Six Cats A Slayin'

I woke the next morning to the sound of Diesel warbling loudly from the floor beside the bed. Evidently, I didn’t respond quickly enough, because I felt a large paw on my arm. After a couple of yawns, I pushed aside the covers and sat up on the side of the bed.

“All right, boy, I’m awake.” I looked in the cat’s face. “What’s so urgent?”

He turned and padded to the door.

“Give me a minute,” I said. “Bathroom first, then I’ll follow you.”

Less than two minutes later I trod down the stairs behind him. He headed across the kitchen and into the utility room. He sat beside his litter box and meowed loudly.

“Sorry, I guess I forgot to clean it out yesterday.”

Diesel meowed again.

“I’m on it.” I quickly took care of the litter box, and after that I rinsed out and refilled his water bowl. Then came the dry food and half a can of wet food.

I left him happily munching his breakfast and wandered into the kitchen for coffee. I realized as I glanced at the window over the sink that it was still dark outside. A quick check of the clock on the wall informed me that it was about three minutes shy of five thirty.

After hitting the button to start the coffeemaker—it was set for six thirty every morning—I grabbed a jacket off the rack in the hall and opened the front door. I intended to retrieve the newspaper, and I had the door halfway open before I remembered that today was Saturday. There would be no paper.

About to close the door, I spied a folded piece of paper stuck to it with a tack. I removed the tack and unfolded the note. I immediately recognized the childish scrawl.

They’re gone! I thought you’d take care of them! What did you do with them? Where are they?

EIGHT

I stared at the note for several seconds, until I became aware of the chill air against my bare legs. Hastily I moved back and shut the door. I put the jacket back on the rack and walked into the kitchen, head down, contemplating the note.

Poor kid was my first thought, but then I realized I felt a little irritated. Why would the child assume that I had already given up the kittens? Hadn’t it occurred to the youngster that I had simply moved the kittens?

Perhaps the child was used to being let down by adults, I thought a moment later. After all, an adult had apparently threatened to drown the kittens.

I frowned. Hadn’t I been making a groundless assumption that the person the child referred to in the original note was an adult? It might be simply an older brother, a teenager who enjoyed tormenting his younger sibling. Either way, the child had no reason to trust adults, other than the fact that I was known in the neighborhood to be an animal lover.

I laid the note on the table and went to the counter to pour my coffee. Cream and sugar added to the cup, I settled in my usual place and sipped my coffee. The hot liquid felt good going down, and the slight chill I’d felt earlier dissipated.

Contemplating the note again, I thought about the best way to allay the child’s fears about the kittens. The easiest way would be to respond to the note, pin it to my front door, and leave it. And if I happened to keep an eye out for the child in hopes of finally catching sight of him or her, that was all to the good.

Diesel sauntered up to me, laid a paw on my thigh, and trilled. I rubbed his head for a bit. Finally content, he stretched out by my chair, most of him under the table. Taking care not to disturb the cat, I got up to find a pen. I rummaged in the catchall drawer and found one.

Back at the table, I thought briefly about my response to the note.

The kittens are fine. I moved them to a different room overnight. They will soon be back in the same spot. I promise you I will keep them safe.

Surely that ought to do it, I thought. I drank more coffee, thought about breakfast, and drained my cup. I decided to put the note back on the front door in case the child sneaked out early to come look again.

What had I done with the tack? I couldn’t remember. I patted the pockets of my shorts. Ah, there it was.

Note safely tacked to the front door, I came back to the kitchen and tried to decide whether I was hungry enough yet to start preparing breakfast for myself. While I pondered this weighty matter, I heard footsteps, both human and canine, on the stairs. Moments later, I heard the front door open, and Stewart—he was usually the one—took Dante out for his morning walk.

Stewart and Dante returned soon and, as I anticipated, came into the kitchen instead of heading back upstairs. Dante pranced around Diesel, tapping the floor with one dainty paw to entice his friend to play. Diesel ignored him, but Dante persisted despite the lack of response.