Cat on a Cold Tin Roof by Mike Resnick Read Free Book Online

a couple of hurricanes were racing neck-and-neck to see which could destroy the Gulf Coast first. And finally they came to the only important news of the day: Carlos Dunlap’s ankle had responded to treatment, and he was a probable when the Bengals hosted the Steelers on Sunday.
    I turned back to TCM. At least they were done with Bette Davis and Joan Crawford. The problem was that Bettie Page had never made a film that lasted much more than ten or twelve minutes, so they were having a Veronica Lake festival. I turned it off, picked up an old paperback about a brilliant detective who never lost a fight and couldn’t have kept the gorgeous, oversexed women away with a gallon of mace. I fell asleep somewhere in chapter three and woke up to find that it was morning, Marlowe had eaten the rest of the hot dogs, and had wiped his mouth off on my now-incredibly-damp paperback.
    I considered showering, but I didn’t want to get out of my clothes only to climb right back in them five minutes later, so I settled for a quick shave and a cup of coffee, and then Marlowe and I visited Mrs. Garabaldi’s petunias again, but she was either asleep or out and there was no ear-shattering cursing, and I could tell Marlowe kind of missed it.
    Then I put him back in the house, got into the car, and drove off to the Wilkinson Animal Shelter.
    â€œGood morning, Officer Paxton,” said the lady behind the desk. “How may I help you today?”
    â€œIt’s just plain Eli, ma’am,” I said.
    She gave me a knowing look that said, Ah! You’re working undercover. Okay, you can trust me to keep your secret .
    â€œAll right, Eli. And my name is Susan. What can I do for you?”
    â€œThe cat I picked up yesterday . . .” I began.
    â€œYes?” said Susan. “I believe you said her name was Fluffy.”
    â€œThat’s correct.”
    â€œWasn’t she the right cat?”
    â€œShe was the right cat.”
    â€œGood!” Suddenly Susan frowned. “Then what are you doing back here?”
    â€œJust checking some details,” I said. “Did she have a collar when she was brought in?”
    â€œNo,” she replied. “If she had, we’d have kept it on her. And if it had a license tag, we’d have known to phone the owner.”
    â€œI was afraid you were going to say that,” I said.
    â€œCan you describe it?”
    I shook my head. “I have no idea what it looks like. It wasn’t in any of the photos I had.”
    â€œThen why—?”
    â€œThe owner wants it back.”
    Susan nodded knowingly. “A sentimental keepsake from a previous cat, no doubt.”
    I decided to reach for my only other possible lead. “Did the cat wander in on her own, or did someone bring her in?”
    â€œShe was brought in by a gentleman,” was the answer.
    â€œDid he leave his name?”
    Susan shook her head. “No. He said he found her wandering on the street a few blocks away. His heart went out to her, and he picked her up and put her in his car. Evidently, he has a couple of large dogs, and he didn’t think the cat would be safe at home. I asked for his name and address, but he insisted he was just performing an act of Christian charity and didn’t want the owner calling to thank him.” She smiled. “I think his real reason was that he didn’t want us calling him for donations.”
    If the collar was enough reason to get me charged with theft and thrown into jail, I could think of a different reason he didn’t want to leave his name, but there was no sense discussing it with her. I couldn’t even tell her to keep an eye out for the collar, since I didn’t know what it looked like.
    â€œWell, thank you anyway, Susan,” I said. “Just trying to be thorough.”
    â€œI’m glad it was the right cat,” she replied. “And I’m sure you’re anxious to go back to apprehending killers