Staci Layne Wilson: Sample Feline Short Story

The Big Catnap

by Staci Layne Wilson (®WGAw)

1,940 words

It was a cold, rainy day. The kind of day that makes a sensible puss think twice about going outside. But a good gumpaw always keeps his appointments. Especially when those he had appointments with were going to pay him a lot of sardines just for showing up.

I went up to the door of the Stripewood mansion and rapped it twice with the big brass fish head knocker. Didn't take long till a black and white butler moggie came and opened up.

"Wait here. Colonel Stripewood is expecting you," he mrowed, in a clipped accent.

As I was waiting, a saucy little kitten-queen came bouncing down the spiral stairway. She stopped to scratch her claws on the banister, arched her back and flipped her fluffy tail from side to side. Then she noticed me standing there and came skipping over. She stopped short and sidled up to me, looking at me like I was a fish in a bowl. "You're not very tall, are you?" she purred, batting her eyelashes.

"I try to be," I replied, smiling slightly.

"What's your name?"

"Doghouse Riley."

She wasn't fooled for a moment. "It is not. C'mon, what's your name?" she pirouetted around me for a moment, then fell into my arms. She was putty in my paws. "You're cute," she giggled.

Just then the butler returned, and the kitten-queen extricated herself and ran back up the stairs, grinning.

I was somewhat nonplused, but did manage to ask who the little doll was.

"That is the Colonel's daughter, Calico Stripewood, sir," the butler replied dryly.

"You ought to wean her. She's old enough," I said more to myself than anyone as I followed the butler into the Colonel's bed chamber. The butler moved with slow, deliberate steps. I could have clocked him with a calendar.

The old Colonel was bedridden but despite his infirmity, he managed to appear very much in command. "Philip Margay," he said in a quavering mewl. "Won't you please sit down?" He reached for the cask that sat on his bed stand. "How do you like your milk?"

"In a bowl," I replied, as he poured.

The Colonel smiled slightly, then explained how his daughter, the kitten-queen I'd just met, was being blacktailed. Again.

The Colonel didn't think it was a copy-cat, he was sure it was the same tom. He explained how Calico was a bit wild, and how she had several gambling debts owed to a certain Mister George Greytail, one of the big players in the city. He owned several business, one of which was a gambling catsino.

The dignified old tom finished up his story with a tear in his rheumy golden eyes. "I had sent my chauf-fur, Sean Siamese, out to pay Greytail the last of the sardines, but Sean vanished after that. He was like a son to me."

That's why he need a P.I. -- that's why he needed me.

As I was leaving the mansion, another queen came pussy-footing down the stairs.

But this dame was no kitten. No, she had more dangerous angles than Deadcat's Curve. She was a smooth, sophisticated lady. I could tell that by her cool green peepers... but there was something else. Something a little risky maybe.

"Hello, angel-face," I said, craning my neck to look up at her as she stood at the middle of the stairway. She was a golden creme Persian, and while the little sister had the same pushed in nose, she was only an Exotic Shorthair. And just a kitten.

"Hello," she returned in a deep, throaty meow. "Did Daddy hire you to find Sean?"

"You must be Vixen Stripewood. The Colonel told me about you. Sorry, angel-face, I can't discuss the case with you."

Her green eyes flashed with annoyance. She growled and went back up the stairs without further adieu.

"Nice meeting you, too," I said, baring my fangs as I went back out into the rain.

I hightailed it directly to one of Mr. Greytail's local businesses. It was a rare books shop on the corner of Smith and Wesson. The place was practically empty, except there was a little queen sitting behind the counter painting her claws with a deep, blood red polish.

"Is Greytail here?" I asked.

The receptionist was about as chilly as a ratsickle on a snowy day and just about as full of news as a year-old Catangeles Times.

I tried a different tack. "This a rare bookshop, right? You got an 1860 copy of Ben Purr?"

When she couldn't answer, I knew I had my answer. There was no 1860 edition of Ben Purr. Now I knew the bookshop was just a front for some other type of business. An illegal business was my guess. My guess was Greytail laundered his gambling sardines through this store to make it look legit.

I decided to pay Greytail a little visit, thinking maybe I could fight blacktail with blacktail.

I legged it down Fifth Avenue, hoping to just stroll on by Greytail's place and scope things out before I angled him. It didn't work out that way.

I heard a gunshot, a queen's caterwaul, then Greytail's black Packard came barreling from around the back and sped away.

I ran through the open front pet door and found Calico Stripewood sitting in front of a camera. The camera was on a tripod, and beneath the tripod was none other than George Greytail, shot dead.

Contrary to what you might think, Calico was no longer screaming. She just sat there swaying back and forth, humming to herself. She wasn't wearing her collar.

I looked at her dilated pupils and knew right away that she was on catnip. And plenty of it. Her green eyes tried to focus on me.

"Doghouse Riley," she purred. "You're cute." As I helped her to her feet, she noticed Greytail lying on the floor. "He's cute, too."

"Come on, Calico." I slapped her cheeks. "Wake up. What happened here? Come on, cat got your tongue?"

"Catnip got my tongue," she giggled as she swayed back and forth, barely able to stand on her own four feet.

I looked inside the camera. The film was gone. I searched the house and found Calico's debt sheet, which I threw into the smoldering fireplace. Calico was purring and mewing incoherently. I decided I would take her home then go back and see what else I could turn up.

When I returned to the Greytail home, the occupant, who I was sure wouldn't be going anywhere, was gone. I felt about as low as the gas tank in my Furred Coupe.

I padded to my office downtown, only to find the police dogs there waiting for me. Sergeant Dogbreath was on me like pounce on a ball. "We found the Greytail limo in the bottom of the lake. We also found Stripewood's chauf-fur inside. Dead cats don't tell tails, Margay, but you'd better start meowing. And fast!"

I just looked at the ugly mutt with my most withering feline stare. I flipped my tail over my back and went inside my office, shutting the cat door firmly behind me. Dogbreath pounded on the door and barked, "You won't get away so easy next time, Margay! I know Colonel Stripewood hired you to do something! I'll get my Bloodhounds after you, Margay!"

I decided to go back to the Greytail house the very next morning. I let myself in as expertly as any cat-burglar, but someone else had beaten me to the punch -- Calico was already inside.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded. "Don't you know what's good for you?"

"Milk is good for me. Catnip is good for me. You're good for me," she purred.

"Paws off, Little Sis." It was the big sister, Vixen.

She eyed me up and down as cool as a cat on a cold tin roof. "Margay. What a pleasant surprise. We're looking for a little something Calico left behind the other night."

"Calico wasn't here the other night," I replied. "She was home, knitting a new collar for herself like a good little kitten."

"I am not a kitten!" Calico protested.

Vixen just nodded knowingly.

When I went into the other room to see what I could uncover, I was surprised to see that Greytail had returned. Only he hadn't returned of his own volition. His body was arranged in his catbed with candles placed all around it. I heard a pawgun being cocked in the darkened corner of the room.

"Leave him alone," a feminine voice growled. "You and that Stripewood kitten have done enough harm already."

"Slow down, sister," I mewled softly. "What's the story?"

She advanced from the shadows, holding the weapon unsteadily with her white mittened paws, the claws painted red. It was Greytail's little bookstore cookie. "Where is the little tramp? I heard her yowling like a Siamese out there a minute ago. I knew she wasn't a purebred! She came back for that film, didn't she?"

"What film?"

"You know purr-fectly well, Margay," she sneered. "But I'm game to play cat and mouse before I send you on to your ninth life." She was very catty, this one.

I backed against the door in hopes of preventing Vixen or Calico from coming in before I got the scoop. "Sing it, sister," I hissed softly.

"Calico tomcats around with every Tomcat, Dick, and Hairball in town. She's a wild little pussy, and her father or her sister can't control her. That stupid chauf-fur of hers thought he could tame her," she sneered, showing a mouthful of sharp teeth and fangs. "He followed her here. So did I. I knew my tom was pussyfooting around with her, and I wanted to put a stop to it."

"So who iced Greytail?"

"Sean Siamese, of course. You don't really think that little feather-brain is capable is ending her problems so permanently, do you? Her boyfriend did it for her."

"But I thought Greytail was blacktailing Calico's father," I said, not sure where this was going to lead.

"He was. And he was sharing the sardines, among other things, with Calico. That little kitten is not as innocent as she looks."

"Guess not. I had it figured she was letting him snap her with no collar as payback for the gambling debts."

"Ha! It was just another blacktail scheme of theirs. They were going to send the pictures to the old tom."

"Her paw? Why do you care about this?" I asked.

"Greytail is my husband. I really don't care about his flings, but the weasel was cutting me out of the take. I was going to confront both of them with it, when Siamese comes in here like Al Catpone. I chased after him, and what does he do but drive that limo right into the lake!"

So, she didn't kill Sean Siamese. I thought sure she had done it, but it looked like Sean had actually done himself in. But why did she have the pawgun? She may not have 86'ed Siamese, but she sure was out to clip Calico, and maybe me, too.

One thing I did know was that Dogbreath's bloodhounds were on my trail. And if they were on my trail, they were on the way here. What a sight they would find: The corpse of a double-dealing blacktailing tom, his would-be avenger, and Calico Stripewood, his partner in crime.

As for me, I would be hightailing it down the alley with an angel-faced Persian queen and a pocketful of prime sardines.

--END STORY--

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