The Calico Cat Caper

I knew she was trouble the moment she walked through my door. I’ve always been a sucker for those blue eyes Siamese cats have, and hers were like two azure whirlpools that sucked me right in. She sauntered across my office floor, her long tail swaying like a cobra, and settled in on the cushion in front of my desk like the world was her own personal catnip mouse.

“You’re Sam Spayed?” she purred.

“That’s the name on the door, kitten. What can I do you for?”

“I’m in trouble, Mr. Spayed, and I need your help.”

“You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“I’ve had something stolen from me. It’s a rhinestone studded collar my husband gave me after our kittens were born. He’s out of town at a show in Chicago – he’s a three time best of breed champion. He’ll be back tomorrow, and if I don’t have it – well, it would be a catastrophe.”

“I see. Any idea who’s got this bauble?”

“Someone that I thought was a friend. His name is Simon and he’s…well, he’s a calico.”

“He?” I said, my tail twitching in surprise. Calico cats were almost always female. For one to be male, it meant his genes were crazier than a mouse at a cat show.

“Yes, he. I know that’s unusual.”

“Definitely. Any reason you didn’t go to the cops?”

“Then it would become a public matter, and I require discretion.”

“In other words, you don’t want your husband to find out about this Simon character. When the cat’s away…”

“Please Mr. Spayed, spare me your quips. Will you help me?”

“Sure kitten, but there’s the matter of my fee. I don’t work for peanuts.”

“How about tuna? Would five cans be sufficient?” My ears perked up. Five cans of tuna bought a whole lot of discretion.

“You must want this trinket back pretty badly. Sure, that will cover it. Any idea where I can find this Simon?”

“He’s usually at the Bulldog Auto Junkyard on Fifteenth.” It figured. A junkyard cat. These high society dames like her always craved a little danger, and his being a calico probably just added a little more catnip.

“Okay kitten, I’ll take it from here. Where can I find you?” She gave me her address. Naturally, it was a swanky hotel by the park, the kind of place that wouldn’t even let someone like me clean their litterboxes.

As soon as she left, I headed down to Fifteenth. It was not the classiest of neighborhoods. There were scraggly strays passed out in the alleys, and twice I had to dodge roving gangs of Dobermans. I got to the junkyard, jumped to the top of the fence, and looked the place over.

It was a maze of smashed cars and piles of rusted parts. I didn’t see any calicos, but I did spot a Russian Blue I was acquainted with lounging on a torn out back seat. I leapt down and sauntered over.

“Vell, Sam,” she purred as I came up. “Long time no see. Vat brings you to this part of town?”

“Hey Sasha. I’m on a case. I’m looking for a calico named Simon. You know where he keeps his scratching post?”

“Ach, that Zhopa,” she said, her fur standing on end. “Vat you vant vit him? No, you stay here vit Sasha. Ve have good time, yes?”

“We’d have a great time, kitten, but I can’t right now. I really need to find him.”

“Fine,” she sighed, and pointed with her tail. “He’s over that vay, past the smashed truck. But you be careful, yes? He’s dangerous, that vun.”

“I’ll be careful Sasha, and thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You may not like vat you find.”

I headed over towards the truck. It was a pickup that looked like it had lost an argument with a tree. I climbed up to the top of the cab and spotted Simon right away. He was napping on the hood of a smashed car and was wearing what could only be the rhinestone collar I was after. I jumped down and headed over.

I moved as quietly as I could, but he woke up anyway. He looked down at me, his whiskers and tail twitching.

“Who’re you?”

“The names Sam. You’d be Simon, right?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know you from Garfield. What do you want?” He was in constant motion, like he was on the proverbial hot tin roof.

“It’s about that collar you’re wearing. The owner want’s it back.”

“So she sent you, huh? Figures. She doesn’t want to get her paws dirty. She’s using you like she used me, like I was just some kind of cat toy. Well, I showed her, didn’t I? Didn’t I?

I could tell this guy was a few Friskies short of a meal. I decided to try humoring him.

“Sure, you showed her, but don’t you think she’s learned her lesson? How about you just give me that back?”

“Not a chance. How about I just turn you into cat food?” He leapt at me, and we rolled over and over, clawing and scratching.

Simon wasn’t big on skill, but he made up for it with maniacal fury. His claws seemed to come at me from every direction. He kept trying to bite my ears, but I twisted away. I finally managed to sink my teeth into his foreleg, and he yowled in pain. He tore himself away and limped backwards, still hissing.

“It’s over, Simon,” I said, breathing heavy. “Now hand over the collar.”

“Fine, take it!” he snarled, pushing it off. “Tell her I hope it chokes her!”

“I’ll do that.”

So, I got the collar back to my client. She was overjoyed and even offered to lick my wounds for me. I’d have let her, but that’s when her kittens walked into the room, which kind of killed the mood. Besides, five cans of tuna provided plenty of consolation.