Gone, Kitty, Gone Read online

  “Well,” said Harry with a smile, “it looks like you’re on track to have a very successful event. And as for your guest star, I’m sure you’ll do everything in your power to make her comfortable.”

  With a nod, Perry added, almost under his breath, “And to keep her safe.”

  Chapter 5

  At least the road crew didn’t take me by surprise on Friday morning when they started up at seven, and the jackhammering phase seemed to be over. Now a backhoe began scooping up the chunks of broken sidewalk and pavement and dropping them into a Dumpster. Compared to the machine-gun assaults of the previous week, I found the drone of the digger’s powerful engine and the crash of the stony pieces into the container a little easier on my ears and nerves, though not much.

  By the time the work had started, I’d already been up for half an hour, anyway—eating breakfast, showering, dressing, and putting my shop in order so Sarah could let herself in at nine and take right over. I felt almost guilty, leaving her to work in such noisy conditions, as I set off for the day in my van. During the drive, I wondered if the expo might offer me a bit more peace and quiet.

  Not likely. I turned into the Bradburne’s parking lot to see vendors’ trucks queued up at the rear entrance of the convention center to unload their goods. A freight elevator located back there could bring their larger display pieces and equipment right up to the concourse. Meanwhile, a line of passenger cars and SUVs waited, engines idling, to enter the hotel’s multilevel parking garage. I glimpsed pet carriers in a couple of the hatches and figured these were cat owners who, like Harry, lived near enough to commute back and forth to the show.

  All of this made me glad I had that parking space all to myself on the plaza. I drew a sharp glance from a beefy security guard when I climbed the curb cut with my van and pulled right across the pavers, stopping under the overhang. But true to his word, Perry had marked the spot with a small stand-up sign that said, RESERVED FOR CASSIE’S COMFY CATS. Once the guard realized that this matched up with the name flamboyantly displayed on the side of my vehicle, he gave me no trouble.

  Becky, bless her, already waited on the plaza with a large tan pet carrier. She wore a short thermal jacket and a beanie against the morning chill, but like me, she’d left her official ID tag hanging in plain sight. When she saw me pull in, she brought the molded-plastic carrier containing Flo over to my van.

  I peered through the wire-grid door at the black-and-white semi-longhair. “How’s our girl today?”

  “A little grumpy, but who can blame her?”

  “Get her into the van so she can at least keep warm,” I suggested.

  There, we moved Flo into the roomy cage that was designed for blow-drying cats who had been bathed. Today I’d stocked it with dishes of food and water and a small litter pan, for the ones we’d be using in our demonstration. I also sprayed the interior with a special pheromone formula designed to calm nervous felines.

  “Speaking of grumpy,” Becky said, “at least one person isn’t too thrilled that I’m assisting you this weekend. I had planned to help Chris staff the FOCA table, but because I’m tied up, the director drafted Glenda to do it instead.”

  “Sorry about that. I guess that means both Glenda and Chris will be grumpy, since she’s not the most congenial company.”

  “You’d think she’d be happy to help, right? But she doesn’t approve of the whole cat show aspect, or even of breeding purebred animals, so she’s participating under duress. I hope she doesn’t drive Chris too crazy—he’s liable to lose his temper and tell her off. Then Glenda might quit the shelter, and we need all the volunteers we can get.”

  Once we had settled Flo, Becky and I took turns running into the convention hall, to use the restroom and to check out how things were progressing on the main concourse. On my turn, I spotted an electronic schedule that listed the day’s presentations. Perry had slotted us in for one demo from nine to ten and another from two to three. I was sure if our programs ran a little longer no one would mind, but ideally, we could use that midday break to switch cats. We’d bring in Ray for the afternoon, and tomorrow we’d plan to groom Lady.

  The electronic sign also said Dr. Mark Coccia would be speaking about veterinary care for cats from eleven a.m. to noon. He hadn’t needed to borrow any of my personal pets after all. Dave, one of the clinic’s young techs, had volunteered to bring his rescued cat for the occasion. Mark’s session and mine didn’t overlap, so I hoped I could catch some of his presentation. It would be nice if we could even grab lunch together.

  Along the convention center’s vast concourse, most of the vendors already had set up and had begun doing business. I had expected that a lot of them would be selling catnip mice and feather toys, cat beds and climbing towers, carrier covers and other supplies, but they also offered a ton of goodies for cat-crazy humans. I passed displays of feline-themed artworks, home furnishings, fashion accessories, books, and children’s toys.

  If that wasn’t enough to help you meld with your favorite species, a caricaturist would draw you as the cat breed of your choice, another booth would sell you furry pointed ears on a headband, and a face painter would give you the finishing touches of slanted eyes, a cat muzzle, and whiskers.

  I even saw the occasional adult walking around in a full-body cat costume, complete with head, like a sports mascot. Couldn’t imagine what those folks were promoting and was afraid to ask.

  Taking time to browse, I came across one table that offered images of various breeds on small items like mugs, coasters, and accent pillows. A gift for Sarah came to mind, but I was sure that with her grown children and grandchildren she probably had more than enough mugs. I hesitated to buy kitty décor for her home, in case she wasn’t into that kind of thing.

  I was about to move on when I spotted the cell phone covers. Sarah’s had come with her phone, it was getting shabby, and I knew she had no particular attachment to it. I asked the vendor if he had any covers depicting a light-toned Persian. Sarah had acquired Harpo, a cream-colored purebred, when his owner had died and none of the guy’s friends or relatives wanted the cat. She often told me how much she appreciated his company now that her children were busy with jobs and families of their own.

  The accommodating vendor came up with a phone cover featuring a lovely white Persian, close enough. After I’d purchased the gift, he also gave me a free North Jersey Cat Expo tote bag. It was more than I needed for one small item, but who could say what more shopping I might do?

  At another booth with plenty of feline-themed jewelry, I found a cute, polished-brass hair clip in the outline of a cat’s face. It was about three inches wide and would be perfect for Dawn Tischler, my friend who owned Nature’s Way, the health food store a couple of blocks from my place. She’d had no interest in cats until a stray kitten had taken up residence in her storeroom about a year ago and had stolen her heart. Since falling for Tigger, she had become a true feline fanatic.

  Dawn used creative braiding techniques and accessories to control her abundant auburn locks. Guessing that she’d get a kick out of the hair ornament, I bought that and dropped it into my tote bag, too. A few booths farther down, I also found a fat, striped catnip mouse that would make a perfect souvenir of the expo for Dawn’s pet.

  My own three had more stuff than they needed or even played with, but maybe I’d still pick up a few fresh catnip toys for them before I left.

  At a booth draped with a banner for the Chadwick Veterinary Clinic, I found sturdy, freckled Dave unfolding a portable steel examining table for the morning demo. Several rolling cases that probably held medical equipment or other supplies were stacked behind him. Nearby, on the floor, an orange tabby complained from inside a carrier. When I stopped to say hello, Dave explained that the cat was Ginger, his own pet, and he and Mark would be using her for the day’s demos.

  “Mark went to deal with some sign-in paperwork,” Dave told me. “He’ll be back in a little while.”

  I thanked the tech for t
his information and moved on. No need to bother Mark now with a phone call; I’d catch up with him later.

  At the hotel’s snack shop, I picked up coffees for myself and Becky and brought them back to the van. My flashy vehicle already had begun to attract passersby, so she chatted with them about the work of the FOCA shelter, and I about my business. Toward ten, when a photographer from the regional newspaper showed up wanting to take a picture, we brought out Flo and began our formal demonstration.

  Luckily, the side panels of my van opened wide, and if spectators crowded close, they could watch the grooming process. Even though Flo had been lounging in the cage treated with pheromone spray, the crowd of strangers still agitated her, so I got to demonstrate the advantages of the grooming harness. Again, it not only restrained Flo but also seemed to soothe her while I demonstrated how to clip claws and tidy up a cat’s coat. I explained why regular grooming was important not just for a cat’s looks but even for its health.

  “Because they have thin skin,” I said, “matted hair can become very uncomfortable for them. Over time, it can cause irritation and even infection. On the other hand, you have to groom carefully, because it’s easy to cut or tear a cat’s skin by accident.”

  Projecting my voice over the street noises and crowd conversation proved more challenging than I’d expected, and I almost wished we’d brought along some kind of microphone setup. This got worse during the course of our demo as the foot traffic on the plaza grew. More people arrived with their own cats, probably for the show. Besides toting carriers, some pulled them like wheeled baggage or even pushed their animals in strollers.

  It surprised me to see a knot of protestors on the fringe of the crowd carrying signs that read RESCUED IS MY FAVORITE BREED and ADOPT, DON’T BREED OR BUY! I wondered if they were aware that proceeds from the expo were going to benefit several local animal-welfare groups. Maybe they thought that was contradictory, and to an extent, I could see their point. Cat shows promoted the desirability of purebreds, which didn’t help reduce the vast numbers of mixed-breed but lovable felines that languished in shelters. Those that stayed too long without attracting any adopters, even if they were healthy and good-tempered, often ended up euthanized.

  As the morning wore on, I started to recognize a new contingent infiltrating the crowd—clusters of teenage girls, most with trendy haircuts and sexy makeup. They wore short skirts or skinny jeans, with tops a little too dressy and heels a little too high for the occasion, and waved and shouted to each other. One quartet wore matching snug, pink T-shirts with purple letters that, when they stood together in the right order, spelled out J-A-K-I. The tallest, blondest member recruited a passerby to take a video with her camera while all four sang what I assumed was a Jaki Natal song, accentuated by a few hip-hop dance steps. They sounded a bit off-key to me, and their steps didn’t quite sync up. Still, once they finished and struck various vampy poses, people near them on the plaza chuckled and applauded.

  Besides the female wannabes, I spotted at least one male wanna-have—a tall, skinny guy with lank, shoulder-length hair and a ratty beard. His T-shirt bore a sultry portrait of Jaki Natal framed within a heart. Below was printed the plea, Marry me!

  Becky also noticed all of this, and during a lull in our demo, she muttered to me, “Uh-oh, heeere they come.”

  I grinned. “I thought you were a Jaki fan, too.”

  “I am, but I wouldn’t go being an idiot about it.”

  At eleven, we thanked our latest audience and put Flo back in her kennel to chill. I gave Becky my blessing to go off for a stroll inside the convention center.

  I phoned Sarah to see how things were going at the shop. She told me she’d come equipped with earplugs today, and they made the racket from the street demolition more bearable.

  “No new customers,” she told me, “but your neighbor stopped in. Mrs. Kryznansky, right?”

  “Yeah, she lives next door, over the insurance office.” The older woman and I rarely spoke except to wave and say hello, unless there was some kind of trouble at my place. “What did she want?”

  “To gripe about the road work, of course. Said she gets migraines and the noise and vibrations are making them worse. She called the cops, but they told her the work’s necessary and there’s nothing they can do.”

  “And she thinks there’s something we can do?”

  “She was hoping you could ‘use your influence’ with the Chadwick PD. To do what, I don’t know. Put mufflers on the jackhammers?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Adele Kryznansky must have read in the paper that I’d worked with the cops on a couple of local cases, and now she thought I could perform miracles. “Tell her it’s driving us crazy, too—not to mention our customers’ cats—and I only wish I had enough ‘influence’ to stop it.”

  “I did tell her some version of that. Anyway, how are things going at the expo?”

  I managed to give Sarah a brief summary before she had to hang up and tend to the owner of the Abyssinian boarder, who had come by to pick him up. Not for the first time, I felt grateful that I could leave my shop in the hands of such a capable assistant while I occasionally took my business on the road.

  I then answered a call from my mother, who by now ought to be smack in the middle of the cat show down in the hotel ballroom area. “How are you holding up?” I asked her.

  A quavering laugh. “Oh, I’m okay. After a couple of hours surrounded by cats on all sides, I’m gradually getting used to it. You studied psychology—what’s that called?”

  “Desensitization,” I told her, with a chuckle of my own. It was hard for me to imagine anyone, much less my own mother, having such a fear of the species that I loved and handled all day long, every day. But then, if I started dating a herpetologist, I might have some adjustment issues myself.

  “Going around looking at the different breeds and cages is interesting,” she admitted. “It’s just when I see a cat that’s loose—like when someone walks by with one slung over his shoulder—that I still flinch a little.”

  “I give you credit, Mom. Plunging yourself into a show this big is a real trial by fire.”

  “Anyhow, Looli did very well in her first class, so Harry was pleased.” She handed the phone to him, briefly, so he could crow about his pet’s first ribbon of the day.

  “She got Best Color for her breed,” Harry told me. “Of course, there were only two other Sphynxes, and her color always does get attention.”

  “Still, she’s off to a good start,” I said. “Congratulations to both of you!”

  Shortly after I hung up, Chris from FOCA arrived to pick up Flo and leave Ray with me for the afternoon demo. The golden Persian was more relaxed, and I gave him a quick cuddle as I moved him from his carrier to the drying cage inside the van. Becky returned, at that point, and shot the breeze for a few minutes with me and Chris about the swelling crowd inside the convention hall and the obvious infusion of Jaki Natal fans.

  “Becky, if you can hold things down here for a few minutes, I’d like to see a little of Mark’s program,” I said.

  “Sure, go,” she told me.

  Inside, the main concourse was jumping, the vendor booths along the walls now fully staffed and doing a brisk business. In addition to the ones selling products and services, a couple advertised appearances by the “celebrity cats” Perry had mentioned. His handler persuaded Liberace, the piano-playing Maltese, to strike a string of harmonious notes on an electronic keyboard. At another booth, a veterinarian encouraged several cats to demonstrate how well they got around, and even chased toys, with one or more prosthetic limbs.

  The FOCA display consisted of two long tables with literature for the organization and four large cages featuring rescue cats. One held an adult calico, and the next housed her three kittens, just a few months old. A pretty black shorthair watched everything alertly from another cage while a gray-and-white cat dozed in the last one.

  Chris, cute enough with his longish dark hair to audition
for a boy band, cheerfully chatted up anyone who stopped to look at the rescues and even some passersby. His helper, no doubt the one dubbed Grumpy Glenda, put forth less effort. The tall, athletically built woman wore faded jeans and a caution-yellow T-shirt emblazoned with the protestors’ motto, ADOPT, DON’T SHOP! I wondered if that was such a wise move, considering that she and Chris were surrounded by vendors with goods for sale.

  A neatly dressed man with a receding hairline, who’d been admiring the kittens, asked Glenda about her shirt.

  “People should get their animal companions from shelters like ours, not from pet stores or breeders,” she clarified. “FOCA is no-kill, but millions of healthy cats like these are destroyed in shelters every year because there’s just no more room for them. And cats in pet stores often come from kitten mills that breed them in horrendous conditions.”

  Her mature listener decided to play devil’s advocate. “That may be true, but I don’t see the harm in someone buying a purebred from a reputable cattery. Some people are interested in perpetuating and refining a certain breed.”

  Glenda tossed her single long, hay-colored braid back over her shoulder in a gesture of disdain. “They also breed certain weaknesses into the animals, so that they’re born with physical problems they’ll have for their whole lives. All just for a particular look that wins ribbons in a show.”

  The man smiled slightly, and by now I guessed that he must be associated with the cat show in some way. “There are classes for household pets, who don’t have to be pedigreed or purebred.”

  Glenda sniffed. “Still a beauty contest.”

  “You are aware, I’m sure, that the show taking place this weekend is raising money to help organizations such as yours?”

  “We’re glad for the assistance, but it’s pretty ironic, isn’t it? And of all people to sign on as a guest celebrity, they get Jaki Natal!”