Nancy J. Bailey - Furry Murder 01 - My Best Cat (11 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

Tracy Pringle

Friday Afternoon

Well, Larry’s final was a shock.  He hadn’t even used
Baloo.  Talk about disrespectful.  Roxanne and her nerdy little sidekick were certainly living up the Somali’s success.  They were breaking out the champagne.

“Kenya must have
granded!” Jack said.  He was all smiles.  Good sportsmanship was a must, of course, but let’s not overdo it.

I went over to Roxanne’s benching area.

“Hey Tracy!  Have some champagne!”  Roxanne held out a glass but I waved it away.

“Congratulations to you,” I smiled.  “This is a wonderful show to grand in.  You can get it done so quickly.”

“Yes!” Roxanne giggled.  “Cheers!”

She held up her glass and took a swig.  Her friend, that nerdy girl with the mousy hair, just sat there and didn’t look at me.

“Well, it’s great that he has finally done it.  Gee, it’s just too bad that you couldn’t get a jump on the regional or national points.  It’s kind of too late in the season.”

“Yeah, well, there’s always next year!”  Roxanne chirped.

“Sure!  There’s next year!  You know, there are a lot of champions at this show.”

Roxanne nodded agreement, but her little friend looked up at me suddenly.

“I know that the Robards are trying to grand their Persian.”  I added.  “And your own nephew has that Devon in championship too.”

“And then there’s your
Aby,” the nerd said, slyly.

“Oh,
Baloo’s a Grand.  He granded last season.”

“But he’s running for a National Win, right?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“It’s unusual for a judge to use an
Aby and a Somali in one ring, isn’t it?”

“It’s quite unusual, yes.”  The nerd was smart. 
Which wasn’t surprising, as nerds were supposed to be smart.

Roxanne took another sip from her glass of champagne.  Then she said, “We’re not pulling him.”

“Oh!  I wouldn’t ask you to!  I was just making observations!”

“We’re going to finish the show,” Roxanne said.  “We’ve come a long way to be here.  Cecelia especially doesn’t have money to throw away like this.”

The nerd piped up.  “Actually, it’s okay.  I wouldn’t mind pulling him if it will help someone else.” Maybe she wasn’t so smart after all.  Roxanne glared at her.

I smiled.  “It’s okay, really.  Leave him in, by all means.  After all, we are all here to enjoy ourselves, right?” 

I walked back to my own benching area.

“What’s going on?” said Jack.

“She’s not going to pull her cat.”

“Well, why should she?”

“Jack!  Hello!  Do you even give a rat’s ass about the success of your own animal?”

“I don’t understand what difference it makes.”

“No, you wouldn’t, would you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It just means that you don’t get what’s really going on here.  Roxanne is intentionally screwing us over.”

“Oh, she would never do that.”

“Are you blind?  Open your eyes!  Just look at her, over there, all smug and pleased with herself.”

He did glance down the aisle where Roxanne sat.  “I think she’s just enjoying herself.  She’s got a happy personality.  And I think you are jealous.”

“Really!  Well you’d better just watch yourself, there, Mr. Man!  Don’t get too cozy with Roxanne.  I hear she’s got quite a little reputation.”

He became suddenly quiet.

“That’s right,” I added.  “She’s not the Miss Perfect you think she is!”

“She’s always been nice to me.”

“Really!  How nice?  Just how nice is she, Jack?”

He shook his head.  “Tracy, you are going overboard with this.”

“How can I be going overboard when our livelihood is at stake here?”

He was silent.  He could see I had a point.

“I think that you should go talk to her and ask her to pull the cat.  Seeing as how you are such good friends and all.”

“Tracy, please don’t make me do that.”

“Jack!  Just who – and what – is your priority here?  Please!  Be a man, and do your duty!  This is for the sake of our cattery and our life.  You have to set your priorities.  Period!”

He sighed, slapped his legs with both hands in a futile gesture, and stood up.

“Okay.  I’ll go talk to her.”

He walked down the aisle.  I opened the cage door and peered in at
Baloo, who was asleep in the corner with his head beneath his cuddle bed.  I reached in and pulled him out, holding him upside down so that I could stretch his foreleg to check the stripes.  He meowed a protest and squirmed.  One of his back claws caught my arm.  “Ouch!”  I threw him back into the cage.  Jack was supposed to have trimmed his claws, but apparently had missed one.  I glanced over in his direction and stopped suddenly.

Jack was standing with his back to me, talking and shaking his head.  He had a glass of champagne in his hand.  And I saw Roxanne’s hand inching up the back of his leg.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Wesley Taft

Friday Afternoon

“He needs to take that damn hat off,” I muttered.  “Who does he think he is, Elton John?”

The judge opened SuMe’s cage and reached for her.  She coiled backwards, pressing into the corner, pushing against the tile board wall with her spine.  The judge bent, pausing for a second.  The group of exhibitors waited breathlessly.  Would she bite him?

The Bobtail growled a protest as he scooped her from the cage with one hand.  She curled up, a spotted muff, slender white legs wrapped desperately around his sleeve.  She mewed unhappily.  He plunked her up on the table, where she hunched and hissed defensively.

“Oh,” I balled my hands into fists.  “She is just not being herself!”

SuMe
glared up at the judge as the hat loomed over her, her eyes bright and glittering.  He held a toy up, a long stick with a bit of sparkling fluff on the end of it, and waved it enticingly before her.  SuMe took one step backward, her hindquarters tightening like a spring.

“Oh no,” said Max.

With an ear-splitting scream, the cat leaped and slapped the brim of the cowboy hat.   Her claws dug into the straw as she hauled herself up desperately.  It flipped down over the judge’s face and he grabbed it, holding it momentarily suspended over his eyes as SuMe scrabbled over his head, projected herself from the crest of the hat, bounced to the floor and shot across the room.

“CAT LOOSE!”
  I shrieked.  I jumped up and ran after SuMe.  Max was right behind me.  Across the show hall, hands shot in the air as one after another, people spotted her white form darting under cages and bursting through the aisles.

“She’s here!” someone called.

I circled a row of cages, bent over and looked beneath.  SuMe huddled near an open briefcase, squatting amongst a roll of paper towels and various grooming supplies.  She looked up at me, her ears flattened against her head, her round dilated orbs showing no glimmer of recognition.

She hissed, a gust of foul breath shooting out between the flat pink tongue and pointed teeth.

“SuMe, it’s me!”

“For God’s sake!”
Max called from behind me.  “Don’t negotiate with her!  Just grab her!”

But
SuMe turned and glided away. 

“NO!”  Max cried.

A hand on the other side of the row shot up.  “Over here!”

I charged to the end of the aisle in time to see
SuMe scooting beneath a row of bleachers, which were folded up against the wall.  “Oh my God!” I dashed to the bleachers, flinging myself down on the floor next to them.  I looked beneath, but saw only darkness.

“
SuMe!”  I called.  “Come here baby!”

I peered into the darkened space, waiting for my eyes to adapt, but saw no sign of her.  I looked up at Max, who stood bent over me with a look of utter panic.  I heard my voice drop to a calm, cold tone.

“Please go see if anyone has a flashlight.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Andrew Gilbert

Friday

“Do you know where Kenya is?”

I looked up to see the Mouth Breather standing over me with a look of quiet desperation.  “No, why?”

“He’s missing!  Roxanne took him and I’m afraid she’s not going to give him back.”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head.  “Good Lord.  Roxanne the Cat Napper strikes again!”

She recoiled visibly, sinking down to the floor, crumpling into a little ball.  “Don’t say that!” she wailed.

“God Almighty!” I opened the cage door, took out the little red girl and thrust her into Cecilia’s arms.  “Take her!  I’ll sign her over!  I’ll even let you name her!”

Cecilia lifted her tear-streaked face and looked, and there was the little red girl, purring and wrapping her warm little monkey paws around her wrist.  Cecilia calmed immediately.  She looked up at me.  Her nose was running.

“Oh, no!  I couldn’t!”  she said.

“Yes!  Please do!  I know you like ruddy, but believe
me, she is the better one of the two and has the best personality.”

“I’m sure she does,” she sniffed.  “But I want Kenya!  I can’t live without him!  I can’t!”

She burst into tears again.  Eyes were watching her, people stopping and staring.  But she couldn’t stop.

“Hey!” I said.  “She’s coming!  Here!”

I handed her a tissue.  She hiccupped, mopping at her face with one hand and cradling the kitten in the other.  The kitten was sensing her tension and she was squirming to get free.  Roxanne walked past us, but she did not stop or even look at us.

I looked after her in disgust.  “She is just one mighty bitch.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ginny Robards

Reminiscing

One would never know it, but when I was younger, I had been quite cute, with chestnut ringlets and a tiny waist.  When
Liesl was a teenager, not long after we started showing K. Purr, I met a man at the dry cleaner’s.  Even though he was built like a linebacker, and noticeably overweight, he was far too beautiful for me to associate with.  He was tall and blonde, with a blinding smile and shoulders as wide as the doorway. 

I didn’t try to talk to him.  But he turned to me and held up a violet dress and said, “Do you think this is my color?”

The tiny dress looked so funny suspended in his meaty hands, and I started laughing.  He told me the dress was his mother’s.  I found this so endearing, and he was charming so I gave him my phone number.  He called me that evening and we talked for hours.  He did have the most wonderful sense of humor. 

His name was Jimmy Wilson, and our courtship was a whirlwind of bar hopping and drinking and hilarity.  I was really feeling my wild side then.  I danced all night and could barely make my job at the grocery store in the mornings.  But I was so happy.  He made me feel like a young girl again.  He
told me he loved me when we had only been dating for two weeks. 

The cats loved him.  He didn’t attend shows with us, but he would help me bathe them and get them ready.  On occasion when he showed up, he would have toys for them; catnip mice or rabbit’s feet or balls of twine.

He loved to eat.  He would bring barbecued ribs or chicken over on occasion.  He would sit on the couch in front of the TV, watching football as the sauce dripped onto his shirt front.  “Touchdown, Baby!” he would say to me in glee.  He always tried to include me, always wanted me nearby.

On our days off we would stay in bed until noon, and just lie around the house.  If I got up to do anything, clean up dishes, or feed the cats, he would say, “Just relax, would
ya?  Come on over here and sit by me.”

He would pat the couch with his big beefy hand, and I would go and climb up on the couch and be enveloped by him.

And he was beautiful.  He was going on forty years old, but his face showed no signs of age, being soft and chubby.  His skin was golden like his hair.  He really was a golden boy.

I had quickly learned, however, not to disturb him when he was sleeping.  He wanted to be left alone and became very irritable when he was awakened.  “What!” he would shout, if I bumped him or moved about the room too loudly.  Or he would sigh impatiently and roll over, covering his head with the pillow.

I had never realized how much a big man could eat.  I had to buy twice the amount of groceries it took to feed Liesl and me.

Jimmy worked in a factory that made car parts.  It wasn’t long before I found out that it was no accident that he was picking up his mother’s dress at the cleaners.  He lived with his parents.  He assured me that it was only temporary, while he recovered from his divorce and the huge debt of alimony, and worked to get on his feet.

“We’ll get married someday,” he told me.  “We’ll go to Las Vegas.  I was thinking you might like to take a trip there.  We don’t have to gamble.  There’s a lot to see and do.”

He had lots of ideas.  One was to buy property in Montana.  He said he wanted to take me to Germany again, and
Liesl too, although I doubted she would have agreed to go with him.  She had no use for him. 

“He’s just a lazy slob, Mom!” she used to say.  “Why don’t you dump him?  He’s just using you. 
Just like he uses his parents.  They ought to toss him out on his ear.  If he gave a damn about you he’d have his own place by now.  He’s a loser.”

But I couldn’t dump Jimmy.  I loved him.  And I couldn’t tell
Liesl this part, but the sex was madness.  It was sheer joy and lust and fun.  We chased each other around the bedroom and jumped on the bed and laughed hysterically.  With him I had no inhibitions.  It’s like I was a different person; a kid all over again.

The months, and finally two years went by, and we were still together.  Jimmy celebrated his fortieth birthday at his parents’ house in the suburbs, a tiny brick ranch.  It was one of those houses situated in a neighborhood where every house was identical.  There was row upon row of these tiny brick homes, all with a small front porch with two steps, and a carport off to the side with a fenced backyard.  They each sported some type of uniqueness.  Perhaps there was a hedge under the front window.  Or a small tree in the front yard. Jimmy’s parents’ home boasted an adolescent maple, with bursting green leaves misting its branches on that spring day.

The side door led into the kitchen entry.  The wallpaper was old and cracked, but the house was spotlessly clean.  Mac, the family cat, was a big yellow tabby that lounged on the couch, dozing in contented oblivion, fat rolling out his sides in lumpy pouches.  He was lying on top of a newspaper, coiled beneath his chest which appeared to be affording him some type of cushion. 

“There’s the sports section,” Jimmy’s father said.  He bent over, his pot belly protruding from his natty t-shirt, and pulled the paper out from under Mac.  The cat gave a grumpy hiss and moved to the other side of the couch, where he promptly dozed off again.

Jimmy’s mother was a wizened little woman with a happy smile and an energy that belied her age.  She was recovering from a broken ankle but she stumped around the room on her cast without hesitation.  She thrust steaming plates of spaghetti, Jimmy’s favorite meal, before us. 

“Garlic bread?”
  She clumped her way to the oven and pulled out a long wonderful-smelling loaf.  She sliced it on the countertop, and painted butter on it and served it to us.

“Sit down, Ma,” Jimmy said.  But he did not look up from his plate.

“Can I help you do something?” I asked.

“No, no you just eat that up while it’s hot, dear,” she said.

She smiled and made conversation while we ate, and as each plate was empty she scooped it away from us and took it to the sink.  She moved about in the kitchen, poking bright candles into the surface of a homemade cake with lumpy white frosting.  She struck a match and with trembling fingers tried to light the candles.

“Ouch!” She dropped the match and shook her fingers through the air before thrusting them into her mouth.

“Here, Ma,” Jimmy said, flipping open his cigarette lighter.

She took the lighter and used it to light the candles.  Then she turned with a proud smile, holding the cake, the flickering candles giving her wizened face a ruddy glow, and began singing in a reedy falsetto. I joined in.

“Happy Birthday to you,

“Happy Birthday to you,

“Happy Birthday dear Jimmy,

“Happy Birthday to you.”

I looked at Jimmy for any sign of embarrassment, but he was smiling.  He inhaled deeply and blew all the candles out with a long huff.  His mother crowed laughter and applauded.

.Jimmy’s father had let the newspaper drop to the floor and he was standing in the doorway now, looking at me.  His manner was solicitous. “Can I get you anything else?  Would you like a glass of water?”

“No thank you,” I said.

Jimmy’s mother jumped up, despite the cast, and left the room.  She came back in with a thick photo album.  She laid it on the table before me and flipped it open.  “Would you like to see pictures of Jimmy’s first birthday?”

“Ma, no!”  Jimmy said.

“Oh yes, I would!”

Inside the book were yellowed Polaroids of a chubby boy wearing a sailor’s hat, in a high chair, his face and hands sticky with white icing.

“Oh, here he is at two,” his mother said.  “That’s his Aunt Betty there with him.  And here’s one of him in the wading pool!”

I noticed the same brick siding, and the maple sapling in the photo must be the young tree out front now.  Then there were pictures of teenaged Jimmy, sitting at the same table – the place of honor, blowing out candles on what could have been the same cake.

I turned to Jimmy.  “You have always lived in this house?”

“Well, not always.”

“He moved out when he got married,” his mother added helpfully.

“Other times too, Ma!  I had an apartment for awhile!  Remember?”

“That wasn’t for long though,” Jimmy’s dad said.  “Remember when Tom and Tim helped you move your stuff back into the garage out here?”

“Yes,” his mother said.  “This house is home to us.”

I looked up into the smiling, hopeful eyes of his parents.  The birthday candles lay, bright bits of wax and charred stem, on the edge of Jimmy’s plate.  He sat planted in his chair, eating cake, with the little rolls of fat edging out around his shirt hem.

I thought it was very elegant the way the Baroness released Captain Von Trapp from their engagement.  She did it with such dignity; explaining it away.  “I need someone who needs me,” she said.  “Or at least needs my money.”  Or something like that.  But the children didn’t love her.  And the captain didn’t either.  And she knew it.