Unknown - 23_Cat_In_A_Vegas_Gold_Vendetta

“Do the cats inherit, is that Violet’s issue?” Temple wondered as she helped Savannah open more of the treat bags the actress had jammed into her oversize Prada bag.

It was a metallic swashbuckler of a purse, buckled to the nines, nothing as old-fashioned and simple as Temple’s ever-present tote bags. Captain Jack must have felt right at home inside all that hardware, but he still scrabbled from his out-of-pocket home to grab an entire bag of treats and rip it open with his tiny paws and claws.

Smelling the fishy-scented plastic packages in the adjacent section and having to be a good boy and cozy up to the mistress must have been torture.

As the packets were ripped open, cats appeared from the vicinity of Violet’s bed and then many more from other house areas. In a minute, a milling, mewing carpet of cats of all shapes and colors swarmed the women’s feet. Cats perched on tables and the wide adobe windowsills, meowing. They lofted atop the countertops, nudging human elbows.

“S-S-Savannah,” Temple said, determined to inter Sue Anna Weiner forever in her consciousness, “is there a definitive count on the cats?”

“I never knew you stuttered. There is help for that, you know.”

“I know! These cats can’t continue to run all over the house. How could the doctors release Violet to her home?”

“It’s obvious you’ve never had a terminal disease, Temple,” Savannah lectured her.

Temple could only blink at the disconnect that sentence implied.

“Am I right?” Savannah obviously had to be.

“Right,” Temple said in exasperation. “What would that have to do with it?”

“Well, the doctors and hospitals are happy to have you coming in and out for daily radiation that’s costing your insurance or Medicare thousands a week, and when they’ve made their bundles and you get so ill from the radiation you can’t get yourself in, they release you to your ‘home and caretakers,’ until you’re sick and out of your mind enough that they can stick you in a hospice for your final day, or days, hopefully just the one if they time it right.

“What is going on, do you think?” Savannah asked. “Violet’s been hallucinating from the pain meds for the last week and a half. Taking these cats away would push her over the edge. Her whole deal was that the cats stay in the house as long as they lived, after her death. The person who will do that for her gets the money, and while the will still isn’t signed, I figure that crystal freak will get it. I’m just trying to keep Violet going as decently as possible until it’s out of all our hands.”

Temple had never heard Savannah Ashleigh speak that many sentences, or sentiments, in a row. She’d obviously seen a tragically similar case to Violet’s. Temple found it touching that the struggling, middle-aged actress would do so much for her difficult aunt, for no personal gain.

“And,” Savannah added, “Violet has promised me I’ll get Yvette and Solange back in the will. When I dropped my babies off with her a few months ago, Violet had far more marbles and many fewer cats.”

“I don’t see Yvette and Solange.” Temple gazed around, counting cats. At least sixteen.

Savannah sniffed. “They would be rushing to Mommy’s arms, but I think Captain Jack’s scent on me is a deterrent. That’s them, on the kitchen table.”

Temple looked over. She couldn’t believe her eyes. It was more than ferret scent that kept Savannah’s formerly favorite pets from approaching her. What about complete betrayal? Could that pair of scruffy gray and yellow cats with knotted coats be the Persian purebreds? No. Yvette was a shaded-silver Persian like the beauty on the Fancy Feast TV ads, and Solange was a richly shaded-golden version of same.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Savannah said as Temple turned to her. Her guilty eyes kept shifting somewhere between the Raggedy Ann cats and Temple. “Violet is holding both of my girls hostage, and I can’t get them to a groomer for a lion cut until she … well, gets to the bottom of her own bowl of not-so-Friskies.”

“Lion cut?” Temple asked, fastening on the most bizarre phrase.

“Of course.” Savannah shrugged. “My Persian babies will have to be shaved to the skin except for their heads and ruffs, the ‘boots’ on their lower legs, and the tufts at the end of their tails. It’s a cool clipping for this climate, rather adorable, and will allow their scrumptious soft, long coats to grow out smooth and knot-free. Until they start tangling again. Hasn’t your Midnight Lounger ever been to a groomer?”

“Nooo. He’d take that personally. I mean, he attends to all his barbering needs himself.”

“I suppose that’s possible. He certainly doesn’t have a show coat.”

By then the treats had been distributed to the small saucers placed everywhere … Royal Doulton, Temple had noticed. Underneath the clutter and the cat hair lurked some wonderful and fragile things.

“So,” she asked, “the will still hasn’t been signed?”

Savannah nodded unhappily. “When Violet first got ill she sounded all certain and organized, but she’s delayed doing anything final, and all the while the vultures have gathered. I’m terribly afraid that crystal-flashing crook will get the whole shebang. I’m no fonder of my aunts and uncles and cousins than Violet is, but her money would be better off with greedy relatives than with an outright con man.”

“What about this ‘Rowdy’ guy?”

“He was Alexandra’s boyfriend at the time of her tragic death. He came to Vegas for the funeral and never left.”

“So Alexandra died far away from her mother. You said drugs?”

“Yeah. In Tucson. Alex was not one of those drug-abusing kids. That’s what was so sad. What got her was one of those awful cases where some creep they never caught was putting bad stuff in pain-reliever bottles on drugstore shelves. Like playing Russian roulette with pill bottles. But Alex was far away from her mother for a reason. They’d had a falling out.”

“And then Alex dies in a freak outbreak of anonymous murder? Poor Violet.”

Savannah nodded. “I didn’t realize at first, but that’s when she started going cat crazy. She can’t let one of them go. It’s like she’s searching for Alex to come back as a cat. Alex was the one who had cats. Violet took her four and the litter of kittens after she died, so I thought she could handle my two. This was before Violet got ill. How was I to know she’d been adding every homeless cat she ran across? She’d always wanted to lunch on the Strip when I was in town, so I never saw the house.”

Temple could understand how Violet’s pet population had multiplied. Most city codes were strict on pet numbers per household. She knew a lot of animal lovers and rescuers exceeded the stingy allowances. Temple had no problems with the codes. Louie would not tolerate even one additional cat on his Circle Ritz premises. Maybe not even a stuffed one. Temple wasn’t about to buy one and find out.

“I need to leave,” Temple told Savannah. “I need to think this over and probably come back and talk to Violet further.”

“Why not? Duh. I come here almost every day now.” Savannah imitated Temple by hoisting her bag straps on her shoulder. “Wait! My bag is too light. It’s not just the treats that are gone, Captain Jack is!”

Temple scanned the cats, looking for a ferret in feline clothing. Most of them were shorthaired, she noticed, and pretty sleek. Her glance fell on the woebegone Persian sisters, looking listless and lost. She tried to approach them, hand out with treat nuggets, but they hissed at her in unison. The poor things seemed half feral now, and forcing these pampered cats to fight for their places in this menagerie was outrageous.