loose,” Savannah said. “She wanted us to give her carte blanche to operate like she had back there.”
“That’s right,” Margaret cut in. “She countered everything we tried to tell her. She definitely had a chip on her shoulder.”
Betty spoke up. “I remember thinking she might even be a detriment to the feral cat population because of the way she seemed to be thinking.” She glanced around the room. “Did they ever open their facility? Does anyone know?”
“I wonder,” Margaret said. “It may be worth checking into.” She cringed a little. “Gads, I’d hate to think we’re being sabotaged by someone from the cat-rescue community, for heaven’s sake.”
“Hopefully not,” Betty said. “Could it be someone from your neighborhood? I think we’ve all experienced complaints from neighbors—cats yowling, a perceived odor, too many people coming and going, and we all know there are people who don’t believe in caging animals, even when it’s temporary and in their best interest.”
“Do you have anyone in the neighborhood who might do this?” Iris asked. She chuckled. “Aren’t Michael and Savannah your nearest neighbors?”
Margaret laughed a little and said, “Yeah, I’m the one who should be complaining about their animals—one of them actually escaped today and came over here.”
“Ha-ha,” Savannah said. She suggested, “It could be that crazy new neighbor of ours.”
“Mr. Crankyshaw?” Margaret said, laughing. “Why would he do it?”
“Why would anyone do it?” Savannah asked, causing the room to become silent for a few moments.
Finally Kitty asked, “So you haven’t lost any cats?”
Margaret shook her head. “No, but it’s unnerving to know that someone is trying to defeat the very purpose of our work.”
A collective “Hear! Hear!” reverberated through the room.
After much discussion and a showing of the videos the Sheridans had recorded of the stranger in the cathouse, the meeting was adjourned and only Savannah, Iris, and Colbi remained.
“Well, girls,” Margaret said, “that didn’t produce the sort of resolution I had hoped for. I think we need to take things into our own hands.”
Savannah put her arm around Margaret’s shoulders. “Oh, Auntie, you certainly have some concrete possibilities to consider—that odd shelter woman with that wild blond hair, and Mr. Crankyshaw.”
“Why would you suspect him?” Colbi asked.
“I don’t suspect him,” Savannah insisted, “any more or any less than anyone else.” She thought for a moment and added, “It’s just that he seems to have some odd opinions about cats and he doesn’t keep them to himself.”
“But he’s old,” Margaret said. “I can’t visualize him dressing up and coming here in the middle of the night to cut the pens open and let cats out.”
“He walks over this way nearly every day without much effort,” Savannah reminded her. “I think he should be considered a suspect.”
“Could it be an inside job?” Iris asked.
“What?” Margaret demanded.
“Yeah,” Colbi said, “one of your volunteers who’s holding a grudge or something?”
Margaret thought about that and said quietly, “I sure hope not.”
“So, Maggie, what do you have in mind?” Iris asked. “It sounds like you have a plan.”
“Well,” Margaret said, her eyes flashing, “I believe in woman power and I’d like for us to get together some evening when we expect him and jump him.”
“Jump him?” Colbi questioned wide-eyed. “Us?”
Margaret nodded. “Yeah, jump him, rip that stupid grim-reaper hood and mask off, and find out who it is once and for all.”
“What would we do with him once we catch him?” Iris asked.
“Turn him over to the sheriff’s office, of course,” Margaret said. “They’ll make sure he gets his due comeuppance once they know who he is. They just don’t seem to have time to do the legwork necessary to capture him.” She glanced around the room, an
“That’s right,” Margaret cut in. “She countered everything we tried to tell her. She definitely had a chip on her shoulder.”
Betty spoke up. “I remember thinking she might even be a detriment to the feral cat population because of the way she seemed to be thinking.” She glanced around the room. “Did they ever open their facility? Does anyone know?”
“I wonder,” Margaret said. “It may be worth checking into.” She cringed a little. “Gads, I’d hate to think we’re being sabotaged by someone from the cat-rescue community, for heaven’s sake.”
“Hopefully not,” Betty said. “Could it be someone from your neighborhood? I think we’ve all experienced complaints from neighbors—cats yowling, a perceived odor, too many people coming and going, and we all know there are people who don’t believe in caging animals, even when it’s temporary and in their best interest.”
“Do you have anyone in the neighborhood who might do this?” Iris asked. She chuckled. “Aren’t Michael and Savannah your nearest neighbors?”
Margaret laughed a little and said, “Yeah, I’m the one who should be complaining about their animals—one of them actually escaped today and came over here.”
“Ha-ha,” Savannah said. She suggested, “It could be that crazy new neighbor of ours.”
“Mr. Crankyshaw?” Margaret said, laughing. “Why would he do it?”
“Why would anyone do it?” Savannah asked, causing the room to become silent for a few moments.
Finally Kitty asked, “So you haven’t lost any cats?”
Margaret shook her head. “No, but it’s unnerving to know that someone is trying to defeat the very purpose of our work.”
A collective “Hear! Hear!” reverberated through the room.
After much discussion and a showing of the videos the Sheridans had recorded of the stranger in the cathouse, the meeting was adjourned and only Savannah, Iris, and Colbi remained.
“Well, girls,” Margaret said, “that didn’t produce the sort of resolution I had hoped for. I think we need to take things into our own hands.”
Savannah put her arm around Margaret’s shoulders. “Oh, Auntie, you certainly have some concrete possibilities to consider—that odd shelter woman with that wild blond hair, and Mr. Crankyshaw.”
“Why would you suspect him?” Colbi asked.
“I don’t suspect him,” Savannah insisted, “any more or any less than anyone else.” She thought for a moment and added, “It’s just that he seems to have some odd opinions about cats and he doesn’t keep them to himself.”
“But he’s old,” Margaret said. “I can’t visualize him dressing up and coming here in the middle of the night to cut the pens open and let cats out.”
“He walks over this way nearly every day without much effort,” Savannah reminded her. “I think he should be considered a suspect.”
“Could it be an inside job?” Iris asked.
“What?” Margaret demanded.
“Yeah,” Colbi said, “one of your volunteers who’s holding a grudge or something?”
Margaret thought about that and said quietly, “I sure hope not.”
“So, Maggie, what do you have in mind?” Iris asked. “It sounds like you have a plan.”
“Well,” Margaret said, her eyes flashing, “I believe in woman power and I’d like for us to get together some evening when we expect him and jump him.”
“Jump him?” Colbi questioned wide-eyed. “Us?”
Margaret nodded. “Yeah, jump him, rip that stupid grim-reaper hood and mask off, and find out who it is once and for all.”
“What would we do with him once we catch him?” Iris asked.
“Turn him over to the sheriff’s office, of course,” Margaret said. “They’ll make sure he gets his due comeuppance once they know who he is. They just don’t seem to have time to do the legwork necessary to capture him.” She glanced around the room, an
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