Even though only two nights ago the prospect of her frenemy lying in a ditch somewhere had seemed like a pleasing prospect to the white Persian, the passage of time had clearly made her change her mind about that.
“The police aren’t interested in missing pets,” said Brutus.
“But they are interested in missing humans,” said Harriet. “And wherever Father Reilly is, we’re likely to find Shanille, since she wouldn’t leave his side.”
“He could have lost his mind,” said Dooley. “I saw a documentary a couple of weeks ago about a man who lost his marbles and wandered off into the woods. He was accompanied by his dog at the time. A nice Labrador retriever named Sue.”
“So what happened?” asked Harriet. “Did they find them?”
“They did, three years later. There wasn’t much left of him, though, except a gnawed-off skeleton and some remnants of his clothes.”
“And Sue?”
“According to the policeman they interviewed it was Sue who’d done the gnawing, actually,” said Dooley. “When her owner got lost in those woods, and eventually died of exposure, she had no alternative but to do a little snacking, especially since she was still tied to him with a leash.” When we all stared at him, he smiled. “There’s some good news, though. Eventually Sue managed to chew through the leash and was found living with a nearby farmer, who said she was a fine dog.”
“She ate her human!” Brutus cried. “Not what I would call a fine dog!”
“She had no other choice,” Dooley pointed out. “It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, Brutus. Or in this case, a dog-eat-person world, I guess.”
“Okay,” I said, and shivered slightly at the images his story had conjured up. “Thank you for that, Dooley.”
“So you see? If Father Reilly really has lost his mind, and ends up dying from exposure, Shanille can simply eat him and be fine. For a vegetarian like me this would be a big no-no, of course, but Shanille isn’t a vegetarian, so she’ll be okay.”
“Father Reilly won’t be okay,” said Harriet. “In fact he’ll be dead.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” I said. “He’s not dead yet.”
“He could be dead,” said Brutus, striking the gloomy note. “Dead in a ditch.”
“Then we better find him before Shanille eats him,” said Harriet.
“Shanille won’t have to eat him,” I pointed out. “Since Shanille isn’t a dog, she’s not tied to her dead human with a leash.”
Another strong point in favor of getting a cat and not a dog: at least when you die from exposure a cat won’t eat you, and a dog would.
“I say we tell Odelia,” said Harriet. “And let the police find them.”
“And I say we do it ourselves,” said Brutus. “You know what the police are like. They’ll tell us we have to wait forty-eight hours, and even then they’ll say Father Reilly isn’t a missing person since he left of his own accord, as evidenced by the notes he pinned up on the church and rectory doors.” He shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid that if we want to find our friend, we’re on our own here, you guys.”
And he might have had a point. It did look as if Father Reilly hadn’t gone missing, but had simply left. But why? And where? The police would simply figure this was his own personal business—nothing to do with us. And so they wouldn’t touch the case. And all the while cat choir would have to go without its conductor.
“I agree with Brutus,” I said therefore. “If we want to find Shanille, we’ll have to find her ourselves.”
“Where do we start?” asked Harriet simply.
And that, of course, was where things got complicated. Where do you start looking for a missing person? Or cat? Or cat and person? The police have all kinds of resources at their disposal. They can look at a person’s bank account, to see if any cash withdrawals have been made. Or they can check a person’s phone records to see if he made any calls. Or they can organize a house-to-house inquiry, to see if anyone saw anything. They could talk to friends and relatives. Plenty of possibilities that weren’t available to four cats with limited resources.
But what we did have was resolve. A firm determination to find our friend. Preferably before she started snacking on the dead corpse of her human!
CHAPTER 7
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Steph Felfan was nursing her baby when her phone chimed. Expecting it to be her husband, she immediately picked up. But instead of Jeff’s pleasant voice, the tones reaching her ear were of a much harsher variety. They sounded French, and were distinctly clipped and to the point.
“Stephanie Felfan? My name is Julie Clairmont and I’m calling from the HR department at Sofie Fashion. I’m sorry to inform you that the job offer has been rescinded, Mrs. Felfan, so you no longer will be working for us.”
“Wait, what?” she said, stunned at this piece of news. “Is this a joke?”
“No joke,” said the woman. “And can I just say that we’re all shocked that a mother would do such a thing?”
“Thing? What thing?”
“Oh, you know,” said the woman coldly.
“No, I don’t, actually,” said Steph.