Cat's Out - Book 3

Chapter 3 - recon cat

To be honest, my "plan" is to not get myself or anyone else killed.

As soon as it's dark enough for a black cat to remain relatively hidden in the shadows, I fold my clothes neatly on my bed and call out the kitty. It's a little less painful each time, but maybe I'm getting used to it. Kind of like multiple trips to the dentist.

Now in all my panther glory, I leap through my window, onto the garage roof, and into the driveway. I'd be lying if I didn't admit I kind of enjoy all the leaping around. I see why cats do it now. Maybe one day I'll get a chance to stretch out in a sunny spot on the living room floor.

Not today.

I slip between houses and parked cars, behind hedges and trees, and get at least six dogs barking as I pass beneath their windows. Apparently, I'm not as stealthy as I'd thought. The little dogs are the worst. When they light up, pain rips through my ears as they reach notes that would shatter concrete.

Orchard Hill Drive is just as I'd left it. It was one of those streets people dropped their kids off on Halloween because it would offer full-sized Hershey bars and a low threat of whackos. If only they knew.

Simon's house looks like the rest. No light shine through the windows. Zeus is nowhere to be seen. As far as I can tell, he has no visitors tonight. Maybe he's laying low after my previous interruption. I slink close enough to the road the catch the name on his mailbox.

Sheets.

Simon Sheets? Who does that to a kid? It might explain his bad behavior.

Tonight is strictly recon. I don't have time for encounters, whether they are of the human or canine variety. I slip around to the back of the house, stopping every few feet to listen for growling. Apparently Zeus isn't as finely tuned in as the little yippy dogs I seem to find at every other house. Or maybe I scared some respect into him the last time he tried to take a chunk out of me.

I slip up onto the deck and peer through the sliding glass doors. They have vertical blinds, but I find a couple of gaps. An upstairs window on this side of the house glows yellow. Not flickering. No TV. No sounds. I wait until I hear a low murmur. A woman's voice. Ah, my psychoanalyst. But no one responds. Is she on the phone? Or maybe talking to the dog? Poor Zeus probably needs lots of counseling after the other night.

I wait a few more minutes but hear nothing. Then peek through the opening in the blinds. The kitchen is dark, of course. My night vision only shows me shades of green light. Nothing appears odd or out of place. The fridge hums through the glass. A red light glows from a coffee pot. A pile of envelopes rests on the counter. I can't see them clearly enough to read, even when I stand on two legs. I drop quickly, disliking the exposed feeling that uprightness brings. 

Discouraged, I slip off the deck and sniff around the edge of the house. I only make out Zeus' scent and the fading scent of Simon. I catalogue it to memory. Coffee and minty aftershave. At least he smells good.

A car motor halts my search.

I crouch against the side of the house. Headlights sweep the ground in front of me. Someone is turning into the driveway. I creep to the corner of the house, hoping for a glimpse of the visitor. But the garage door opens and the car pulls inside.

Simon. It has to be.

I stop at the corner of the garage, with only a wall separating me from his car. A car door opens. Slams shut. Footsteps.

The garage door rumbles down.

Crap on a crater! I need to know where he's been. If I can catch a scent, that might help.

Before the garage door closes all the way I chance it. I step around and peer inside. I freeze.

Simon Sheets is standing at his kitchen door, watching the door shut. He doesn't see me. I'm pretty sure because he's not screaming.

Something glints from the front of his shirt, near his stomach. I focus in. A gasp escapes my throat. Yes, cats can gasp. Even in the odd green light that is my night vision, I clearly make out the shape of the object hanging from a chain around his neck.

A badge.

Simon Sheets is a cop.