A Paw-sible Theory

“Prowling his own quiet backyard or asleep by the fire, he is still only a whisker away from the wilds.”

––Jean Burden

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: A Ploy Well Played

Curled up tight, paws over my eyes, tail wrapped around myself securely, I winced slightly as I uncurled and saw Misty looking down on me from her perch on the back of my chair. Arching my back first, and then stretching languidly and yawning, I reminded her that, according to cat etiquette, it wasn’t proper to stare. I was hungry and headed for the kitchen, happy to see there was enough food and water for breakfast. When I finished, I approached Misty with an idea I had worked out during the night when it looked like I was sleeping. She quickly agreed, without questioning my instructions, to watch for Pooky and to report to me if she saw her come in, and do absolutely nothing else––strongly emphasizing the latter, explaining that I didn’t want anything to scare Pooky away.

I was sure that Pooky had the answer, and if I could get her to tell me what happened, I was certain I would be able to communicate it to an appropriate human.

Misty was on duty at her post in front of one of the tall windows looking out to the back yard, not moving a muscle. Maggie walked past her and came to me curled up in a ball on Alyx’s bed. When she called me, I opened one eye briefly, but didn’t move.

“What’s the matter, Murfy? You miss Alyx, don’t you?” she asked as she inspected the slash on my nose and the tufts of fur missing around my ears.

“What happened to you, fur-baby? You look like you’ve been in a fight. I told you the other day not to mess with Misty or someone was going to get hurt, and it looks like Misty won. Come on; let’s get you something special to eat.”

The police were through with their investigation, and the yellow tape closing off the kitchen was gone. Maggie opened my favorite can of food and emptied it on a paper plate. I just collapsed in front of it, stretching out my front paws, placing my chin flat between them, giving the impression that I was sad and depressed.

The ploy worked. She joined me on the floor. “Ethan is all right,” she said reassuringly. “His Dad’s been to see him, and he hired David Hunter, the best defense lawyer in the county who’s working hard on his case.”

She shook her head and ruffled my fur. “Listen to me,” she said. “I must be losing my grip on reality. I’m actually talking to a cat.”

Nevertheless, she continued to talk, saying not to worry, Alyx was fine, and she would be home soon. “Before you know it; your family will be back.”

I couldn’t exactly say she was lying, but she wasn’t telling me everything either. Earlier that day, I had overheard Mrs. Leary tell a neighbor in the backyard that they had charged Ethan with first-degree attempted murder, denied him bail, and transferred him to the County Branch Jail.

Maggie then commented on the fact that according to the wife of the judge who had denied Ethan’s bail, Judge Terrence Stoner, a pillar of the community and due to retire in four months, her husband wanted nothing to mar his record. The rumor was that Judge Stoner had been elected to err on the side of caution. He had concluded that Ethan was financially irresponsible, emotionally unstable and could be a danger to his mother.

As far as I could tell, the only good news was that Bob Hille had hired a good defense attorney. He had finally come through for his son––being there when Ethan needed him.

Always a gentleman, I ate my portion and then relieved Misty at her post so she could share the special treat. Maggie, in the meantime, took care of our other needs. A while later, I heard her tell someone on the phone that she was heading to the hospital. I thought about hitching a ride, making sure that she didn’t see me this time, but decided to walk instead. Measuring the journey as the crow flies; it was a shorter distance.