A Cat Called Cupid: A Romantic Comedy Novella by Mazy Morris Page A

was roughly ejected.
    I retreated under My Lady’s nightstand and observed the officers as they ransacked the place. They were practically on top of Mr. James Pigget, and they didn’t even know it. I bided my time until all but one of the officers moved on to search elsewhere.
    The remaining man—who m I’d heard addressed as Al—was the best of the lot. Officer Al stayed behind in an attempt to restore order to My Lady’s shoe collection. I tentatively poked my head into the closet, and Al extended a hand in greeting.
    Encouraged by this show of friendly feeling, I attempted to point Al in the right direction.
    Obscured by a fabric pocket organizer hanging on the wall of the closet was a removable panel which led to a cavity in the interior recesses of the building’s plumbing system. I think it had been left accessible because of a chronic water leak. I knew it was roomy enough to encapsulate Cat Hater. I’d been trapped in there myself on one occasion. I had scratched and meowed for an hour before My Lady had realized what had happened to me and freed me from the musty confines of the cavity. In fact, it was probably that incident which had alerted Cat Hater to the existence of the cavity in the first place. I remember a lot of derisive and profane remarks regarding my intelligence being bandied about by him after I was hauled out, rumpled and covered in cobwebs.
    This was my chance to exact vengeance on Cat Hater for those spurious and uncalled-for remarks. I attracted Al’s attention with a firm and authoritative meow and made a leap at the pocket organizer. If I could get the organizer to fall, the panel—none too secure in the first place—would come down with it.
    My first attempt was a dismal failure. I didn’t even make contact with the organizer. What I needed was a running start. Unfortunately, my runway was blocked by a friendly policeman, so I decided to appeal directly to Officer Al for assistance. This direct approach had yielded very mixed results with other humans of my acquaintance, but I could come up with no better option. I could sense that Al was about to move on and there was no point in revealing Cat Hater’s whereabouts if there wasn’t an officer of the law on hand to apply the cuffs.
    That was what had me wondering. Why was Cat Hater hiding in the first place, and why was the local constabulary so set on finding him? This seemed to me to be evidence of a far greater malfeasance than taking the odd tenner from My Lady’s handbag.
    I made another jump at the organizer, this time adding sound effects. I yowled a tremendous yowl which resulted in a sore throat for days afterwards. This time, I managed to snag the corner of the fabric, but it still didn’t come down.
    Al, who was obviously a little OCD when it came to neatness, came over with the twin objectives of administering a calming pat to the top of my head and straightening the pocket organizer, which was now hanging eschew.
    It was just as he reached up to straighten it that the whole panel—probably insecurely placed from the start by a panicked Jimmy—came crashing down.
    I could have told Cat Hater—if he’d taken the time to acknowledge my presence—that trying to run was a bad idea. He made it no further that the living room before he tripped over the coffee table and was subdued by an officer wielding a stun gun.
    My Lady’s porcelain puppy in repose got smashed in the process. Later on, as she was sweeping up the remnants, Ann expressed regret over its demise. I think it was for the best, however. Not only was the porcelain puppy tasteless and tawdry as an item of décor, it also seemed to do nothing in the way of bringing out My Lady’s better nature.
    It wasn’t until after the officers had taken Cat Hater away and the remaining members of the party had reassembled in Ann’s wrecked apartment that I found out why Jimmy had been hiding.
    “I can’t believe Jimmy would do that,” My Lady said.
    “I can,”