Софи Келли - Cat Trick

Tiny bits of Big Bird–yellow fabric littered the floor, and there were flecks of dried catnip everywhere, as though an overzealous chef had been flinging herbs wildly into the air. A yellow feather was floating in Owen’s water dish. The end of his tail was in Herc’s bowl. Owen himself was on his back, gnawing on what I was guessing was part of a chicken head, held in his two front paws, while his hind feet circled lazily through the air as though he were aimlessly pedaling a bicycle.

Hercules made a sour face as I set him on the floor. He didn’t like mess and he didn’t like catnip, either. He headed out of the room, working his way around the mess, stopping twice to lift up a paw and shake it.

I set down my briefcase and the cardboard boxes of cupcakes, crossed my arms over my chest and glared at Owen, who hadn’t seemed to register that I was actually home. “Owen, what the heck do you think you’re doing?” I said.

He looked over at me, his eyes not really focusing. He shook his head, rolled over and got to his feet, the chicken head hanging out of his mouth. He looked like a drunken sailor after a raucous night of shore leave.

“Bring that over here,” I said.

He squinted up at the ceiling as though I hadn’t spoken.

I walked over to him, bent down and held out my hand. “Let’s have it, Fuzzy Wuzzy.”

He made a growly noise and bit down even harder on the bright yellow fabric.

I leaned sideways, looked past him and said, “Whoa, big mouse!”

Owen’s furry head whipped around so fast, he had to take a step so he didn’t fall over. The dismembered chicken head dropped out of his teeth, and I scooped it up before it hit the kitchen floor.

He yowled his anger, but it was too late. I took a couple of steps sideways and the late Fred’s head was resting in the garbage can. I turned around and crouched down so I was at the cat’s level. His eyes were almost slits and his mouth was pinched into a sour pucker. He looked liked a sulky child, and he wouldn’t meet my gaze.

“You are in so much trouble,” I told him. “Why did you do this?” He kept his focus on the cupboards. “Is this because I threw away the two chicken heads I found under the sofa yesterday?” I didn’t say I’d also tossed a whole chicken that was in my winter boots and a body minus a head that had been behind a box in the bedroom closet.

Owen made a huffy noise out through his nose. I sighed and shifted sideways so I was in front of him again. “Okay, I’m sorry I did that without telling you, but those things were covered in cat spit and they’d already been overpowered by the dust bunnies. And they smelled.”

One ear twitched, but it was the only sign he was listening. “You could have made your point without spreading catnip and chicken bits all over the kitchen.” I reached over to stroke the fur on the top of his head with one finger. “I’m going to get the vacuum and clean this up,” I said. “Then we’re going to have supper and maybe, maybe you can have a taste of that new kitty kibble I bought.”

He rubbed his head against my hand without looking at me; then he headed for the living room, walking slowly and deliberately because he still had a little catnip buzz going.

I sat back on my heels and looked around. Owen had flung catnip chicken bits all over the kitchen, so why was I the one doing the vacuuming and coaxing him back into a good mood? In my next life, I was going to be the cat, I decided as I got to my feet.

Thirty minutes later, the kitchen was more or less cleaned up and I was at the table with a plate of spaghetti. Hercules was next to my chair, watching me eat and probably hoping I’d drop a meatball, while Owen was sprawled under the other chair, making a halfhearted effort to wash his face. I’d already told them what I’d learned at the café. Owen’s ears had perked up when I’d shared Claire’s story about Liam arguing with Mike Glazer out on the street in front of the diner, but I suspected that was mostly because I’d also mentioned Maggie’s name.

I leaned sideways in my chair and looked down at both of them. “We have company coming after supper.”

Owen immediately sat up, looked around and started washing his face in earnest. Hercules looked at his brother and then he looked at me. In Owen’s kitty mind, the word “company” meant one person: Maggie.

“Yes, I know what he’s thinking and he’s wrong,” I said quietly to Herc. “Should we tell him, or wait until he gets cleaned up?”

He stared at his feet, whiskers twitching, almost as though he were considering my question. I waited, giving him time to think—just in case he really was; then he meowed softly.

“Okay,” I said. I tapped my fingers on the edge of the table to get Owen’s attention. He looked over at me, one paw raised in the air. “Not Maggie,” I said, shaking my head. He took one more pass at his face, dropped his paw and stretched back out on the floor with a sigh.

Hercules head-butted my leg and meowed, his way of asking, “So who is it?”

I reached down and scratched the top of his head. “Harrison Taylor’s daughter, Elizabeth, and her friend will be here in a little while. They want to meet the two of you.”

Hercules made a satisfied rumble in his throat, tilting his head so I’d scratch behind his ear. Owen, meanwhile, made a show of stretching, sitting up and starting on his face again as though that had been his intention all along.

I picked up my fork and speared a meatball. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Herc start to wash his own face.

* * *

I’d just finished the dishes when I heard a knock on the porch door. The boys were sitting side by side next to the end of the table. Faces washed and paws spotless, they were the poster children for cat adoption. “Very nice,” I said approvingly as I went to answer the door.

Elizabeth smiled when she saw me. “Hi, Kathleen,” she said. “This is my friend Wren. I think you met at the library.”

“Yes, we did.” I smiled. “Hi, Wren. Come in, please. The cats are in the kitchen.”

Wren Magnusson gave me a small smile. She looked tired. There were dark smudges under her eyes, and I noticed that she kept running her thumb back and forth along the side of her index finger.

“Thank you for letting us come and see them,” Elizabeth said, stepping into the porch. “I hope Harry didn’t put you on the spot.”

“He didn’t,” I said. “It’s not a big deal. Harry’s come through for me more than once. And your father is one of my favorite people.”

She shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, her expression still serious. “Harrison said that he never would have found me if it hadn’t been for you.”

I ducked my head, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. “All I did was find a few papers.”

She pressed her lips together before speaking. “He said it was a lot more than that. He said that you helped the police figure out who killed my birth mother.” She stumbled a little over the word “mother.” “And you were almost caught in an explosion.” She swallowed. “I, uh, don’t know how to thank you.”

I hesitated and then lightly touched her shoulder. “You just did,” I said. “And I have all the thanks I’m ever going to need just seeing how happy finding you has made Harrison.”

She nodded.

We stepped into the kitchen. Owen and Hercules hadn’t moved. They looked curiously at the two young women. Wren immediately looked at me. “Liz said we can’t pet them, but is it okay if I get a little closer?”

“Go ahead,” I said.

Both cats were watching her intently.

Wren stopped about three feet away from them and dropped down to her knees.

“That’s Owen,” I said, pointing. He turned his face toward me for a moment and then gave all his attention to Wren again. I gestured at Herc. “And that’s Hercules.” He bobbed his head in acknowledgment.