Purrfect Cut

Chapter 3

I glanced over to my feline comrades. It’s one thing to act as a sleuthcat, but another to have to investigate a fellow cat for a crime they may or may not have committed. At least for me this marked the first occasion that a cat had been singled out as a possible suspect in a heinous crime like murder. Usually cats, when accused of a crime, are only guilty of misdemeanors like destroying a beloved set of curtains, a nice carpet here or there or stealing a fish from the fishmonger’s slab. I’ve even known a cat who chased little chicks around the backyard of some minor amateur chicken farmer. When interviewed after the fact, he claimed to have been looking for a feathered little friend to play with.

“Cats can be killers, though,” said Harriet seriously. “Cats have been known to kill birds and mice and on occasion even a rat or two.”

“Cats kill fish,” said Dooley, adding his two cents to the discussion.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” said Brutus brusquely. “Cats don’t kill fish.”

“They do!” said Dooley. “I once saw Shadow racing down Main Street with a complete fish between his teeth.”

“I’m sure Shadow didn’t catch that fish,” said Harriet.

“No, he did,” Dooley insisted. “He got it from Wilbur Vickery’s store.”

We all laughed, except for Dooley, who didn’t seem to get the joke.

“That fish was already dead, Dooley,” I said finally, when he merely stared at me, clearly expecting me to provide him with an explanation for the sudden chucklefest.

“Dead? I don’t think so.”

“Fish live in the sea,” I said, “or in rivers or lakes or even the occasional pond. They don’t hang around Wilbur Vickery’s General Store.”

“The fish Vickery sells is caught by fishermen,” Harriet said. “Men who fish. In the sea,” she added, as if addressing a not-so-clever kitten.

“Oh,” said Dooley, clearly disappointed that his war story turned out to be a benign little tale instead. “Well, he did catch it, even if it was dead already.”

“Just like I catch my kibble every day,” Brutus said with a grin.

Harriet clapped her paws. “Order, people. Let’s come to order,” she said. “Let’s focus on the task at hand. We won’t be able to help Odelia by telling tall tales of Shadow stealing fish from the General Store. We need to decide once and for all if cats are capable of homicide—in other words, the killing of a hominid.”

“A what?” asked Brutus.

“A hominid. A member of the family of the Hominidae or great apes.”

“A human,” I explained.

“Oh, right,” said Brutus.

“I once saw a story about a cat that likes to lie on top of its human’s face,” said Dooley. When we all stared at him, he added, “It was on the Discovery Channel so it must be true!”

“So did the human die?” asked Harriet.

“Yeah, that’s the real issue here,” Brutus added. “Did that human die?”

“I don’t think so,” said Dooley, frowning as he searched his memory. “No, I think he survived. At least he was alive when they interviewed him.”

More eye rolls greeted Dooley’s second contribution to our discussion, with some exasperated groans coming from Harriet, but once again it was up to me to explain to my dear friend what the problem was with his story.

“Dooley, if they interviewed the man after the fact, and he was able to recount the experience, he didn’t die, see?”

He thought about this for a moment, then conceded, “No, I guess he didn’t.”

“Why did he lie on top of his human’s face?” I asked, for the story did possess an element of intrigue.

“Yeah, did he try to kill him?” asked Brutus, who has a penchant for all things violent.

“No, I think he just wanted to show his affection,” said Dooley. “Or maybe he was afraid his human’s face would get cold during the night.”

“Well, he shouldn’t have,” Harriet snapped. “Lying on top of a hominid’s face might block certain aspects of the breathing apparatus and kill it dead.”

“What’s all this talk about hominids?” I asked.

“Marge loaned me an eBook she got from the library the other day,” said Harriet. “Very interesting stuff. About the different species that make up this great big beautiful planet of ours. She felt I’d been spending too much time watching the Kardashians with Gran, and I should read something that would feed my mind instead. I like it. I might read a few more of them.”

I was greatly surprised, but also greatly impressed. Harriet is not exactly known as the intellectual of our gang of four, and this was all to the good.

“Look, all this talk about killer cats is all well and good,” said Brutus, “but frankly I don’t buy it. Not for one second.”

“What don’t you buy?” asked Dooley, interested.

“That cats are capable of killing humans! It’s simply not possible. I mean, they can claw their humans, when provoked, or even bite them, but kill them? I don’t think any member of the feline species, in the long history we share with the human race, has ever been responsible for the death of a human.”

“A cat could kill if it accidentally kicked over a candle and set the house on fire,” Harriet pointed out.

“Yeah, but that’s not exactly murder, is it? That’s more like an accident.”

“Brutus is right,” I said. “What we need to ask ourselves is this: are cats capable of possessing the intent to kill? Willfully murder a human being?”

We all chewed on that one for a moment, then Dooley finally said, “Do you think Pussy is one of those cats that likes to wear booties?”

“Dooley, let’s try to focus on the issue at hand for a moment, shall we?” I said. “In a show of paws, who thinks cats are capable of manslaughter?”

No paws were raised. “Well, that settles it,” said Harriet. “Pussy is innocent, and whoever claims she did what they say she did is lying through their teeth.”

“We’ll know more after we’ve talked to her,” I said.

Odelia, who’d been surfing the internet, preparatory to launching her investigation, now called out, “Did you know that Leonidas was couturier to kings and queens and presidents?”

“No, I did not know that,” I said, but when Chase joined her at the computer it dawned on me that her question hadn’t actually been directed at me.

Instead, Chase said, “Well what do you know?”

I stared at my human for a moment, then back at my posse. They quickly looked away. It had been an embarrassing moment for me, and none of them wanted to rub my face in it. Which was nice of them, I guess. Then again, it highlighted a growing concern we all shared: ever since Chase had moved in, our face time with Odelia had gradually diminished to the point it had almost been reduced to zero. Used to be she spent all of her free time with us, or her family, who live right next door. These days she spends most of her time with Chase, and what little time is left, she devotes to taking care of our basic needs. It’s been an adjustment, let me tell you, and one we’re struggling with.

“It’s all right, Maxie, baby,” said Brutus finally. “It’s happened to us all.”

And it had, which meant it was turning into a serious problem. I mean, what good is it to be able to talk to your human, if that human is always busy talking to her significant other human? None whatsoever, right?

Anyway, I know I’m nagging and whining, which is so not me. Cats rarely nag and whine. At least not this cat. Still, being ignored by your favorite human in all the world is a tough one, and if I hadn’t known better I’d have thought Odelia sometimes did it on purpose, to show us that things had changed around here. That we were no longer her top priority.

Just then Odelia and Chase moved to the door, then passed out into the street and we could hear the key being turned in the lock. Silence reigned for a moment, as we all stared at the closed door. Finally, Harriet spoke. “Correct me if I’m wrong, you guys. But did Odelia just forget to take us along?”