Миранда Джеймс - Six Cats A Slayin'

After hitting the button to start the coffeemaker—it was set for six thirty every morning—I grabbed a jacket off the rack in the hall and opened the front door. I intended to retrieve the newspaper, and I had the door halfway open before I remembered that today was Saturday. There would be no paper.

About to close the door, I spied a folded piece of paper stuck to it with a tack. I removed the tack and unfolded the note. I immediately recognized the childish scrawl.

They’re gone! I thought you’d take care of them! What did you do with them? Where are they?

EIGHT

I stared at the note for several seconds, until I became aware of the chill air against my bare legs. Hastily I moved back and shut the door. I put the jacket back on the rack and walked into the kitchen, head down, contemplating the note.

Poor kid was my first thought, but then I realized I felt a little irritated. Why would the child assume that I had already given up the kittens? Hadn’t it occurred to the youngster that I had simply moved the kittens?

Perhaps the child was used to being let down by adults, I thought a moment later. After all, an adult had apparently threatened to drown the kittens.

I frowned. Hadn’t I been making a groundless assumption that the person the child referred to in the original note was an adult? It might be simply an older brother, a teenager who enjoyed tormenting his younger sibling. Either way, the child had no reason to trust adults, other than the fact that I was known in the neighborhood to be an animal lover.

I laid the note on the table and went to the counter to pour my coffee. Cream and sugar added to the cup, I settled in my usual place and sipped my coffee. The hot liquid felt good going down, and the slight chill I’d felt earlier dissipated.

Contemplating the note again, I thought about the best way to allay the child’s fears about the kittens. The easiest way would be to respond to the note, pin it to my front door, and leave it. And if I happened to keep an eye out for the child in hopes of finally catching sight of him or her, that was all to the good.

Diesel sauntered up to me, laid a paw on my thigh, and trilled. I rubbed his head for a bit. Finally content, he stretched out by my chair, most of him under the table. Taking care not to disturb the cat, I got up to find a pen. I rummaged in the catchall drawer and found one.

Back at the table, I thought briefly about my response to the note.

The kittens are fine. I moved them to a different room overnight. They will soon be back in the same spot. I promise you I will keep them safe .

Surely that ought to do it, I thought. I drank more coffee, thought about breakfast, and drained my cup. I decided to put the note back on the front door in case the child sneaked out early to come look again.

What had I done with the tack? I couldn’t remember. I patted the pockets of my shorts. Ah, there it was.

Note safely tacked to the front door, I came back to the kitchen and tried to decide whether I was hungry enough yet to start preparing breakfast for myself. While I pondered this weighty matter, I heard footsteps, both human and canine, on the stairs. Moments later, I heard the front door open, and Stewart—he was usually the one—took Dante out for his morning walk.

Stewart and Dante returned soon and, as I anticipated, came into the kitchen instead of heading back upstairs. Dante pranced around Diesel, tapping the floor with one dainty paw to entice his friend to play. Diesel ignored him, but Dante persisted despite the lack of response.

“Good morning.” Stewart peered at the paper lying on the table in front of me. “What’s that all about? Another message from the kid?”

“Yes, with a response from me. Poor child sounds upset, but hopefully this will reassure him or her.” I started to get up.

“No, I’ll take it back.” Stewart disappeared into the hall but returned quickly. “All done. Are you going to lie in wait for this kid?”

“Off and on,” I said. “I don’t intend to spend the entire day watching the front door. The child might not come back until tonight, and I would have wasted an entire day sitting there.”

“True.” Stewart poured coffee into his favorite mug. He took a chair to my left. “Haskell and I can keep an eye out for someone lurking in the bushes while we work on the cage.”

I chuckled. “Speaking of lurking in the bushes—last night after I said good-bye to Helen Louise, I was about to walk back into the garage when I thought I saw something moving out of the corner of my eye.”

“Near the front door?”

“I wasn’t sure,” I said. “I stopped and looked, but everything was still. I figured I had imagined it and came on inside. But now I’m thinking that what I saw was the child sneaking away after putting that note on the door.”

“Possibly,” Stewart said. “You didn’t see anything on the door at the time?”

“Perhaps if I’d really been looking at the door, I might have,” I said, “but I wasn’t. Sooner or later I will find out who this child is.”

“I’m sure you will.” Stewart had a sip of coffee. “Haskell should be down soon, and we’ll get started on the cage.”

“I really appreciate this,” I said. “I’ll cook breakfast for you.”

“That’s kind of you, but I’m going to be having a cold breakfast.” Stewart grimaced. “My cholesterol is up, and I need to lay off the bacon and sausage for a while. So it’s a bowl of granola, yogurt, and fruit for me this morning.”

“What about Haskell? Is he having a cold breakfast, too?”

“Yes, he’s going to have the same, although I suspect he may want toast as well.” He smiled fondly. “He does like his buttered toast and jelly.”

“Don’t we all,” I replied. Not to mention buttered biscuits, cheese grits, scrambled eggs, bacon and sausage . Maybe country ham, too . I shook my head, thinking guiltily of my own cholesterol levels, always a little above the norm.

“What’s wrong?” Stewart asked.

“Food cravings.” I laughed. “The minute anyone starts talking about healthy food, I immediately think of all the things for breakfast that you shouldn’t eat every day. Which I do.”

“There’s plenty of granola, yogurt, and fruit,” Stewart said, his tone bland. “Feel free to help yourself.”

“Thanks. I might just do that.” I pushed back from the table. “Before I eat anything, I’m going back upstairs to feed the kittens and clean their litter boxes. Then I’ll have a shower. Diesel, do you want to come with me?”

The cat, who had evidently ignored the poodle long enough that Dante had finally given up, meowed. I gathered the cans of food and the bag of dry crunchies and placed them on a tray I dug out from one of the cabinets.

“See you in a bit,” I said to Stewart, who nodded.

Diesel raced up the stairs ahead of me. He seemed to know our destination. When I reached the second floor, I saw him disappear into Laura’s old bedroom.

I made sure to shut the bedroom door to limit the possibilities if any of the kittens escaped from the bathroom. Diesel stood ready in front of the bathroom door, from under which I could see small paws protruding. Diesel growled and batted at the paws, and they were quickly withdrawn.

Balancing the tray on one hand, I opened the door enough for Diesel to slip in. After a few seconds I slipped into the bathroom, too. As I had guessed, the kittens had swarmed over Diesel. My boy had been smart enough to lure them about three feet away from the door.

I fed the kittens and gave them fresh water before I attended to the litter boxes. When I finished, I spent a few minutes playing with them, holding and stroking each one in turn. Ramses wiggled the entire time I held him, impatient to get down and join in the fray with his siblings. The others seemed to enjoy the attention I gave them.