The Cat Who Spied on Me

The Cat Who Spied On Me

by

Jane Oldaker

What’s Your Cat Do When

You’re Not at Home?

Copyright:

The Cat Who Spied on Me ©2013 Jane Oldaker

All Rights Reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or in any means – by electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise – without prior written permission.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

ISBN 978-0-9881533-6-3

Cover art by J.B. Mann of Fuzzballs*Fuzzywinks Illustrations

For Biscuit who would have no truck with coyotes nor raccoons.

Copyright

Dedication

The Cat Who Spied On Me

About the Author

Also by Jane Oldaker

Mahoney always found the interval between Christmas and New Year’s to be a thundering bore.  The presents had all been given and opened; the company had come and gone.  The only redeeming feature of this period, in his view, was the leftovers.  The only thing stopping him from sleeping through it altogether was the fact that the endless stream of treats had begun to bedevil his digestion.  He regarded it as ultra-top secret, but deep inside he knew it might be due to the fact that he was an older cat and only getting older with every year that passed. 

He turned himself right side up and heaved himself out of his warm snuggly place on the sofa where he had been jammed into the cushions, happy as a lark, until the gurgling in his belly began.  Cursing himself for bolting down the last two tasty mouthfuls of Mrs. Phelps’ leftover rosemary and leek stuffing, generously bathed in gravy made with cream, he leapt down from the sofa where Arlo still dozed, sleeping off his own holiday excesses.  He snapped his jaws wide with a yawn and stretched with a sinewy grace that spoke of the wildness that lay not far beneath his well-padded surface.  Mahoney was a mature, feral ex-tom cat that had been seconded to the Agency from his duties as a sofa cushion.  He padded silently out of the den, leaving the Agency’s tame veterinarian Phelps, or Phelpsie as he was often called, undisturbed as he snored softly in his favorite chair.  Mahoney made his way to the kitchen where Mrs. Phelps obligingly opened the back door for him and he went out into the cold night to stroll for his digestion. 

He gave himself a little shake, as if reverting to his old, wild ways and trotted briskly away following a track through the snow.  When the track petered out, he sniffed the air and gazed into the distance for a moment before heading through the snowy field with a little shrug.  It would take some effort to remedy the over-stuffed tummy.  The old feral feline decided he was in the mood to visit an old haunt.  The moon was full and its reflection off the snow provided ample lighting for his trek.  The moonshine and frosty night made him feel at once nostalgic for the old days and grateful for the new.

 Mahoney’s association with the Agency had begun when he was inadvertently drawn in to one of the Agency’s operations.  His participation had brought success to the Agency as well as a new life for him once he had been rescued by Dr. Phelps.  Having recovered from extensive mission-related injuries, becoming tame was a logical outcome.  However, it was a mistake to think Mahoney was now tame instead of wild.  The wildness never left him; it lurked at all times near the surface and could overtake him in a split second, even when he was apparently comatose.   A careless human-feline encounter with a napping Mahoney was liable to end in bloodshed.  It bears mention that Mahoney himself always kept his blood on the right side of his hide.