Claws for a Cause (A Klepto Cat Mystery Book 15) by Patricia Fry Page A

kittens, too?”
    “No, just hearing one—like it’s underfoot...under the floorboards.” She put her hand on his arm. “Now listen, Michael. Do you hear it?” she asked, trying to peer through the cracks in the rustic floor.
    “Hey,” Shelly said, “I think I hear something.”
    When Savannah noticed a young man wiping down the table next to them, she caught his attention. “Excuse me, but is that a cat I hear? It sounds like it’s under the floor.”
    “Yeah, a stray. We think it’s hurt.” He shrugged. “My boss is afraid it’s just going to die under there and stink up the place.”
    “And no one has tried to help the poor thing?” she asked. “It sounds like it’s in distress.”
    “No, we don’t feed it. We want it to just go away.” With that, the boy walked back behind the counter.
    “Are you finished?” Savannah asked the others. When everyone nodded and began to gather up their trash and water bottles, she stood and led the group out through the front door.
    “Where are you going?” Michael asked, when he saw her determinedly walk away.
    “To see if I can find that cat,” she said, disappearing behind the small building. When Michael caught up with her, she said, “I’m looking for a crawl hole.”
    “Savannah, really?”
    “Oh yes. Didn’t you hear that kid? The cat’s hurt. We’ve got to see if we can help. Look, here’s a box we can put him in. Michael, why don’t you start searching the Internet for a cat- rescue shelter. Surely, they have them here.”
    “Look,” Shelly said, pointing, “there’s a hole.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how
    you’re going to get it to come out. Surely you’re not going to crawl under there, are you?”
    Savannah surveyed the situation. “I sure hope not. It must have rained over here recently,” she observed. “Do you see a newspaper or something I can use to keep from getting muddy?” Within a few minutes, the two women had located a piece of cardboard. Savannah placed it next to the opening, and knelt on it. “Kitty, kitty?” she called into the space. “Here, kitty.”
    Suddenly, she heard a woman’s voice. “What’re ya doin’?”
    Savannah glanced up to see a rotund island woman of about eighty wearing a blue muumuu in an orange hibiscus print. “We want to take a look at the cat we hear under there. We think he’s hurt.”
    “Yeah, a dog got ‘im. He’s been under there yowling ever since.”
    “And no one has bothered to help him?”
    The woman stared at Savannah. “Help him do what?” she asked.
    “To heal. Take care of his wounds.”
    “Look, lady, I don’t know where you come from—some hoity-toity city where cats are pampered, maybe—but here, cats are a dime a dozen. They’re only worth whatever rats they can kill. A sick cat’s worthless,” she said, disappearing between two buildings.
    Hearing this, Michael urged, “Come on, Savannah. Let’s not interfere with their culture.”
    She turned and glared at her husband. “Michael, I can’t believe you said that. You took an oath, remember? Now how about if you all stand back and I’ll see if the cat will come out.”
    “It’s no use, hon,” Michael said, after Savannah had spent several minutes attempting to lure the cat out.
    “I can see it in there, Michael. It wants to come out, but it’s frightened.” She thought for a moment, then said, “Bring Lily here. It looks young. Kittens and puppies tend to like babies. Maybe it will come to her.”
    “And scratch her?” Michael said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
    “I just want it to get close enough that I can pick it up.”
    “And get yourself all clawed up by a sick cat?”
    “Give me that light blanket we brought; maybe I can wrap him in it.”
    “Savannah, Savannah,” Michael said with a sigh. He then walked over to the crawl hole with Lily, knelt down, and peered in. He pulled a small flashlight out of his pocket and began shining it into the