Молли Фитц - Kitty Confidential

“Um, I don’t really have an answer to that one. People do weird things all the time, like commit murder or have affairs. You’ll never believe what I discovered today at work.”

“Oh, I’m sure I will believe it. You humans are also quite predictable,” he informed me, plopping his rear down on the coffee table and wagging his tail ominously. “But first I must tell you about the rest of my day.”

There was more? How much more could there possibly be?

I really wasn’t looking forward to a blow by blow of all the cartoons he’d watched that day, especially not when we had far more important matters to discuss. Still, it seemed important to him that I give him my undivided attention, so I leaned back into the couch cushions and motioned for him to continue.

“At first I tried napping on the back of the couch, but I found it too lumpy for my liking. After scouring the premises, I found the perfect spot where a patch of light landed on the carpet and warmed it nicely. I napped there for roughly an hour before the sun moved, rendering the spot unsatisfactory.”

He waited for me to say something, so I settled for, “Of course.”

Pleased, he continued, “Then I went to your bedroom and found a nice twist in the comforter where I made something of a burrow. Unfortunately, I was unable to jump down in time when I woke up with a hairball clogging my windpipe. So you may want to do a load of laundry before turning in for the night.”

He puked on my comforter? Gross. At least he’d told me rather than letting me discover it for myself. Thank goodness for small miracles.

“When you came home, you fed me, and this time you made a much better showing of it. I’ll give it an A minus, I think. Now we are here. How the rest of the day unfolds remains to be seen.”

“Sounds like you had a busy day,” I summarized sarcastically.

He winked at me, not catching the humor. “Yes, it was a good day, considering.”

I considered asking him what he meant by that, but decided I’d rather not get in another long conversation about the intricacies of daily cat life when we still needed to discuss what I’d stumbled across at work. “May I tell you about mine?”

“It will be hard to top my day, but you may try.”

I thought this meant he was happy with me, and for some reason that made my heart swell with pride. Maybe like Brad, I craved affection from someone who didn’t easily offer it. Octo-Cat’s kindness felt like a reward that I had earned for good behavior, and I was lapping it right up.

Without going into too much detail—because I knew how easy it was to lose his interest—I recapped the events of my day, ending with the purple bra I’d discovered in Mr. Fulton’s office.

Octo-Cat shook his head. “And humans think we’re the ones who need to be neutered. At least the only thing we do is make kittens, not trouble.”

I had to agree with him there. “Does it surprise you that Mr. Fulton could be having an affair?”

“Not really, but I don’t know him well and I don’t understand your human marriages, anyway. Those tiny collars you wear on your fingers… It’s like being micro-chipped, right? You can try to run away, but they’ll always find you again and bring you home. Frustrating.”

“Something like that,” I said, trying to hide my smile. “Do you think Mr. Fulton could have been the one to poison Ethel?”

Octo-Cat thought about this for a good long time. “He’s the one with gray hair and extra padding, right?”

Mr. Fulton was fit and slim, and most of his hair was still brown. Something wasn’t adding up. “Are you talking about the woman we saw at your house yesterday?”

“Yes! That’s Mr. Fulton, right?”

“Um, no. That was Ethel’s niece. Can you really not tell men and women apart?”

“I told you, all humans look the same. Can you tell whether a cat is a man or a woman just by glancing at them?”

Okay, he was right about that, so I decided to cut him a bit of slack.

He flicked his tail as he thought, then said, “I don’t suppose you could describe what this Mr. Fulton smells like? It would be so much easier for me if you would.”

“Um, no. Sorry.” I shook my head to erase the mental image of me attempting to surreptitiously sniff my boss.

He shrugged and began grooming himself.

I slumped back against the couch again and sighed, something I sure was doing a lot of lately. “Then I guess nothing I tell you is of value because you don’t even know who I’m talking about. How are we supposed to solve this thing if we can’t even fully communicate with each other?”

It seemed like a cruel joke that I’d somehow gained the ability to talk to animals but couldn’t use that power to actually accomplish anything. Someone upstairs must be getting a good laugh out of the two of us right about now.

“You could take me to work with you,” Octo-Cat chanced with a sly grin.

“No way. I already told you why that won’t work.” I still had no idea why he wanted to go to the office so badly, but this was one point on which I refused to waver.

He looked bored as he suggested, “Okay, then how about the viewing tomorrow?”

I leapt up straight in my seat at this. “A viewing? Like the pre-funeral thing?”

“That was what I gathered. The humans were discussing it yesterday between the time you left and the time you came back.” He meant when I’d gone to the hospital. It seemed no one was overly concerned about my near brush with death, not even my new friend, the talking cat. I tried not to let it hurt my feelings, but jeez. You’d think at least someone would be worried after a display like that.

“I don’t know how,” I told him, forcing myself to focus on the matter at hand once again. “But yes. I’m going to find a way to take you with me. Since the killer was someone Ethel knew well enough to have over for dinner, then he’ll definitely be making an appearance. We need to be there, too.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he said with a wink. “Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I need to pay a visit to the little kitty box.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Isnuck out of work early the next day so that Octo-Cat and I could get ready for the viewing happening early that evening. Mr. Fulton didn’t come into the office at all that day, which made it quite difficult for me to do any further investigation into his means or motive. The longer he stayed away, however, the more and more suspicious I became.

One way or another, I’d need to find a way to learn more. Maybe I could invite myself over to his house to visit with Diane. Or maybe the viewing would reveal everything I needed to know. I sure hoped it would be the latter.

Knowing that there was a killer on the loose—and that it was more than likely someone I personally knew—had started cutting into my sleep lately. Add Octo-Cat’s early morning wakeup calls to the mix, and I was practically a dead woman walking. Yikes.

Until we had enough proof to take our case to the police, I’d just need to drink lots and lots of extra coffee, a pretty cruel irony considering how I’d first acquired my ability to talk to animals in the first place. I tried not to dwell on my near-death experience too much, considering that there was nothing near about Ethel Fulton’s death.

On the way home I stopped off at the local charity shop to find a suitable mourning outfit. I also found an over-sized shoulder bag that I quickly claimed for that evening’s use. Even though its tan and black wicker design appeared a tad on the beachy side, it would conceal Octo-Cat’s furry bulk perfectly, thus allowing me to sneak him in and out of the funeral home undetected.