Theresa Weir: The Girl with the Cat Tattoo

“I thought he was just a nice guy who worked at a shelter.” Melody rubbed her forehead, trying to clear the muddle there. Joe. Was his name really Joe?

“Sorry to drop a bombshell like this, then leave,” Ben said. “But I’ve got to get home in time to load equipment.” He gave both of his daughters a quick kiss on the cheek, then took off, the screen door slamming behind him.

In the silence left by his departure, Lola draped the cat towel over her shoulder, put an arm around her sister, and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Just remember that this information is coming from the guy who once sat next to a woman he didn’t even know, thinking it was Mom.”

Lola was right. It wasn’t that their dad couldn’t see well, but he always had his head in the clouds, thinking about a song he was writing or an upcoming gig.

Lola plopped down in the red chair with the ruffle skirt. Max’s chair. “But what if Dad is right? And, what if Joe is involved in something shady? Illegal?”

Deep in thought, Melody frowned and pressed a finger to her lips. She nodded.

Melody picked up Max and gave him a good massage. “I wish you could talk. Has Joe been trying to sell you catnip?” She was kidding. Kind of.

“We could spy on Joe.” Lola wrapped an arm around her knee and pulled her foot close. “Turn the tables on him. That would be fun.”

Spying went completely against Melody’s nature, but in this case… “Maybe Max should decide. What do you think, Max?” Melody lifted Max above her head. “Should we spy on Joe?”

Max meowed in what seemed like agreement. Or maybe he just wanted down.

Lola clasped her hands under her chin, her expression decidedly wicked. “Max has spoken.”

The spy gig didn’t happen right away. First of all, Melody had to figure out where Joe lived. That required following him home one night. Turned out he lived in Midway, an area not all that far from her house. After that, there was a lot of discussion between the two sisters about a time and date for the spy gig. Max would lie in bed with Melody while she talked on the phone to Lola. Lola’s voice came out of the phone, so Max could hear both sides of the conversation.

“How can this be so hard?” Melody said, absentmindedly rubbing Max’s head. “When you work nights, it’s kind of tough to be a spy.”

“Why do we have to do it at night?” Lola said.

“We’re not going to catch him doing anything during daylight hours.”

Lola ended up having a three-hour window between her day job of waiting tables, and her evening job of deejaying at the Turf Club. They decided they would go straight from the library as soon as Melody got off for the evening. “I’ll have to bring Max,” she said.

“You can’t bring a cat to a stakeout.”

“It’s story night at the library,” Melody explained. “Max has become the star of story night. He won’t cause any trouble, will you Max?” She looked at him.

He wanted to say that she knew damn well he hated riding in the car, and she knew damn well he hated story night, but they would be going to Joe’s house, so that was okay. He’d always wanted to see Joe’s house.

“This is silly,” Melody said. “Nothing is going to happen.”

Lola’s voice came from the cell phone. “You never know. And it will be fun. And to make it more fun, we have to bring stuff.”

“Like what? A video camera?”

“Food. Snacks.”

Max perked up. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

Two nights later, Lola, Melody, and Max were parked down the street from Joe’s house. Lola was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, Melody in her Alice in Wonderland outfit, and Max was decked out in a pink-and-black striped hat and striped sweater from his library gig as the Cheshire Cat. The night air was crisp, and Melody had announced that she would leave the costume on him so he wouldn’t get cold.

Hmmph.

Like he was some old fuddy-duddy of a cat who needed to be pampered. But he had to admit the soft garment was cozy as hell. If he came across it in a dark alley he’d feel the immediate need to milk it with both front paws. Nature.

And speaking of nature… Nobody had thought to bring his litter box. They’d been at the library for hours, and now in the car. Sometimes Max wondered who was the adult in this relationship. There they were, sisters, in the front seat, sipping the lattes they’d picked up at Ginkgo Coffeehouse. Eating candy, whispering and giggling like…well, like two girls. Not acting like spies at all. But Max would occasionally sense a wave of Melody’s sadness that probably came when she thought about why they were here. Joe.

Why had Max stuck his whiskers where they didn’t belong?

Matchmaking.

What had he been thinking?

He’d only wanted to make Melody feel better. Instead, he’d made her feel worse. And speaking of feeling bad…

His bladder was screaming. Maybe nobody would notice if he just-

“Max!” It was Melody, her voice coming from the front seat. “What are you doing?” She’d heard him digging in the corner.

“If that cat pees in my car…” Lola said.

“I was going to bring his litter box.” Melody balanced her latte on the dashboard and shifted in her seat. “Come here, Max. Do you need to go out?”

Out? As in pee in the grass? Was she crazy?

“Where’s your leash? What did I do with your leash?”

She found the wayward leash and snapped it to his collar, removed his silly hat, then scooped him up, opened the door, and stepped outside, putting him down in a nearby yard. Oh, the humiliation.

Grass. It would have to do.

Max figured the whole spy thing was just a way for Melody to come to terms with the situation. Because really, what would they see? Joe going into his house. Joe leaving his house.

Max did his business. While he was busy scratching around, Lola slipped out of the car. “Let’s walk past the house,” she whispered to Melody. For Lola, this was a party. Max wished she’d be a bit more sensitive.

To make matters more annoying, Max wasn’t much of a leash man. He hated the leash almost as much as he hated peeing outside.

“Come on, Max.” Melody gave the leash a small tug. Max considered sitting down and refusing to respond to such indignity, but in the end he decided to be a gentleman and try to make the evening easier for his mistress.

He walked.

They crossed the street and clung to the shadows of the houses and trees.

“His house is kind of ordinary,” Lola whispered.

She was right. Max had always pictured Joe living in a mansion. Maybe because Max had wanted Joe to be rich. For Melody. But the house was one story, not much bigger than Melody’s house.

And then he quit thinking at all.

Because cats, even extraordinary cats like Max, stop thinking when they’re scared.

Shots. Like firecrackers or cherry bombs.

Or guns.

Rapid-fire, one after the other. A second later, tires squealed, and suddenly a car flew past them, no headlights, the engine roaring.

Max took off like a rocket. Airborne, he felt a brief tug at his neck, and then he was free, the leash dragging behind him as he hauled ass. The world was a blur of fences and cement steps. Grass. A road. An alley. Cars. Barking dogs.

Home. He wanted to go home. But where was home?

From somewhere behind him Melody screamed his name, but he kept running. Fright trumped everything. Fright trumped Melody and matchmaking and good behavior. He spotted a dark area and dove for it, his heart pounding.

But when Max lost his cool, he always got it back. Fast. One minute he was scared, the next he was sitting behind a metal trash can, licking his paw and washing his face.