Софи Келли - Cat Trick

When we got to the River Arts Center, I pulled into Maggie’s parking spot, the way I had the last time. “Bag,” I said to Owen.

He climbed inside with a twitch of his ears and a flick of his tail. I made sure the zipper was done up all the way before I got out of the truck.

Ruby was waiting by the back door. “Good morning,” she said, holding it open for me.

“Hi,” I said.

She bent over and peeked at Owen through the front mesh panel of the carrier. “Hi, Owen,” she said.

“Murp,” he said in return.

Ruby laughed. “I love your cats,” she said. “They’re like little people in fur suits.”

“You have that right,” I said, following her up the stairs. “Owen definitely thinks he’s a person and should have all the same rights and privileges.”

Another meow came from the bag.

“See?” I said.

Ruby laughed again.

Once we were in Ruby’s studio, it didn’t take long for the “photo shoot” to begin. Ruby had cleared her workspace, and her camera was ready. I opened the bag and lifted Owen out. He blinked, shook himself and took a couple of passes at his face with one paw.

“You look fabulous,” Ruby told him, and he immediately sat up straighter and held his head up a little higher.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” I muttered.

Only the twitch of one ear told me that Owen had heard what I said, but since I was still on “ignore,” he didn’t even bother to so much as glance in my direction.

I stood over by the windows, out of the way, while Ruby took photos, posing the cat with both instructions and hand signals. I didn’t think I had ever seen Owen be so compliant. When she was finished, she pulled the bag of organic fish crackers out of her tote bag and dumped a generous pile in front of Owen. He gave her a cat smile and started his sniff-and-eat routine. Ruby came over to me, scrolling through the pictures she’d just taken.

“Did you get what you needed?” I asked.

“I did. Thanks,” she said, holding out the camera so I could look at the images. “That cat is so photogenic.”

Owen lifted his head for a moment to look over at me. I had no idea how he knew what “photogenic” meant, but I knew cat smug when I saw it.

Ruby and I talked about her plans for the two paintings while Owen ate and did a far less meticulous washing of his face and paws than he had earlier.

“Okay, Fuzz Face,” I said, setting the carrier on the table. “Time to go.”

“Thank you, Owen,” Ruby said.

He tilted his head to one side and meowed softly, and then he climbed into the bag.

“And thank you, Kathleen,” Ruby said, giving me a one-armed hug. “I’ll let you know when both paintings are done, if you’d like to see them.”

“I’d love to see them,” I said. There was a loud yowl from inside the bag. I patted the side. “Apparently, so would Owen.”

I put the strap of the cat carrier over my shoulder and headed for the stairs, double-checking to make sure the zipper was closed before I started down them. At the bottom, I pushed the back door open with one hip, feeling in my pants pocket for my keys.

They weren’t there. Where had I put them? I felt the pockets of my coat sweater. The keys to the truck were deep in the left pocket, the ring snagged on the cranberry-colored wool.

“Crap on toast!” I muttered.

I slipped the carrier off my shoulder and set it on the pavement so I could use both hands to get the keys free without making a hole in my favorite sweater. Which means I didn’t see a small gray paw figure out how to slide a zipper open from the inside.

The first thing I did see as I worked the key ring free of my sweater pocket was two gray paws and a tabby head poke out of the top of the carrier.

“No!” I said sharply. Like that ever did any good. Owen was out of the bag faster than Houdini from a straitjacket. I lunged for him, but being a cat, he could move faster. And did. Along the side of the building, straight for the tent across the street.

Not again.

“Owen! No!” I shouted. One ear twitched, but he kept going, like Hercules, pausing both times at the curb to look each way before darting across the street. I ran after him, skidding to a stop on the sidewalk to let an SUV and a half-ton truck go by before I could cross Main Street. That meant by the time I made it to the other side, Owen was already at the end flap to the tent.

“Owen! Stop!” I yelled, knowing I was wasting my breath. He poked his head around the canvas and disappeared, both inside the tent and out of sight.

I stopped outside the yellow crime scene tape that still roped off the tent. Should I duck under and go after Owen, or call Marcus? Without an officer standing guard, the area wasn’t exactly secured. It wasn’t a good enough excuse to ignore the yellow tape, though.

“Owen, get your furry little cat behind out here,” I called.

I waited. Nothing. I looked around to see if anyone was watching and then, feeling kind of silly, I stuck one arm under the crime scene tape and moved my hand through the air, just in case the cat was sitting there, invisible, watching me make a fool of myself.

If he was, he wasn’t anywhere I could get my hands on him.

I pulled out my phone and keyed in Marcus’s number, mentally crossing my fingers that I got him and not his voice mail. This wasn’t something I wanted to explain in a message.

“Hi, Kathleen,” he said, answering after just a couple of rings.

“Hi, Marcus,” I said, wondering, for a moment, how to start explaining what had happened. “I, uh, kind of have a problem.”

His voice rumbled through the phone against my ear. “What is it? Did one of your cats find another dead body?”

I pulled my free hand down over my neck and one shoulder, wishing that Owen would come out of the tent and I could just scoop him up and head home. He didn’t, of course.

“No,” I said slowly. “But Owen’s . . . in the tent.”

For a moment there was silence. “Which tent?” Marcus finally asked, his tone cautious.

“The one that’s surrounded by crime scene tape,” I said, cringing as the words came out.

I heard him sigh on the other end of the phone, and I could picture the tight line of his jaw.

“Why? How?” He paused for a second. “Never mind. I’m on my way. Don’t move.” He stressed the last two words.

“I won’t,” I promised, but he was already gone.

I stood on the grass, hands in the pockets of my sweater, jingling the keys that had started this whole mess. I kept one eye on the flap of the tent just in case Owen decided to grace Riverwalk with his presence. I knew he’d come out when it suited him and not a moment before.

Marcus pulled up about five minutes later. “I don’t suppose Owen decided to come out by himself,” he said as he came around the front of his SUV.

“I haven’t seen even a whisker,” I said. At least that was true. If Owen wasn’t in the tent anymore, then he was likely sitting somewhere close, watching us, hiding in his own personal Cloak of Invisibility.

Marcus started for the yellow tape. “Do I want to know how this happened?” I’d expected him to be a lot more, well, annoyed—mad—about what Owen had done. There was a time he would have been. Of course, there was a time I never would have imagined Marcus cooking dinner for me.

“I think you do,” I said, “being someone who likes to stick to the facts.”

He almost smiled. Then he ducked under the plastic tape and beckoned to me with one finger. “So tell me the facts.”

“You want me to come with you?” I said.

He nodded and I got a small smile as well. “I saw what happened when somebody other than you tried to pick up that cat. Remember?”