Gone, Kitty, Gone Page 3

  Up to now, I hadn’t spent much time touring the shelter, and, of course, the animals there changed often. While searching for Becky, I wended my way through the maze of caged critters—mostly dogs and cats, but a section tagged “Exotics” also housed a rabbit, a pair of hamsters, and a pretty gray cockatoo. Though I’d learned to handle all kinds of animals during my training and brief experience as a vet tech, I’d almost forgotten that these types of pets also could wind up in shelters.

  Before long I found Becky, a pixie powerhouse, among the cages. She recently had bleached her gamine cap of hair platinum, which made her easier to spot. I knew that, since graduating from college almost a year ago, she’d been looking for a full-time position in some animal-related field, but with no luck so far. Though that meant she had to go on living with her parents a while longer, at least what money she could bring in as a pet sitter allowed her to continue as a passionate volunteer with the FOCA shelter.

  I came upon her filling out a label for a cage that held a sleek, black, bright-eyed pup. “New arrival?”

  “Oh, hi, Cassie! Yeah, somebody just returned this mini pinscher. Only adopted her from us a month ago, but he said she got nippy with his kids.”

  Meanwhile, the little dog climbed the side of the cage, wagging her tail so hard I thought it would fly off. “Looks like a real sweetheart to me.”

  “I know, right? Terry and I tried to talk to the guy, persuade him to try some obedience training before giving up. But you can tell when someone is just over a pet and doesn’t want to hear it. His kids probably pulled her tail, or did something else that would make any animal snap, but parents will never admit that.”

  “Such a shame.” I opened the cage door a few inches so I could stroke the friendly pup’s dark, satiny head. She licked my hand.

  “We make them sign a surrender form, which puts them on our radar in case they ever come back wanting to adopt again,” Becky told me, with a note of bitter satisfaction. “We also ask if they’re willing to foster or pay for the care of the animal while we find it a new home, but of course these folks had no interest in doing any of that.”

  “I’m sure that’s the most frustrating part of your job,” I said, “when you think you’ve placed a rescue, but the adopter brings the animal back.”

  Becky sniffed. “Good thing Grumpy Glenda wasn’t here today, or she’d have ripped into that guy but good. She’s a new volunteer and has no patience with people who return animals. She’s really hard-core. Belongs to PETA and all that.”

  “A true believer, huh?”

  “I think if Glenda had her way, no one would own any animal at all. Maybe she thinks they should all be running free—as if that’s practical, in today’s world.”

  I agreed. Like it or not, we lived in a human-dominated society. The best we animal lovers could do was try to ensure that all creatures, wild and domestic, were treated as humanely as possible.

  Closing the door of the little dog’s cage, I glanced at the label Becky had just attached. “Well, Rocket’s a charmer. I’m betting she’ll find a new home with a much nicer family before too long. How have you been doing with the job search, Becky?”

  She straightened to her full five foot two and sighed. “Not great. Whether it’s the economy or just a lot of people who want to work with animals, there aren’t many openings. I’ve got the training to work as a pet adoption counselor, a cruelty investigator, or an animal-assisted therapist. I’ve seen openings in other parts of the country, but I really would like to stay in this general area.”

  I smiled. “At least your parents are willing to support your animal addiction.”

  “Yeah, they don’t completely understand it, but they do like having me at home. Especially since my younger sister just went off to college in Ohio.”

  After she’d settled Rocket in with food and water, Becky escorted me to the cat room, which was lined with clean, well-kept cages. All were filled, some with pairs of related cats or kittens. Since their occupants were in for longer stays, these enclosures were larger than the cages at Mark’s clinic, but smaller than the condos I provided for my boarders. As always happened when I visited any pet adoption center, all of those upturned, hopeful little faces tugged at my heart.

  No, you’ve got three of your own already, I reminded myself. With your small apartment, you’re at capacity!

  “We don’t get a lot of longhairs,” Becky told me, “but when we do, it can be a problem. Our volunteers don’t have a lot of time to spend on grooming, and as you know, if the cat isn’t used to it they can give us a hard time. Many dogs actually like getting sprayed with water, soaped up, dried, and brushed . . . but the cats seem to think we’re trying to kill them!”

  I laughed. “Tell me about it. That’s what keeps me in business.”

  We wandered farther down the row while, elsewhere in the shelter, a few other volunteers of assorted ages bustled about at their tasks. Most were people I recognized from my previous visits but didn’t know by name.

  Becky stopped by one lower cage, opened it, and lifted out a beautiful honey-colored longhair that, although he didn’t have the flat face, had to be a Persian mix. “Ray here would be a good candidate. He’s a senior, and they’re always tough to place, but he’s so mellow that he’d make a great companion for, say, an older person.” She ran her fingers through the animal’s dense coat. “As you can see, though, he mats like crazy. Anyone who adopts him will need to learn some grooming skills.”

  Becky and I brainstormed, in general, about our presentation for the expo—how to use it to promote the shelter’s goals. We agreed that, while making the felines look their best, we’d also talk up pet adoption and explain the backgrounds of the individual cats during our demonstrations.

  While she held Ray, I stroked his soft head; he did seem laid-back and friendly. “Hey, pal,” I told him, “we’re gonna glam you up, make you a star, and find you a great new home.”

  My comment drew a grin from Becky, and her eyes widened. “Speaking of stars, you’ll never guess who’s doing a guest appearance at the expo!”

  “Jaki Natal. And her cat, Gordie.”

  I almost regretted my guess when the girl’s face folded in disappointment. “You already knew?”

  “When Perry talked to me last week, he said they were trying hard to get her.”

  Becky gently released Ray back into his cage and shut the door. “And she’s doing it for free! I guess they’ll have to pay her staff—like the band, if she sings—but she’s donating her own time because she’s so gung-ho about cat adoption.”

  “That’s terrific.” I figured the animal-loving celebrity would set a good example for her youthful fans. “Of course, she has a purebred Scottish Fold, right? He’s probably not a rescue—she must have gotten him from a breeder.”

  Becky laughed. “He was a gift from her ex-boyfriend, Alec MacMasters. Y’know, the actor?”

  I squinted, as if that would help me scan the files of my memory. “Sounds familiar. Is he in that sci-fi TV series?”

  “Galaxy Wars, yeah. The show is kind of meh, but Alec is really hot. Anyway, he’s Scottish by birth, hence the cat. He and Jaki met when she did a real small cameo on the series, and they were a major item until last year. Then either he cheated on her or she got tired of him—guess it depends who you ask. The upshot was, Jaki kicked him to the curb.” She dusted a little of Ray’s caramel-colored hair from her faded green yoga pants.

  “How do you know all this?” I teased Becky. “Just from social media?”

  “Actually, Jaki’s still got family in Sussex County, and one of her cousins, Mira, went to college with me and Chris. She’s traveling with Jaki now, as her assistant, so her information is a lot more reliable than anything online or on TV gossip shows.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. “So, Jaki dumped the hunky guy but kept his cat?”

  My perky blond friend shrugged. “Maybe she had a better relationship with Gordie.”

  Rem
embering the business that had brought us together today, Becky moved a few cages down. There, a white cat with some patches of black faced away from us, tail curled defensively around her body. At least she turned her head when we approached, a positive sign.

  “Now, Flo here is a different kind of challenge,” Becky told me. “She’s only six, but her owner died. I think on some level Flo’s still mourning her. They lived in a small apartment, and unfortunately, the woman really overfed her. When Flo came to us she was very overweight and couldn’t even bend enough to groom herself well. At least she’s slimmed down a little since we’ve had her.”

  Becky brought out Flo and hung onto her, though this cat resisted more than Ray had. She gave a yowl of protest, and I had a sense that she’d also be tougher to groom. Her coat was only medium-long, but I could see where her back and hindquarters needed work.

  “The staff here tries to do some grooming,” Becky added, “but even though we’re used to handling skittish animals, we don’t have the same training as you.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Want to do a dry run with these two? Let’s bring them out to the van. I’ll show you my layout and then we’ll get to work.”

  We put the cats into carriers and toted them out to my showy vehicle, parked in the lot behind the shelter. Becky laughed when she saw the cartoon Persian on the side of the van and said, “I love this guy—he’s got real Jersey attitude!”

  She was just as impressed with the bright, clean, and efficient interior of the van. “This is so neat, Cassie, like a space capsule. What’s in all the compartments?”

  I opened cabinet doors to show her. “I’ve even got a stash of pet treats, in case any of the cats need extra purr-suasion.”

  Becky acknowledged my pun with a crooked smile.

  We placed Ray on the worktable first, since he seemed less likely to cause trouble. That gave me a chance to introduce Becky to the array of tools I used for various problems. I also explained the different types of coats that cats might have; in dealing with mixed breeds, the FOCA volunteers might come across any and all types.

  With very little stress, we worked together on Ray. I showed Becky a few techniques for pulling apart and combing out his most stubborn mats.

  Meanwhile, she drifted back to the subject of Jaki’s appearance at the expo. I could tell she was a pretty serious fan of the singer.

  “Have you ever heard her song, ‘I Need My Space’?” she asked me.

  “Who hasn’t? It was all over the radio last winter, and the video kept popping up online.” I smiled at the memory because, although G-rated, it was a witty and scathing diatribe about a noncommittal lover.

  “She wrote that about Alec,” Becky assured me. “She denies it, and he won’t comment, but everyone knows it’s him. I mean, she calls the guy ‘spaceman,’ and Alec’s in a sci-fi series! Who else could it be?”

  Having no inside information myself, I just shrugged. “Guess that’ll teach him to get on the bad side of a singer who writes her own material.”

  “Right? Bet there isn’t a woman alive who hasn’t known a guy she’d like to trash in a hit song—so that he’d have to hear it everywhere he went!”

  I pretended to be shocked by this statement from the sweet-faced FOCA volunteer. “Got a dark side, don’t you, kid?”

  “C’mon. From what I’ve heard, you had a boyfriend, right before Mark, who deserved to have his butt kicked hard.”

  That was true enough. My ex Andy had a different and maybe worse set of faults than “spaceman”—at least Jaki hadn’t accused her ex of physical abuse. I’d moved beyond most of my bitter feelings by now, but at one time I would’ve jumped at the chance to accuse and shame Andy on an international scale, if only in a song.

  Speaking of catty temper tantrums, Becky and I did face a greater challenge with Flo. It gave me a chance to demonstrate my latest tool, a padded and substantial cat harness.

  “I actually bought this after I agreed to do these demonstrations,” I explained, as we eased the spotted cat’s head and front legs into the contraption. “I figure I can’t take the risk of an animal freaking out in a public space or getting away from us. This not only makes it easier to hang on to them, mechanically, but it also has a calming effect—or it’s supposed to.”

  I’d already tested the harness on a couple of my customers, and it did seem to soothe Flo’s nerves a little. To be on the safe side, I asked Becky to hold on to the loop behind the cat’s neck as I clipped her claws. The rigid sleeves of the harness kept Flo’s front legs straight, making this much easier, and because of its hugging sensation, she seemed less inclined to fight me. After that, Becky and I used a little conditioning spray and some gentle brushing to smooth out the stiff, sticky hairs on her back that Flo had neglected for too long.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” the volunteer decided, as we released the cat back into her carrier. “I guess we’ll need more than two cats for demos, though. There’s a longhair mix named Lady who’s being fostered right now. She’s only two years old, but she’s shaggy enough and usually pretty mellow.”

  “Sounds like another fine candidate,” I agreed.

  While we used the vacuum to clean up the van’s interior, I asked, “So, what do you think? Could you feel at home here, at least for a few afternoons?”

  Becky laughed. “It’s almost as big as my dorm room was at college and probably has more closet space! Yeah, this should be fun.”

  We brought Flo and Ray back inside the shelter, where we met up with another volunteer, Chris Eberhardt. Slim, dark-haired, and around Becky’s age, he had partnered with her on several rescue operations around the area. I suspected he and Becky were an item, or at least had been at one time. He grinned when he saw us, probably because we both looked disheveled, and asked how the practice session had gone.

  “Pretty good,” I said. “We just might be able to pull this thing off.”

  “You’d better, ’cause the pressure’s really on now. Take a look at this.” He turned his cell phone toward us to play a video.

  A doll-faced, brunette young woman, in selfie close-up, shared the small screen with a silver tabby Scottish Fold cat. He looked bewildered, but those cats usually do because of their round eyes and flattened, forward-folding ears.

  “Shout out to all you catsters!” Jaki gushed in a rich, husky voice. “Get yourselves over to the North Jersey Cat Expo, April thirteenth through fifteenth at the new Bradburne Convention Center. Gordie and I wouldn’t miss it for the world, would we, sweetie?” She nuzzled the cat’s furry cheek, which he tolerated patiently. “Hope to see you all there!” she told her followers, just before signing off.

  “Wow, I can’t believe she did that,” said Becky. “How cool!”

  Less naïve, Chris shook his head and chuckled darkly. “Don’t know if Perry was expecting that. Supposedly he arranged for extra security just so she’d come. I hope it’ll be enough to cope with the onslaught.”

  “Probably just one of those temperamental demands that stars like to make,” I reassured him.

  “No,” Chris said slowly. “From what I hear, she’s got good reason.”

  “Oh?”

  Becky hesitated, as if wondering how much information to share. “Her cousin said that lately Jaki’s been getting crank e-mails and texts that sound kind of crazy. The cops have even tried to trace them, but whoever’s doing it has gone to a lot of trouble to hide his identity. Since no crime’s actually been committed, I guess they haven’t delved into it very deeply.”

  “That’s got to be nerve-racking for Jaki. But doesn’t that stuff kind of come with the territory when you’re a celebrity?”

  “It does, but I guess it still has her weirded out,” Chris said. “Her parents and her sister still live up in Lafayette, and a couple of times printed notes and even little gifts for Jaki have been left in their mailbox. I guess the tone has been kind of ominous—like, No one can keep us apart and I’m never giving up on you. She’s worried that this
creep knows where her family lives and could hurt one of them.”

  “Wasn’t there something, too,” Becky asked him, “about a suspicious car accident?”

  Remembering, Chris frowned. “Oh, yeah! Last fall, a mechanic who was driving Mr. Natal’s Mercedes home from the garage went off the road and was killed. Nobody ever found out what happened. The car should have been in good shape, since it was just fixed, but there were skid marks, as if the guy swerved into the woods.”

  So the driver might have tried to avoid hitting a deer, I thought. Or he might have been forced off the road by another car. By someone who assumed Jaki’s father was behind the wheel?

  And now the young celebrity had agreed to take part in a big, public event close to her home turf. Was that very brave of her, I wondered . . . or very foolish?

  Chapter 4

  The Bradburne Hotel had sprung up along the highway between Chadwick and Morristown a couple of years earlier, and became a popular venue for business functions, weddings, and other large gatherings. I’d always been intrigued by its exterior design, and as we pulled up in front in Harry’s navy-blue BMW, I asked him what the style would be called.

  He seemed pleased by my question. “Oh, I suppose it’s their version of postmodernism. Those suggestions of columns and pillars are references to classical architecture, though very simplified, of course.”

  “I kind of like it.” I felt unsure of my taste in the presence of an expert.

  “Yes, it’s not bad. The style’s considered a bit passé now, but it’s still easier on the eye than a lot of the monstrosities being built these days.”

  Harry parked in front of the building, and we all stepped out of the BMW. It was a perfect spring day, with a nearly cloudless sky, and I welcomed the light breeze that ruffled my bangs.