated.

  “SNAP!”

  Cool, caught another cat, he said to himself.

  “Yeowl!! Yeowl! Yeowl!”

  Boy that’s a noisy one. Better get him out of here before the neighborhood comes down on me, he thought, rounding the corner of the building toward the crawl hole. As he drew near where the traps were partially hidden under the building, he heard something else. That’s more of a moan, he thought. What is that? He pulled two heavy leather gloves out of his back pocket and put them on. He then reached in and pulled out one of the traps. “Oh, hello,” he said to the large black-and-grey striped tabby. “You’re the noisy one, aren’t you? Let’s get you loaded up.” He lifted the trap carefully and carried it to the truck. He raised the bed cover, slid the trap in and closed the cover to muffle the sounds.

  He then walked back to retrieve the second trap. He could hear the moaning more clearly now. That sounds like a cat in distress, he said to himself. He pulled the trap out. “Oh, an orange tabby. Hi, fella,” he said. Ignoring the frightened yellow eyes and the soft cries of the cat inside, he set the trap aside and knelt down, using the flashlight to peer into the crawl space. When he heard the sound again, he realized it wasn’t coming from under the building. He spun around, shined the light into a stand of shrubs, and continued to listen. Just then he saw two bright eyes reflecting back at him—he stood and walked slowly toward the eyes and found a white long-haired cat lying stretched out, panting and groaning. As he approached, she seemed to convulse and then she let out a scream and went limp. He moved closer and looked down. She’s trying to have kittens, he thought. This time of year? Unusual, but not altogether unheard of for feral cats. Bud reached over and touched the cat. Cold. Not good. “Wait here, kitty. Maybe I can help,” he said, rising and rushing back to the veterinary truck. He opened a compartment, grabbed a large blanket, and hurried back to the shrubs. He laid the blanket out on the ground and then carefully eased the cat onto the blanket. When she didn’t resist, he wrapped her up, lifted her, and walked back to the truck. He thought about putting the cat inside one of the animal cubicles, but had another idea he hoped wouldn’t backfire on him.

  “Brianna,” he said quietly, knocking with one knuckle on the passenger side door.

  She rolled the window down a little. “What?” she asked sounding terribly annoyed.

  “Open up.”

  With a disgusted smirk, she opened the truck door. Bud stood back and then walked around the door toward her and handed her the bundle in the blanket.

  “Hold her snuggly, will you? I’ll be right back.”

  “What is it?” she asked, pulling her hands back.

  “Just do it!” Now he sounded annoyed.

  “Okay,” she said, carefully lifting the bundle onto her lap.

  “It’s a cat having kittens—or trying to,” Bud explained once he had loaded the second trap and they were on their way back to the clinic.

  “A wild cat? I’m holding a wild cat?”

  “Yes, and you may not be thrilled about the rest of this date, either,” he said.

  “Why?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Because we may be going into surgery.”

  Chapter Seven

  Two hours later, Bud and Brianna stood shoulder to shoulder, peering into a recovery pen at the clinic where a still-unconscious mother cat and one pure white male kitten lay.

  “Poor little thing,” Brianna said. “Do you think his mama will be okay?”

  “Won’t know until she starts coming around,” Bud said. “But she should pull through. Let’s hope she’ll feed her baby, or we may have to become surrogates.”

  Brianna sighed. “All of that work she went through and she has only one baby to show for it.”

  “Yeah, and how unusual for a white female to give birth to an all-white kitten.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yeah, unless the breeding is managed,” he said.

  “Well, she did have kittens in all colors.” Brianna laughed. “Striped, polka-dotted, paisley,” she said.

  “Paisley?” Bud laughed.

  “Look, she’s moving,” Brianna said.

  “Yeah, let’s hope she doesn’t freak out when she sees where she is.”

  About then, they heard a loud yeowl. Bud smiled in the direction of the sound—where he’d placed the trap holding the feral cat they called “The Screamer.” He laughed and said, “Pavarotti’s still tuning up his vocal chords in there.”

  ***

  The following morning, Savannah called her aunt,

  “Well, what happened last night?” Margaret asked. “I’m on pins and needles.”

  “Just talked to Bud. He and my little sister had quite a night,” she said.

  “Tell me—did they trap any cats?”

&
nbsp; “Sure did. They got two cats, including our possible screamer, AND…”

  “There’s more?” Margaret asked breathlessly.

  “Yup. He and Brianna delivered a litter of kittens. Well, one kitten made it—a white one. Mother and baby are doing well, according to Bud.”

  “Yowza,” Margaret said. “Max,” she hollered off the phone, “they got three ferals and a newborn kitten.” She came back online. “Max is as surprised as I am at Bud’s success.”

  Savannah continued, “He said that Brianna got scared out of her wits out there. Thought she saw something horrible and ugly looking at her from one of the windows on the back side of the building.”

  “Hmm, we’ll have to get more information from her—it’s all starting to sound surprisingly similar. I mean, how could such a variety of people make up the same story?” She hesitated. “Savannah, there’s something weird about that place.”

  “Agreed. So Auntie, what’s our next move? Oh yes, we have a meeting with that woman who wants to do a flea market, right? When and where?”

  “Colbi’s at noon today. She has a break until one-thirty. Want me to pick you and that lumpy body of yours up?”

  “Lumpy body? Auntie, if you can’t think of something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” She paused. “Actually, I’d like to go over to the clinic and see the cats they brought in and get an update.”

  “I would, too. Let’s plan on doing that after the meeting. I’ll pick you up at ten to twelve.”

  ***

  Leta Barnes arrived only ten minutes late, explaining that she had made a wrong turn. After introductions and beverage choices were made, the four women sat down around Colbi’s dining table. Leta was dressed in a black-and-white houndstooth business suit—the skirt hem just below the knees. A heavy swatch of her brown wedge-style hairdo hung partially over the left side of her rather ordinary face. She peered from the head of the table through small, rimless eyeglasses perched on a long narrow nose. She wore just a little makeup which didn’t do much to soften her coarse features. “Thank you for meeting with me,” she said in a professional manner. “I think this could be a wonderful fundraiser for your club…er organization.” Her face opened up into a smile, displaying a mouthful of small crooked teeth. “And the Fischer building is the perfect place for an event like this.” She looked from one to the other of the women. “Have you spoken to your members about our idea?”

  Margaret tugged briefly at the neckline of her plum-colored sweater. “Yes, I’ve spoken with about…” she referred to her notes “…ten people who are interested so far.”

  “I know a couple who want to participate,” Savannah said.

  “Who’s that?” Margaret asked.

  “People I know,” she retorted. When she noticed Margaret still staring at her, she said in a feigned huff, “If you must know, Reba and Charlotte make cat toys…I think it’s a project Charlotte learned at her school. They teach crafts to children with Downs and other disabilities.”

  “I did not know that,” Margaret said. “Cool.”

  Savannah continued, “Bonnie knows someone who makes things out of horsehair. And I talked to Caroline about having a booth promoting her psychic work with animals.”

  “I know a couple of artists who paint and draw animals,” Colbi said. “One of them is really prolific.”

  “Did you talk to Iris?” Savannah asked, obviously addressing both Margaret and Colbi.

  “I did,” Margaret said. “She’s definitely interested.

  “My, you are a creative bunch, aren’t you?” Leta said with a smile. She clasped her hands together. “This is really going to work, isn’t it? Now when shall we plan it for?”

  “Wait,” Margaret said. “We don’t have permission, yet. I have a call in to the attorney. In fact, I thought he’d call before this.”

  “Why don’t you call him again,” Leta instructed rather impatiently.

  “Well, I guess I could,” Margaret said. She glanced at Leta and excused herself from the table. When she returned, she said, “He’s going to look into it and get back to us.”

  “Quickly, I hope,” Leta said.

  “Now how much are you willing to pay for the insurance?” Margaret asked.

  “Whatever it takes,” Leta said, waving one hand in the air.

  Savannah stared over at the woman. She sure seems eager to do this project and sounds like she has money. I wonder what her deal is.

  An hour passed, during which time the four women discussed the details of the proposed event. Around one fifteen, Colbi announced that she had an appointment. Leta said she had things to do, as well. Margaret agreed to get back to Leta by noon the following day.

  Once everyone was in accord, Leta stood, looked around, and asked Colbi, “May I use your restroom? I have a long drive ahead of me.”

  “Sure.” She pointed. “First door on the left.”

  “Oh, my phone,” Margaret announced as Leta headed into the hallway. “It’s the attorney,” she said, walking toward the living room. When she returned to where Savannah and Colbi stood in the dining room, she had a surprised look on her face. She shook her head in disbelief. Leta emerged from the bathroom and Margaret said, so that all three women could hear, “Well, we have permission, and a figure.”

  “Okay.” Leta said.

  Margaret held up her phone for Leta to see the number the attorney had sent in a text message.

  Leta peered at it through squinted eyes, lifted her head, and said, “Not a problem.” She handed Margaret a business card. “Have the paperwork faxed to this number.” She then addressed all three women, “Shall we plan the event for Saturday, November 30?”

  “That’s only ten days away!” Savannah exclaimed.

  “Eleven. I’ll start the promotion immediately.” She picked up her purse, and turned to leave, then spun around and asked Colbi, “Can I count on you to run something in the paper?”

  “Uh, yeah, I’ll do my best, but if a big story comes in…”

  “I know. But I’m sure you’ll figure out a way to get us the publicity we need, can’t you, honey?”

  The trio watched as Leta prepared to leave. When she reached the front door, she hesitated. The women noticed that Leta was staring down at something on a small table. Slowly, she reached out and picked it up, then turned and asked Colbi, “Where did you get this photograph?”

  “Um, well…it’s an interesting story, actually…” Colbi stammered.

  Before Colbi could tell her about finding it after the last Cat Alliance meeting, Leta almost demanded, “Do you know this man?”

  Colbi winced. “No. I don’t.”

  “Do you?” Margaret asked.

  Leta appeared flustered for a moment, and then she tossed the photo on the table, muttering, “No. I don’t. I thought I did, but I don’t know who it is.” She opened the door and called out, “Goodbye ladies. I’ll see you soon.”

  Once she was gone, Savannah turned toward the others and said, “Well, that was odd.”

  “Yeah,” Colbi said, “she obviously knows that guy. I wonder who he is and how she knows him.”

  The threesome continued to stare at the door and the photograph and then Colbi said, “Well, I really do have to get to work. I’ll see you two later. You can let yourselves out—lock up behind you.”

  “Thanks. I would like to use the powder room before heading out,” Savannah said.

  “Yeah, it’s been a full five minutes since you’ve peed.” Margaret laughed.

  Savannah snapped, “You try walking around with a twelve-pound baby lying on your bladder.”

  When Savannah reappeared in the living room, she slipped on Michael’s jacket, picked up her purse, and walked toward the front door where her aunt stood.

  Margaret watched her niece approach her. “Now, do you think you can make it all the way to the clinic…let’s see, what is that, ten minutes away…without needing to pee again?”

  “Probably not,” Savannah quipped,
“especially if we stop on the way for lunch.” She opened the front door, and stepped out ahead of her aunt.

  ***

  Margaret and Savannah arrived at the Ivey Veterinary Clinic at two fifteen, after getting a bite to eat at a local deli.

  “Hi hon,” Michael said when he saw his wife walk through the back door. “Hi Maggie.”

  Both women responded to him and to a couple of employees who were in the vicinity. “We came to check out Bud’s catches,” Margaret said.

  Michael smiled. “I thought so. They’re right in here,” he said, leading the way into the recovery room.

  “Oh, you’ve already done their surgeries, huh?” Savannah asked.

  “Yes.” He walked over to the pens. “This one’s the screamer—he’s a male. And that one over there got spayed—no more kittens for her.”

  “What are their conditions?” Savannah asked, suddenly cringing and bringing her hand to her stomach.

  “What’s wrong?” Michael asked.

  “Just a twinge. This is one busy baby and sometimes he catches me off guard.”

  “Okay,” he said staring over at her for a few more moments to make sure she was all right. He then responded to her question: “They were in pretty good shape, actually. I think they’ll be just fine now that they’re on a regular feeding schedule.”

  “Good news,” she said, looking at the two heavily sedated cats.

  “Four…oh, I mean, five…down,” Margaret said. Any chance that these two are adoptable?” she asked.

  Bud walked in just then, carrying a short-haired tortoiseshell cat, which he carefully placed into an empty pen. “Hi Savannah,” he said nodding, “…Maggie. Come to see your newest cat colony member, huh?”

  “Yes. That was quite a surprise,” Margaret said. “She had just one kitten?”

  “Three, but only one survived. Come take a look,” he invited.

  Savannah and Margaret followed Bud into another room, where the white cat and her kitten were recovering. “Cute, huh? Going to be a beauty like mama once was.”

  “Oh, he is cute,” Savannah said with a wide smile. “I wonder if mama cat was ever as white as her baby.”

  “Yeah,” Margaret said, “he’s all white and pink. She’s a little rough around the edges there.” She moved closer to the pen and peered in at the cat, who was lying still, watching Margaret and the others through wide, cautious eyes. Her kitten suckled noisily.