Read Online The Whole Cat and Caboodle: Second Chance Cat Mystery by Sofie Ryan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sofie Ryan
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week.
Mac picked up Rose’s canvas tote bag. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said. Now that sailing season was over I wondered what Mac would do with his free time. In the four months we’d worked together I’d learned very little about him. Any questions about his private life usually got only a one- or two-word answer.
Rose stopped to give me a hug. “Thank you for taking care of Maddie today,” she said. “Give Isabel my love when you talk to her.”
“I will,” I promised. I felt in my pocket for the little piece of paper Mr. P. had given me to write down the names of the women who had passed on messages to Gram. It was still there.
I locked the door behind Mac and Rose. Then I did a circuit around the store, trailed by Elvis, looking to see what was selling and what might need a little more tweaking. There were only three of the teacup gardens left. I knew there were cups in the storage room and more tiny plants upstairs in my office.
“Wanna help me do some planting?” I said to Elvis. He tipped his head to one side as though he was considering the question and then meowed. I took it as a yes.
I set up outside on an old, paint-spattered table we kept by the back door. Elvis jumped up and immediately began poking his whiskers in everything. He had to sniff the cups and the plants, and when I took the lid off the pail of potting soil he stood on his hind legs, put his front paws on the edge and pushed his face down inside before I could stop him.
And immediately sneezed. And sneezed. And sneezed. He shook his head vigorously, meowed indignantly and swiped at his nose with one paw.
I struggled to keep a straight face. Even though Elvis was a cat and not a person, it seemed mean to laugh at him.
“Let me see,” I said. I reached for him and used the hem of my shirt to wipe some of the dirt from his black fur. He sneezed one more time and glared at me as if somehow this whole thing was my fault. I fished in my pocket for a Kleenex to try to clean his face a little better.
“I don’t think he’s going to blow his nose,” a voice said behind me. I turned around to see Michelle standing a few feet away, hands in her pockets, a small smile on her face.
“He’s pretty smart,” I said.
“Oh, it’s not that I think he couldn’t. It’s just from his expression I don’t think he’s going to.”
Elvis was leaning sideways, watching Michelle intently as she crossed the space between us. He still had a slightly sour look on his face. I took advantage of the fact that his attention had shifted to clean his fur. He shook his head and took a swipe at my hand with his paw, but his claws weren’t out so I knew he wasn’t really that mad.
“What’s his name?” Michelle held out her hand so the cat could sniff it.
“Elvis.”
He sniffed a couple of times and seemed to like what his nose told him.
“What happened to his nose?” she asked, gesturing to the long, ropy scar that almost bisected the cat’s nose.
“Nobody knows,” I said with a shrug. “The best guess the vet could give is that he got into a fight with something that was probably a lot bigger than he is. The cat, I mean, not the vet.”
Elvis butted her hand with his head, kitty shorthand for “Give me a scratch.” Michelle obliged, stroking the top of his head, brushing away the last bit of soil and peat moss clinging to his fur. His eyes narrowed into slits and he began to purr.
“You have a friend,” I said.
She smiled. “I like cats. Is Elvis the cat that was wandering around downtown for a while?”
I nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“How did you end up with him?” Elvis was leaning against her arm, rumbling like a well-tuned motorboat engine.
“Sam,” I said, brushing potting soil off my shirt.
“That explains a lot,” she said, her smile widening. “The animal-control officer tried for weeks to capture this cat. He set up a cage in the alley by Sam’s place. All he ended up catching was one very
Mac picked up Rose’s canvas tote bag. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said. Now that sailing season was over I wondered what Mac would do with his free time. In the four months we’d worked together I’d learned very little about him. Any questions about his private life usually got only a one- or two-word answer.
Rose stopped to give me a hug. “Thank you for taking care of Maddie today,” she said. “Give Isabel my love when you talk to her.”
“I will,” I promised. I felt in my pocket for the little piece of paper Mr. P. had given me to write down the names of the women who had passed on messages to Gram. It was still there.
I locked the door behind Mac and Rose. Then I did a circuit around the store, trailed by Elvis, looking to see what was selling and what might need a little more tweaking. There were only three of the teacup gardens left. I knew there were cups in the storage room and more tiny plants upstairs in my office.
“Wanna help me do some planting?” I said to Elvis. He tipped his head to one side as though he was considering the question and then meowed. I took it as a yes.
I set up outside on an old, paint-spattered table we kept by the back door. Elvis jumped up and immediately began poking his whiskers in everything. He had to sniff the cups and the plants, and when I took the lid off the pail of potting soil he stood on his hind legs, put his front paws on the edge and pushed his face down inside before I could stop him.
And immediately sneezed. And sneezed. And sneezed. He shook his head vigorously, meowed indignantly and swiped at his nose with one paw.
I struggled to keep a straight face. Even though Elvis was a cat and not a person, it seemed mean to laugh at him.
“Let me see,” I said. I reached for him and used the hem of my shirt to wipe some of the dirt from his black fur. He sneezed one more time and glared at me as if somehow this whole thing was my fault. I fished in my pocket for a Kleenex to try to clean his face a little better.
“I don’t think he’s going to blow his nose,” a voice said behind me. I turned around to see Michelle standing a few feet away, hands in her pockets, a small smile on her face.
“He’s pretty smart,” I said.
“Oh, it’s not that I think he couldn’t. It’s just from his expression I don’t think he’s going to.”
Elvis was leaning sideways, watching Michelle intently as she crossed the space between us. He still had a slightly sour look on his face. I took advantage of the fact that his attention had shifted to clean his fur. He shook his head and took a swipe at my hand with his paw, but his claws weren’t out so I knew he wasn’t really that mad.
“What’s his name?” Michelle held out her hand so the cat could sniff it.
“Elvis.”
He sniffed a couple of times and seemed to like what his nose told him.
“What happened to his nose?” she asked, gesturing to the long, ropy scar that almost bisected the cat’s nose.
“Nobody knows,” I said with a shrug. “The best guess the vet could give is that he got into a fight with something that was probably a lot bigger than he is. The cat, I mean, not the vet.”
Elvis butted her hand with his head, kitty shorthand for “Give me a scratch.” Michelle obliged, stroking the top of his head, brushing away the last bit of soil and peat moss clinging to his fur. His eyes narrowed into slits and he began to purr.
“You have a friend,” I said.
She smiled. “I like cats. Is Elvis the cat that was wandering around downtown for a while?”
I nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“How did you end up with him?” Elvis was leaning against her arm, rumbling like a well-tuned motorboat engine.
“Sam,” I said, brushing potting soil off my shirt.
“That explains a lot,” she said, her smile widening. “The animal-control officer tried for weeks to capture this cat. He set up a cage in the alley by Sam’s place. All he ended up catching was one very
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