Софи Келли - A Case Of Cat And Mouse

“They did come back, Kath,” she had reminded me earlier. “This will work, too.” I wondered if, like before, the reassurance was for herself as much as for me.

I watched Lucy. Lucy watched me. Neither of us moved. I was holding my breath, I realized. I let it out and then called softly to the little cat. “Hi, puss. Breakfast is ready.”

She took a step outside and her whiskers twitched as she sniffed the air. Could she smell the food at that distance?

“C’mon, Luce,” I said. “This is your new home. It’s safe. I promise.” I thought about the little cat finding Marcus and making such a fuss he’d realized something had to be wrong and headed for the carriage house in time to help save Syd and Olivia.

Lucy cocked her head to one side. She seemed to be weighing my words. Or maybe she was just deciding whether to go back inside the carriage house or bolt for the trees.

Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I was just going to have to convince Roma and Eddie to let the cat colony have the carriage house to themselves until they were all gone after very long and happy lives.

And then Lucy took a step forward. And then another. She meowed loudly and Smokey stuck his gray head around the carriage house door. He stepped outside and started for the feeding station. After a moment the other three cats followed. They all seemed a little apprehensive and skittish, even Lucy, but they all came and ate and then Smokey went inside. He had always been the most curious of the group and the most fearless. I leaned sideways and watched him sniff everything and then disappear back where the shelters were. Roma had put a couple of the sardine crackers I made for Owen and Hercules in front of each shelter as what she called a “welcome home” gift.

After Lucy had eaten she sat and washed her face while the others finished and then followed Smokey inside. Finally she turned, looked at me and meowed again.

“I’m glad you like it,” I said. I had to blink away a sudden, unexpected prickle of tears. Everything was going to be all right. Lucy turned back around and went to explore her new home.

I stood up, shaking my left leg, which had fallen asleep because I had been crouched down so long. I walked back over to Roma and Eddie, hobbling a little as the feeling came back to my leg.

“It worked!” Roma exclaimed, bright-eyed. She’d come close to tears herself, it seemed.

We hugged and then I leaned back. “Don’t make Smokey go live at the clinic,” I said. “Please.”

Roma shook her head. “I’m not.”

I stared at her for a long moment. “You’re not?”

“I’m not. This is his home and his family. Eddie convinced me I was wrong. And that’s why he built that extra step between the ground and the platform. So Smokey could make it up and down easily.”

I looked up at Eddie, who was smiling at me. The former hockey player really was a softie. “I love you, Crazy Eddie Sweeney,” I said.

The smile turned into a grin and he wrapped me in a bear hug. “Love you, too,” he said.

I told Roma I would call her later that afternoon to see how the cats were and then I got in the truck and headed home.

I’d had fruit and yogurt before I had driven out to Wisteria Hill. Now I was hungry again. I found Hercules sitting on the back steps, green eyes cast skyward. He had some weird rivalry going on with a grackle—or maybe it was several grackles, I wasn’t sure.

I leaned down and picked him up. “How do you feel about a breakfast sandwich?” I asked.

He murped with enthusiasm and nuzzled my neck.

“Where’s your brother?” I asked.

Hercules suddenly wriggled to get down. That was not a good sign. As soon as I stepped inside the kitchen I knew why Hercules had suddenly gotten squirmy. Owen was under the kitchen table and based on the bits of dried leaves surrounding him, he had been playing air hockey with a Fred the Funky Chicken. For once he hadn’t bitten the head off and spread catnip everywhere. This would be easy to sweep up. There was just a tiny split in the side of the cat toy.

Owen gave an indignant meow when I picked up the chicken.

“Yes, I know it’s yours, but you made a mess on my clean floor.”

The cat looked around the room and then fixed his narrowed golden eyes on me. I remembered that I hadn’t actually washed the floor on Friday. I had gone to Maggie’s with Roma instead.

“Okay, my almost clean floor,” I said. “That’s not the point. I don’t see your little paws working the broom when there’s catnip everywhere.”

He lifted one paw and stared at it. I couldn’t help laughing. I leaned down to scratch the top of his head. “Okay, Fuzzy Face,” I said. “First I’m going to clean up your mess. Then I’m going to make a breakfast sandwich.”

Owen murped his enthusiasm for both ideas and tried to grab the yellow chicken I was holding. I snatched it out of his reach. “Say good-bye to Fred,” I told him, straightening up and taking the catnip toy to the garbage can. It was one good swat away from splitting open and spewing a whole lot of dried catnip all over my semiclean floor.

I grabbed the broom from the porch and swept up the mess Owen had made. He muttered and grumbled a little but he knew when he’d lost. I kicked off my shoes, hung up my hoodie and went to wash my hands. I knew there were eggs, tomatoes and cheese in my refrigerator and one last slice of Rebecca’s spelt bread in the breadbox. I scrambled the eggs, toasted the bread and added a couple of slices of tomato and two slices of cheese. The boys got a tiny bit of egg with two sardine crackers.

I set my sandwich on the table and got my laptop. I didn’t have to be down at the show for a while. I wanted to see if I could learn a little more about Kassie.

I was reading an article on an entertainment site about the revival of The Great Northern Baking Showdown , when Owen launched himself onto my lap and leaned in front of me as though he wanted to read what was on the screen, too. After we finished the article—Owen, if he was indeed reading, was pretty quick at it—we scrolled down to the comment section. The first episode hadn’t even aired and already people were critical about Kassie’s casting and her lack of experience and training when it came to cooking in general and baking in particular. They picked on everything from her hair to her penchant for heels to the way she pronounced the word “recognize” in her online videos. A lot of the comments were spiteful. I wondered if Kassie had seen any of them, and if she had, how they had made her feel. I felt uncomfortable and sad reading them and they weren’t directed at me.

I got up to get another cup of coffee, setting Owen on the chair. When I came back to the table he was on his hind legs, one paw on the edge of the laptop, looking at the screen with what seemed to me to be a very self-satisfied expression on his face. Somehow in the short amount of time I had been up he’d managed to find Kassie’s Instagram feed. I scooped him up and set him on my lap.

“Not even going to ask how you did this,” I said. “But I’ll give you a pass for the catnip.” He licked my chin.

Kassie’s Instagram feed was a carefully curated collection of images. There was no way my kitchen ever looked that good.

“Where are the clumps of cat hair on the floor?” I said to Owen. “Where are the funky chickens and stinky cracker crumbs?”

He leaned forward for a better look at the screen and then seemed to shake his head. Clearly he was baffled, too.

We spent a little time sifting through the photos Kassie had posted before her death. She had been showing more of what was happening on set than Elias had wanted posted online and while she didn’t mention any of the contestants by name she did manage to work in little comments on their baking. Very quickly I picked up a pattern in what she was saying and showing. She favored Ray. Although she didn’t use his name it wasn’t hard to figure out to whom she was referring. Anyone who had checked out the show’s social media would realize it was Ray.