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

alone we have three Johns and four Marys, with
no similarities among them save for gender. Dogs, too, are subject to this
illogicality, as every other one answers to Fido, though most are too dumb to
mind. I offered Midnight my particulars, bragging about my Eddie and our "country
estate" on Coates, and thus began our adventure.
    We toured the stately homes around Rittenhouse
Square, a park not unlike Logan Square, looking for Mr. Abbott. Along the way,
we debated the contradiction of domestic life: how it both liberates and
hobbles cats. We also spoke of our commonalities, including a shared interest
in piano strings, clock pendulums, and needlepoint cushions. And while we'd spent
our kittenhoods differently—mine on the streets, his on a velvet pillow—we
couldn't deny our harmony. When we didn't find Mr. Abbott in or around the green
space, my guide took me to the livery stables to look for the dappled mare and
gig I'd told him about.
    Alas, I didn't find my quarry that day.
    Hungry from the search, we crept into the grocer's
to steal a snack—Midnight's idea, not mine, but one to which I agreed. Having
conquered both Claw and the Spider this morning, my confidence had soared to an
untold zenith. War may have been human folly, as Big Blue suggested, but we
cats suffer no less from bravado. To wit, I volunteered to liberate a rope of
sausages from a hook inside the door. Once we agreed on a plan, Midnight and I
hid behind a sack of potatoes in the corner—the perfect spot to study the
hook and its proximity to a soap display. The clerk, a young man with a
mustache I first mistook for a dead caterpillar, had just finished stacking a
table with the lavender bricks.
    "What are you waiting for, Cattarina?"
Midnight nudged me. "Just give it a jump."
    "I should say not." I thumped the end
of my tail. "The physics involved are staggering. One doesn't 'give it a
jump' and succeed with any poise. That is for rabbits. Besides, I'm waiting for
the right moment." And it had arrived. When the clerk turned to help a
woman load turnips into baskets, I sprang to the table, scaled the soap
pyramid, soared to the hook, caught the sausages between my teeth, and arced to
the ground where I landed—there should be no doubt—on all fours. Not
one bar of soap fell. Not one . The look of admiration on Midnight's face
was worthy of any aches and pains these acrobatics would earn me in the
morning.
    "Well done, Cattarina!" Midnight
shouted. "Now run!"
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

    The Thief of Rittenhouse
     
    S ausages in tow, I took
Midnight's advice and ran from the shop. Yet in my haste, the links caught in
the door's hinge, sending me catawampus and snapping my confidence back into
place. Midnight came to my aid, but not in time, for the clerk and woman turned
round and caught us at our little game. Upended baskets and rolling turnips and
high-pitched screams came next. My accomplice gnawed through the meat casing
near the hinge, allowing us to escape with our remaining plunder. The clerk,
nevertheless, gave chase. Our luck returned when I accidentally knocked over a
cluster of brooms by the front window. They clattered to the sidewalk, tripping
the young man and granting our freedom.
    Behind the grocer's, we split the links and
feasted on the dry, waxy beef, commending each other between chews. Then, full
of meat and mischief, we stretched our limbs and groomed ourselves in the sun-bright
strip between buildings. I wiped my face with my paw. It still held floral
notes from the soap.
    "You've never stolen anything before, have
you?" Midnight asked.
    "No, never," I said. "But it's just
as thrilling as hunting. Maybe more so."
    "I rid my home of mice long ago. But now I occupy
myself in other ways. I'll bet I'm the best thief in Rittenhouse. Maybe even the
city. Name anything, and I can take it." He puffed out his chest,
expanding the small white ruff around his neck.
    "A whole chicken."
    He offered a bored expression, lids half