The Cat, The Professor And The Poison

Four

A few seconds passed before Candace and the man she’d called professor appeared outside the barn.

I sighed with relief and wondered whether Gilligan’s Island ’s Mary Ann might not be far behind the professor. But this was no old TV rerun. Candace had the man by the elbow and was pulling him toward the house. Lucy, tail in the air, scurried eagerly beside them. Her curiosity had been satisfied, and all was well with the world-or so it would seem. I do tend to interpret for my own cats, so why not Lucy, too?

I felt safe enough now to get out of the Taurus and was glad I’d again worn a sweatshirt. I shivered in this dead-of-night chill.

Candace tossed me the house key. “Wake up Robin so she can meet her trespasser. But be as quiet as you can. Jack doesn’t need to be a part of this.”

Turned out I didn’t have to wake Robin. She met me at the back door and said, “I heard voices. What happened?”

“Do you have a back-porch light?” I asked.

She flicked two switches by the door, and suddenly the Taurus and the dirt driveway were illuminated. And so were Candace and the professor. Candace’s prisoner, I saw, was in handcuffs.

The man’s head was down, and the black knit hat he’d been wearing was gone, revealing a mop of chin-length salt-and-pepper hair.

“Here’s your thief, Robin,” Candace said. “This time he decided not to steal the cow. Easier to steal the milk, I guess. Reminds me of a very bad joke.”

Robin marched up to the man. “Look at me.”

He slowly raised his head, and their eyes met.

“I-I-I’m s-s-sorry,” he managed.

“You frightened me to death. Just who are you?” Robin asked.

“This is Professor Hubert VanKleet,” Candace said.

“Teaches biology at Denman College. Isn’t that what you told me when we met at Belle’s Beans?”

He cast his gaze downward again. “Th-that would be correct.”

Robin bent and tilted her head so she could see his face again. Her tone was gentle when she said, “I would have given you milk if you’d asked. Why go to all this trouble?”

“You would have?” With his raised eyebrows and wide eyes, he seemed genuinely surprised.

Candace said, “That’s the way we do things here in Mercy. Folks need something, all they have to do is ask. Guess you haven’t lived here long enough to figure that out.”

“What do you need the milk for?” Robin said. “Do you have children?”

“In a way,” he said. “It’s for my pets. I l- lost my own cow last week. She was old and she died. The cats need f-food, and I’m rather short on c-cash since taking a sabbatical from my job.”

Exactly how many cats did this man have? I wondered.

“A sabbatical means you’re not working, Professor. I didn’t know that.” Candace had backed off with the stern tone. Concern seemed to have taken over. She turned to Robin. “Do you have any No Trespassing signs posted?”

“No. I didn’t think I needed them,” she said.

“Only reason I ask,” Candace said, “is that I can only arrest the professor for trespassing if you’ve got a sign posted. Course, now that he’s been warned he will go to jail if there’s a next time. Unless you want me to charge him for destroying your padlock.”

“Wait a minute,” I said, not feeling as nice as a Mercy- ite should. “What about stealing Harriett? Isn’t that a crime?” For some reason I didn’t feel a great deal of sympathy for this man, maybe because I was concerned about cats drinking only cow’s milk. That wouldn’t be good for them at all. Didn’t this obviously intelligent person know that most adult cats are lactose intolerant? Or maybe he was simply desperate for anything to fill their tummies.

“Did you steal that cow, Professor?” Candace said.

“I-I borrowed her; that’s all.” Something in his tone, or perhaps it was the way he averted his eyes, told me this wasn’t the whole story. And if he’d had an old cow, he wouldn’t have been getting any milk from that source. This wasn’t adding up.

Meanwhile, Lucy had taken a devoted interest in the professor’s pant legs, sniffing them from calf to ankle.

“You want to press charges about the cow, Robin?” Candace asked. She seemed tired, perhaps deflated by her cow thief turning out to be a nerdy man with dark shadows under his eyes and a defeated stoop to his shoulders.

Robin again addressed Professor VanKleet. “You won’t do this again, will you?”

His small, hazel eyes livened with hope. “N-no. I promise. P-please let me go. I have cats to care for. They need me.”

Okay, he finally had me feeling sympathetic, too.

“Don’t set foot on my property without an invite. Are we clear?” Robin said.

“R-right. I promise.”

Seconds later, he was free of the handcuffs, and Candace again warned him that the next time he came near Robin’s barn it would result in a stint in the town jail. “I can’t hold you for anything tonight since Robin is being generous, but I hope you understand the trespassing laws now, Professor.”

He ignored Candace and said, “Th-thank you so much, Ms. West. Th-thank you.” VanKleet turned and started off down the road, his body no longer hunched over in shame or remorse or whatever emotion had a hold on him earlier. He’d been acting, I decided. He wasn’t the least bit sorry.

“Wait a minute,” I called. “How did you know her name?”

He swiveled back around-quite spritely, I might add-and offered a lopsided grin. “It’s on the mailbox.”

No stutter, a spring in his step. And as he walked away, I felt a small chill race up both arms. Cat owner or not, I didn’t like the guy-not one bit.

My daytime sleep on Friday was cut short by cell-phone noise. I’d set my phone to vibrate, but apparently it pulsated enough to fall off the nightstand and clunk onto the hardwood floor. This woke Syrah, too, and he bounced onto my stomach before heading for the floor to attack it in case it was a living creature. Still groggy, I leaned over the side of the bed and watched through sleepy eyes as he pawed at the phone. Then I spoiled his fun and picked it up.

Shawn interrupted my “hello” with “I’m sorry, but I really could use your help again.” He was speaking in a rushed whisper.

I sat up and blinked several times. Chablis stood and stretched, her lovely afternoon sleep ended. “Sure. What do you need?”

“Allison can’t get back from Clemson until after supper. Some group project. And I’ve got this woman here, and she will not leave me alone. Allison would take care of this problem in a flash, but I got to thinking you could do just as well.”

That was kind of a backhanded compliment, I thought, but instead said, “What woman? Has Lydia the stalker set her sights on you now?” Lydia Monk, the deputy county coroner, was obsessed with a good friend of mine, Tom Stewart. I’d met Tom when he installed the security system and set up my wonderful cat cam. But I knew Tom didn’t think much of Lydia, so maybe she’d turned her sights on Shawn, married or not.

“No, not that nutcase Lydia. Can you come to the shelter? You’ll see what I’m talking about.”

“Do I have time to pick up coffee at Belle’s Beans?” I wouldn’t be functional without some java.

“No. I’ll make some.” He hung up.

Shawn may not have the best social skills with people, but his heart is pure gold. If he needed help from me, then help he would get.

Sans even lipstick, I arrived at the Mercy Animal Sanctuary in less than thirty minutes. My hair was still wet from the quick shower that had helped clear the cobwebs.

I smelled the coffee before I even got to the office door. Strong coffee. Guess that’s what I needed, but I had a feeling it might resemble sludge if Shawn had made it.

When I entered the office, I saw Shawn looking less than genial, seated behind his small desk. A woman I did not recognize was parked in the lawn chair across from him. She was about my age, maybe mid-forties, with sandy hair and dark brown eyes. I noticed her muddy plaid boots, similar to what Robin had been wearing yesterday. Was it yesterday or the day before? I’d lost track of what day it was after these night shifts.

Shawn stood when I came in. “Thanks for coming, Jillian. I might have to cut you a paycheck. This here is Ruth Schultz.” He came around the desk and quickly poured me a mug of coffee.

I smiled at Ruth and then took a swig of the worst lukewarm liquid I’d ever tasted. But I needed caffeine so desperately, I drank half before setting down the mug on Shawn’s desk. I held out my hand to Ruth. “Jillian Hart.”

As we shook hands, I caught her expression. Eyes downcast, she said, “Nice to meet you.”

“Ruth has come with an admission,” Shawn said. “That mama cat and her litter you helped me with? She left them at my door.”

Ruth’s cheeks flushed. “And I am so sorry, but I knew something was wrong with that mother cat. The way my business is going, I couldn’t afford to take her to the vet, and I’d heard about Shawn, and I am so sorry, but I thought I was-”

“It’s okay.” Shawn rested a hand on her shoulder. “The mama and litter are being cared for. Tell Jillian about the other problem.”

Ruth took a deep breath, and her exhale was shaky. “Other cats have been coming to my barn. A new one arrived this morning, and by her swollen teats, I can tell she’s just given birth. What am I going to do with all these cats? And where are her kittens?”

Shawn shook his head, looking frustrated. “I can’t go check this out right now, and I refuse to call that useless animal control officer.”

The one who has the restraining order against you? I said to myself. Shawn thought the officer was lazy and uncaring, which had resulted in a shoving match last year and subsequent legal action.

“What do you need me to do?” I asked.

“You’re good with cats,” Shawn said. “From what Ruth has explained, they don’t sound feral.”

Shawn had explained to me more than once that all ferals are strays, but not all strays are feral. I looked at her. “They come up to you, then?”

“One of them does, and I can tell the others want to, but they’re skittish,” Ruth said.

Shawn said, “Could you assess the situation, Jillian? Tell me what we’re dealing with? I can start networking with other no-kill shelters to take on these cats if need be, but that will take some time. I got my hands full here or I’d go myself. Someone has to feed those newborns, and a man called to say he’s bringing me a dog he found.”

“Okay. Assess the cats how?” I said.

“Take a cat count, see what, if any, health problems are obvious. Fleas, ticks, abscessed teeth, wounds from catfights. I’ll load up your van with food from my donation box. Ruth here has come on hard times, like so many small farmers.”

I turned to Ruth. “You’re a farmer?”

“I own several acres. I do small stuff,” she answered. “Tomatoes, okra, corn, beans, peaches and berries. I have a stand in the summer, canned fruits and veggies in the winter. But the Whole Foods in Greenville doesn’t buy as much corn or okra from me as they used to, and money’s tight. Either feed what tuna I’ve got to the cats or feed it to me. Right now we’re sharing, and the supply is running short.” Her eyes glistened, and she blinked hard to fight back tears. “This is so embarrassing.”

I took both her hands in mine and squeezed. “I understand. My grandfather was a farmer, and he knew hard times, too. Let’s get this problem taken care of right now.”

She said, “That mama cat… her kittens. I feel so awful about what I did, and-”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “You brought her to the right place.” I turned to Shawn. “Now, where’s that cat food?”

Minutes later Shawn had loaded two twenty-pound bags of dry cat food in the back of my minivan and then went to his storage shed for a couple of crates and a pair of leather gloves, in case any of the cats needed transport for medical care. Meanwhile, I showed Ruth my cat cam. Only Merlot was in the living area, his long, red fur shimmery as he crouched in a patch of sun on the living room floor. He was swishing his tail. What was he stalking now? More spiders?

“He’s so big,” Ruth said with wide eyes. “And so pretty.”

“And strong. My ninja warrior. This cat saved my life-in fact, all three of mine have done that in more ways than one. But that’s a story for another day. I’ll follow you.”

Soon I was trailing her pickup, taking the same route Candace and I had used to reach the West place, but we turned off before we reached Robin’s land and went through a gate and over a cattle grate. We then traveled a good distance on the narrow road. Hearty green kudzu invaded every foot of fence along the way.

She parked her vehicle near a tiny house with a screened porch, the porch probably equal to the square footage of the house. I parked behind her. On the porch I saw a bookcase lined with canning jars-jars filled with peaches and green beans. Maybe I could buy some to take home with me later. Her barn, painted a gorgeous rusty red, was in much better shape than Robin’s.

A calico cat peeked from behind the side of that barn, and when I slipped out of the van and knelt down, she came toward me but stopped short. Ruth came up alongside me, and I asked, “This is the one that just delivered?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “She’s still hungry, is my guess.”

“Let’s fix that,” I said.

After Ruth fetched a large plastic bowl from the porch, I said, “Do you have a paper plate? Plastic bowls can give cats little ulcers and abscesses in their mouths.”

“Oh, I didn’t know,” she said. “Is glass okay?”

“Yup. Cats have smart immune systems. They react to toxins quicker than humans, but glass is fine.”

Soon we’d filled several large Pyrex pans with dry food, set them about halfway between the house and the barn and then retreated to the porch to watch how many cats would come for supper. Since their sense of smell is so acute, I figured it wouldn’t take long. A minute later, four cats were chowing down-the calico, two tabbies and a sleek black cat that tried to push aside the other three without success. They were all too hungry to tolerate top-cat shenanigans.

Ruth, her arms wrapped around her, said, “Those are the only ones I’ve seen-unless there are more tiger cats and I can’t tell one from the other.”

“Have you been able to pet them?” I said.

“The calico and the black one. Blackie seemed healthy, has a beautiful coat. Very friendly.”

“Let me see if I can get closer,” I said.

I stepped out through the screen door and down three steps. I moved toward the cats, and this did not go unnoticed. The black one was the first to respond to my outstretched hand and quiet calls.

He was soon rubbing against me, and with a little gentle probing I learned that he was a neutered male and that he loved to have his head scratched. The mackerel tabbies took note that their friend or leader was getting attention they might like as well. Soon they came over, too-these cats had obviously been around people-and I discovered they were a boy and a girl. One had horrible ear mites, and they all had fleas, but from what I could tell, they seemed otherwise healthy.

Mother Calico had at first continued to eat but by now was finished and sat grooming herself. Would she take off to find her litter? I guessed yes, and sure enough she started to wander off, but not without a backward look. She almost seemed to be beckoning me. That raised a flag immediately. New mothers like to hide their litters, and yet I was certain she wanted me to follow her.

I patted the black cat’s head one last time. “These three are probably not going anywhere now that they know you’ll feed them,” I said. “I’ll follow Miss Calico. My bet is she hasn’t traveled far in search of food.”

“Thank you, Jillian. These cats deserve better than what I can give them right now.”

“They wouldn’t have found you if they didn’t think you were the right person to help them. It isn’t all about the food, you know.”

I took off, but following the calico proved far more difficult than I’d imagined. It wasn’t that she disappeared. No, she kept meowing, and her mostly white coat offered little camouflage in the verdant landscape. Yup, she wanted me to follow, but the terrain wasn’t exactly friendly. Brambles and bugs and blackberry vines with prickly stems attacked me along the way. My shins below my capris looked as if I’d shaved my legs for the very first time when we finally reached a barbed-wire fence. Our journey had taken about twenty minutes.

Miss Calico slipped underneath the fence, but I stopped dead. When I didn’t follow her, she turned, sat and offered a wide-mouthed and very loud meow.

“You did a great Lassie imitation, but this is tricky, little mom.” I glanced right, checking the fence, which seemed to extend forever. It was also covered with that damn kudzu vine, which was as tough as the barbed wire and entwined every inch of the fence. And it hid the barbs that lurked beneath the lush and tricky green vines.

But to my left, the fence turned a corner. I walked that way, and when I reached a post, I wiggled it. It gave enough for me to know that the wood might have rotted some at the bottom-this part of the fence was rusted and old, and not quite as obscured by strangling vines. I used both hands to loosen the post even more, and it didn’t take much for the thing to lean away from me, taking down a section of fence with it.

Being careful not to get stuck by rusted metal, I stretched one leg as far as I could. The fence was still not flat enough, so I used even more force to loosen the post.

Who’s trespassing now, Jillian? I thought. But I hadn’t seen any POSTED notice like Candace had mentioned yesterday. I wondered whether that meant I’d be warned and not arrested if caught by the property owner, or whether a fence was enough to get me in trouble. This time, using the post to hang on to, I extended my leg just past the fallen barbed wire, though I was practically doing the splits. And I don’t think I’d ever done the splits before.

I quickly learned that I’m no yoga goddess. Maybe if I had been, I wouldn’t have fallen.

I yelped in pain as a barb tore through my cotton pants and punctured my flesh. I carefully crawled off the fence, adding new scratches to the ones I’d already sustained in my trek.

“This better be worth it, Miss Calico,” I said to the cat sitting patiently waiting for me to get my act together. “Because now I might need a tetanus shot.”

Checking the back of my thigh where I’d ripped my pants, I saw a small, widening bloodstain. First aid later, Jillian. Let’s find out what this cat is trying to show you.

We traveled over a small hill wild with Carolina jasmine and goldenrod-a beautiful yellow sea. Miss Calico picked up her pace and headed toward more fences. I squinted, trying to make sense of what I saw.

Seconds later I stopped in shock. “Oh my God,” I whispered.

I saw a long, cream-colored metal shed and shiny new galvanized steel fences that looked like the dog runs at the shelter. Bordering these compartmentalized spaces were long sand trenches. They looked like outdoor litter boxes. And not well cared for, either. Very smelly.

They were for the cats.

So many cats.