Софи Келли - A Tale Оf Two Kitties

I hadn’t. The rat had gone whizzing past Ruby’s head, just inches from hitting her, much to my embarrassment. She’d been a very good sport about the whole thing. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have flung it out on the sidewalk in the first place, but I was trying to get the thing out of the shop, away from Maggie.

Maggie was shaking with laughter now. She gestured at Nic with one hand. “And that’s not the best part. The rat wasn’t dead.”

Nic frowned. “What?”

“It wasn’t exactly dead,” I said.

“So it was what, just partly dead?”

That made Maggie laugh harder.

“It was—I don’t know—unconscious, stunned.” I pressed a hand to my forehead. I was laughing now, too, because the whole scenario had been just like something out of a Monty Python movie. The rat had zipped by Ruby’s head, landed on the sidewalk with an audible splat and then gotten up, shaken itself and scurried away.

Nic turned to Maggie. “Yeah, you definitely wanna get the cat,” he said, deadpan.

Once Maggie got control of herself, she apologized again to Nic.

“Let me know what happens,” he said. “If the cat doesn’t catch anything, I can set some traps—the humane kind.” He grinned at me. “Because I don’t even know where the snow shovel is.”

Maggie and I walked back up to her studio. She bumped me with her hip. “Are you mad at me because I told that story to Nic?”

“Yes,” I said.

“No, you’re not,” she retorted. “Because that’s one of the things that made Marcus fall for you.”

I stopped and stared at her. “What?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

I shook my head. “No. He told you?”

She smiled. “Uh-huh. He said he saw how kind you were.”

“Because I flung what I thought was a dead animal at Ruby?”

Maggie grinned. “Because you were worried that Ruby might have been hurt and you were worried about the rat, too.” She nudged me again. “I’m glad you didn’t go back to Boston.”

I bumped her back. “Me too.”

“So what do we do now?” she said as we started up the steps again.

“First we deal with the furry intruders,” I said, “then we’ll find the thief.”

I headed straight up the hill at the end of the day. Owen was waiting by the kitchen door, almost as though he knew I was coming for him, which of course he didn’t.

“Okay, Fuzz Face,” I said, bending down to pick him up. “Maggie needs you to do rodent patrol at the store.”

“Merow,” he said loudly. Translation: “Let’s do it.”

As we drove down to the shop, I explained about the possible mice incursion at the co-op store. Owen listened intently, and when I finished talking, he licked his whiskers. I was pretty sure he knew exactly what was expected of him.

Maggie was waiting at the store, and Owen looked adoringly at her when she thanked him for coming to her rescue. She unlocked the door and we went inside. I saw her hesitate and look around.

I set Owen down. “Go for it,” I whispered.

He immediately began to nose around. Beside me Maggie sucked in a breath as Owen began to sniff around the shelving unit that still held some of the woven placemats. Then he suddenly headed purposefully for the back door, meowing loudly a couple of times.

“I think we’re supposed to go after him,” she said.

“Do you want to wait here?” I asked. “I can go.”

She shook her head. “No, but if Owen catches anything, I will be in the back of your truck—or standing on the roof of the cab.”

“Got it,” I said, putting my arm around her shoulders and giving her what I hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

Owen was sitting in front of the back door, which led to the alley. He gave another insistent meow when we joined him.

Maggie opened the door. “Where are we going?” she asked as though she expected him to answer.

Owen led us down the narrow alley to a green metal Dumpster pushed up against the wall of the building, a pile of wooden pallets stacked beside it. He stopped, looked up at me and made a low murping sound.

I peered around the side of the metal bin. “Mags,” I said softly. In the cramped space between the garbage container and the pallets, a mama cat had made a home for three tiny kittens from a couple of scarves and some placemats.

“I think we’ve found your ‘cat burglar,’” I said.

Maggie crouched down and began to talk quietly to the mother cat. I pulled out my phone to call Roma, who was a vet and would know what to do about moving the mother and her babies. I glanced down at Owen, who looked up at me with a decidedly self-satisfied expression on his furry face, and I had the niggling feeling that somehow he’d figured this whole thing out long before we had.

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