Кэрол Дуглас - Cat In A Leopard Spot

“He was kidnapped, taken to a facility, altered, and then dumped on my apartment doorstep in a groggy condition inside a white satin pillowcase.”

“White satin. That does sound like a Hollywood touch,” the judge said, glancing Savannah’s way.

Temple reached into her tote bag with grim satisfaction, soon flourishing a limp white article stained with small portions of red.

“The bloodstained pillowcase in which a drugged Midnight Louie was returned to me. It is embroidered with these initials: S. A.”

A gasp filled the courtroom as the camera operator zoomed in on the lurid trophy.

“Bailiff.”

Once again the kindly man clomped over to convey evidence from Temple’s table to the judge’s bench.

“S. A.” The judge looked judicial. “This could stand for “South America, Miss Barr.”

Temple could hardly cite the most damning evidence: that only Savannah Ashleigh was dim enough to return an abducted cat in a Porthault pillowcase bearing her initials. That would sound like libel, even though it was the unvarnished, uncollagened, unteased and sprayed, and unlipo-ed truth.

The judge’s eagle eye had rested on Savannah’s table now. “Your complaint is that your cat was unwillingly impregnated.”

“Well, we will never know how unwilling she was,” Savannah said. “I cannot believe that a Persian of her breeding would run around with an alley cat like that Louie, or even that Maurice. But they are both big, nasty bruisers. Yvette is only seven pounds, and delicate. It would not take much to overpower her. As for the striped kittens, it so happens that tabby-striped cats were used to give white cats that faint silver-fox striping, so of course it might come out in the kittens. That tabloid photo proves nothing, except that I am a subject of such interest to the national press that even my cat cannot have kittens without an event being made of it.”

Temple refrained from making gagging sounds, but Louie did not forbear from having a hairball attack.

“Must he do that?”

“I’m afraid so, Your Honor. Hairball attacks are unpredictable. And it is upsetting for the animals to come to court.”

“You can’t say they’re not used to hot lights and attention. So. Louie was returned to you minus his, ah, hairballs.”

The audience hooted.

“No.”

“No! I thought this case was about unauthorized neutering.”

“Not neutering. Louie was the victim of a vasectomy.”

’Vasectomy. Honey, they do not do that to cats. They do that to dudes.”

“Well, Louie must be a dude, then, because that’s what he got.”

“Now, wait a minute.” The judge sat back against her chair, frowning. “You’re saying that this cat had a human operation. What kind of vet would do that?”

“A veterinarian did not perform the procedure, which further points to Miss Ashleigh as the one behind it.”

“This cat was vasectomized by an unlicensed individual? By some amateur? You may have a case here, after all.”

“Not only that, I have a witness!”

“To the surgery?”

“Yes.”

“Who is this witness?”

“The surgeon.”

“But you just said the cat was not vasectomized by a vet.”

“No. He was operated on by Miss Ashleigh’s personal plastic surgeon.”

“I object, I object,” Savannah jiggled up and down in high-heeled indignation, one of her best camera angles.

“This may be a hostile witness, Your Honor,” Temple warned.

The judge’s gavel rapped the benchtop as Savannah jiggled, Yvette began hissing, and Louie yowled. “This is civil court, Miss Barr. We don’t have hostile witnesses. Either you’ve got a witness who will support your story, or you don’t. Where is this ‘expert’ who is not a veterinarian?”

A slow shuffling started from the back of the courtroom.

If this were a horror movie—and Temple was not sure that it was not—you would have heard the oncoming shuffling for a long time before any clue to the shuffler’s identity came into camera range.

But this was court TV, and this audience was unwilling to wait.

A man in a two-hundred-dollar haircut and an antipasto of Italian designer clothing shuffled forward like an eleven-year-old truant.

“It is I, Your Honor,” he said.

Savannah shrieked as if cut to the heart. “Dr. Mendel! Et tu, Brut? ”

Temple didn’t think Savannah’s mangled Shakespeare had any relevance other than betrayed trust until Dr. Mendel sidled up beside her and she smelled his aftershave cologne. Brut. Unmistakably. Savannah was evidently astute in some very minor matters.

The doctor thrust his hands in his pockets until only a hint of his high-karat bracelet showed on the right wrist.

The judge leaned forward, glasses practically sliding off the tip of her nose. “Did you do this cat, Doctor?”

“I performed some procedures on him, yes.” He directed a misery-filled glance at Savannah, whose toe was striking a furious beat on the courtroom floor.

“Procedures?” the judge demanded. “Is that what we call castrating nowadays?”

“I do not perform castration. Miss Ashleigh brought me the animal. I naturally refused to do anything, but she became quite hysterical.”

“Ohhhh!” Savannah screeched.

He shrugged. “She insisted that I was to make sure this cat—”

“The black one here?”

“I’d have to examine the animal, Your Honor.”

“Make it so,” the judge barked, Captain Jean-Luc Picard style.

Both cats jumped and arched their backs.

Temple tried to hold and calm Louie, but he growled furiously as Dr. Mendel gingerly explored his hindsection.

“Yes, this is the cat. I see that my tummy tuck is holding up well. One of the best I’ve ever done, actually. The skin of cats is not attached to the underlying musculature, you know, so a tummy tuck can make a real difference. Especially in front of the camera, eh, boy?”

“A tummy tuck. So the dude got a free cosmetic procedure?”

“Unnecessary,” Temple said. “You will see from the videotape that Midnight Louie’s handsome coat of hair hides any presumed flaws.”

The judge was uninterested in Temple’s testimony. She was more interested in Dr. Mendel’s.

“So you did not remove anything from the cat?”

“I merely snipped segments from his vas deferens and siphoned some ugly excess fat from the abdominal area. The incisions were so tiny they didn’t require stitches.”

“Impressive. I think you may have happened on a profitable two-fer for your human clients. I know more than a few gentlemen who would like to get fixed and lipo-ed at the same time. Why did you bother with the tummy tuck? That wasn’t in Miss Ashleigh’s instructions.”

He shrugged. “I am a plastic surgeon, a perfectionist by nature. If I see something ungainly that’s easy to fix, I do it.”

Louie growled again and showed his fangs at Dr. Mendel’s hand. The surgeon quickly moved both hands back to his pockets, out of Louie’s snapping range.

“Some would say that Dr. Mendel, and Miss Ashleigh, had done you and Louie a favor, Miss Barr.”

“Louie is a television star, Your Honor. Who is to say his breeding potential is not valuable? Not only that, the pain and suffering I underwent when he was missing, and then returned in such a savage manner, in a drugged and altered condition—”

“Pain and suffering are not awardable conditions, Miss Barr.” The judge turned to Savannah. “All right. What’s your defense? It appears you had no evidence but prejudice and contact to blame your cat’s pregnancy on Midnight Louie. It also looks like you abducted the wrong Romeo. This Maurice fellow seems the far more likely suspect for Yvette’s delicate condition.”