Deadly Diamond

“One is never sure, watching two cats washing each other, whether it’s affection, the taste or a trial run for the jugular.”

––Helen Thomson

CHAPTER TWO: Hidden Treasure

Misty was always ready to play a game of hide-and-seek, and I searched for her where I last left her. The game was a simple one, and served its purpose; I hid, waited for her to walk by, and pounced on her. Sometimes the playing did get a little out of hand and my nip turned into a bite, forcing her to defend herself. Misty doesn’t hold grudges; and the bite was soon forgotten, although the self-defense lesson was not.

I spied her sitting next to the desk that the nervous man had been examining when he stepped on her. When she spotted me heading her way, she took off at a gallop, under, over and around the antiques and vintage furniture, looking over her shoulder to make sure I followed. I caught up with her on the wide, majestic staircase off to the side of the room, curving up to the loft area on the second floor. I was mystified, as this was a very different Misty.

She led the way to the back section of the loft that was closed to customers, and filled with broken furniture that handyman George Lucas would one-day repair or recycle into something else. I nimbly jumped on a three-legged table supported by another piece of furniture. It took Misty two false starts before she made it to the top.

What she had to say was troubling; the man who’d stepped on her wasn’t wearing sunglasses or a cap when he’d walked by the display window, she said. He’d pulled them from his pockets and put them on right before he walked into the store.

To my knowledge, humans have poor vision and generally take off their sunglasses when they go indoors, so why go to the trouble of disguising himself before entering the store?

Misty lifted her back leg, licked it a couple of times and left it up in the air, distracted by I don’t know what. I licked her ear to get her refocused on her story, and she continued.

Apparently, when the man was examining the desk, he opened some of the small drawers, took whatever he was chewing out of his mouth, and stuck it in one of the drawers. She said she went to take a closer look and that’s when the brute stepped on her.

Contrary to popular belief, cats can process information as quickly as any human can. It was obvious that the man was trying to disguise himself, and if my deduction was correct, the man who stepped on Misty was the diamond thief.

The problem was how to relay the information to Alyx. Communication with those of my kind has never been difficult. We have our ways. Humans use words, and that’s the problem. Misty, however, was sure I’d figure something out––I always did.

I complimented her on a job well done. She said she needed a snack, jumped from the table, hit the floor with her chin, and walked away as if that was the only way to land. She pranced down the stairs, and I followed her to the checkout counter where she fished out her favorite bag of soft treats from the basket that customers kept full. The classy, raven-haired woman tapping her manicured fingers on the counter paid no attention, and with the bag awkwardly dangling from her mouth, Misty walked away in search of someone to open it for her.

The woman at the counter didn’t wait long before she left, and I turned my attention back to the slant-front desk. I stood on my hind legs, peered in the pigeonholes that flanked a central-banded door and tried to open the variety of small drawers. The experience tired me out. I then drifted back upstairs for a nap, and, disturbed by what Misty had told me, I didn’t fall asleep right away.

You see, I left home at a very young age and my mother didn’t have time to teach me much of anything. I do remember her telling me that according to legend, I had the mark of the gods––the M on my forehead was proof of it. Supposedly, that mark made me special. I don’t think it’s only because of the mark––I do have a brain––and it was telling me that the thief hid the diamond in the desk.