The Tell-Tail Heart: A Cat Cozy (Cattarina Mysteries) by Monica Shaughnessy

ill.
What fine times, before darkness descended on the Poe family and snuffed out
the candles of gaiety and innocence.
    While some buildings had come and gone since the
spring move, the character of the neighborhood remained intact. A mishmash of
dilapidated and divine, this parcel of Brotherly Love had remained an
architectural contradiction. Brick townhomes still rubbed yards with shacks of
yore. A good sneeze would've reduced most of the older structures to firewood,
but they were no less charming to a cat with their fluttering clotheslines and free-roaming
chickens. I know because we lived in one for a short period before settling on
Coates.
    While the houses coexisted without loss of
dignity, I could not say the same of the humans. Ladies and gents kept to the
right of the sidewalk, downtrodden to the left. As for me, I chose the middle
path and traveled along the gulley of space between them—an unpleasant
strip of classism that crackled with animosity—until I reached a butcher
shop overrun with women robed in silk and fur. From my previous jaunts, I knew
the refuse here to be of high quality. As I dug through the trash pits behind
the store, I wondered whether my preference for elite butcheries made me a hauteur as well. Then I turned up a trout head and ceased to care. Delicious.
    Stuffed with fishy bits, I lay on the stoop of a
new three-story home next door and watched the skirts and cloaks whisk by on
the sidewalk. I flexed my claws. The finery needed a good shredding, like
curtains upon the breeze, and I was just the cat to give it. But what of Mr. Abbott?
He needed a good shredding, too. I'd just chided myself for forgetting him when
a tom padded toward me, a thin blue ribbon around his neck. Save for a patch of
white upon his chest, his coat had the all-over hue of burnt candlewick, and it
billowed about him like a cloud. He stopped and appraised me, the tip of his
tail crooked.
    "Hello," he said. "What brings
you to my doorstep?"
    I tried to suck in my gut, but my lungs nearly
collapsed from the strain. "Your doorstep? Forgive me. I'll move along."
After the row in Logan Square, I didn't want trouble.
    "You can stay, miss. I'm just here for my midday
snack."
    I hadn't noticed before, but he had a bit of a
paunch. It didn't swell like mine did after a pot roast luncheon. Instead, it
rounded his figure, giving him a relaxed, well-fed appearance that hinted at a
want-free life. "So this is your home?"
    "Yes, but take heart. A cat with beautiful
markings like yours will find an owner."
     Cats don't blush as humans do, thank the
Great Cat Above. "I must confess…I have a home. A human dwelling, like
yours."
    "I should've guessed. You've too fine a
coat to be living on the streets." He hopped up the steps to join me. "Do
you live in Rittenhouse as well?"
    " Kitten house?"
    "No, Rittenhouse."
    "Oh, that's what you call it. I used
to live a few blocks from here, but moved."
    He lifted his nose. "Well, parts of it are
becoming very uppity."
    My whiskers vibrated. "Uppity? Do you know the
man from Shakey House Tavern?"
    "Who?"
    "Mr. Uppity."
    "I'm afraid you've lost me."
    "Well, you said his name. So naturally I
thought you knew him." He stared at me, his pale eyes fixed and
unblinking. I continued. "Never mind. I'm not here for him. I'm here for a
Mr. Hiram Abbott. He's oldish and fattish and has teeth the color of
gravy."
    "Turkey gravy or beef gravy?"
    "Turkey. Definitely turkey."
    "Haven't seen him. But I can help you look.
I know the streets better than any cat."
    "Splendid. What about your snack?"
    "My tuna can wait. Little Sarah never tires
of feeding me." He shook his head. "Or tying ribbons around my neck."
He leapt to the sidewalk and waited for me to descend the steps.
    When we were eye to eye again, he presented
himself as Midnight, a somewhat predictable name for a cat of his coloring, but
one I liked. Humans, on the whole, exercised little imagination when labeling their
pets or themselves. In our area