When I came around another set of shelves, laughter erupted, and a woman cooed, “Well, you’re a fancy lad, aren’t you?”I had a moment to think that we were going to be dealing with another of Deputy Bobby’s admirers—my God, was the whole town in love with him?Don’t answer that—but then I saw them: two women behind a counter, staring in fascination at a kitten.Deputy Bobby stood with his thumbs hooked into his gun belt.If he was surprised, it didn’t show on his face.
“Oh hi!”The woman who spoke was tiny, with a broad smile and white hair down to her waist.It took me a moment to realize she was younger than I’d first thought.“Look at him.He’s shopping!”
The kitten did, as a matter of fact, appear to be shopping.He stopped to inspect a plastic tub full of vintage brass pulls.Then he sauntered along to pause and stare at an Art Deco (probably knock-off) clock.He stretched up and planted his tiny paws on a commemorative Golden Girls plate, sniffed once at Blanche, and sneezed.
Both women made sounds like this was possibly the cutest thing they’d ever seen.
“Me too,” said the woman who’d spoken to me—apparently in agreement with the kitten.“Give me Rose any day!”
“Isn’t he adorable?”That was the second woman, who had chemically fried hair and an enormous grin, and who appeared to be trying to extract her phone from her bra.
It took me a moment to understand what I saw on Deputy Bobby’s face: he was fighting a smile.He crouched, and the kitten turned to inspect him.When Deputy Bobby held out his hand, the kitten stretched his neck and rubbed his chin along Deputy Bobby’s finger.And then he started to purr, of course.(The kitten, not Deputy Bobby.)
“What seems to be the problem, ladies?”Deputy Bobby asked, his voice quiet.
“Problem?”one of them asked.
“What problem?”the other asked.
“Well, you did call 911.I understand you reported a cat in the store.”
“Yes, but only because we didn’t know what to do.He’s not a problem.”
“How could he be a problem?”That was the one still freeing her phone.“He’s precious.”
As though to demonstrate this preciousness, the kitten turned his interest to a laboring mini-fridge next to the counter.He tried to jump on top of it, but he only made it halfway, and then he hung there, his hind legs scrambling against the fridge door.Deputy Bobby made a platform out of one hand and gave the kitten a boost, and the kitten surged up.When the kitten went to climb on top of a box of Mentos, which was sitting on top of the fridge, he braced his hind legs against the fridge door, and it swung open.
“He wants a drink!”the white-haired woman screamed.
That display of showmanship might have permanently cemented the kitten in the Ancient Mariner Antiques hall of fame, but then the kitten had to outdo himself.He sprang up onto the counter, clambered over a 1990s-era boombox, and managed, in the process, to press one of the buttons.The boombox’s display came to life.Something whirred.And then music began to play.
“Memory.”From, yes,Cats.
The white-haired woman screamed again.
The other one gave up on her bra-phone and pretended to faint against the counter.
Deputy Bobby was still trying not to smile as he rescued the kitten from a fishbowl that had been repurposed to hold peppermints.He looked good with a cat in his arms.Natural.The kitten must have thought so too, judging by how he immediately relaxed in Deputy Bobby’s hold.
“All right, ladies.I’ll take this troublemaker off your hands.”
The white-haired lady stood bolt upright.“What?”
“Don’t you dare,” said the other.
“What if he’s one of those cats that can call 911?”
“Yeah, what if there’s an emergency, and he’s one of those hero cats?You saw how smart he was.”
I managed not to say anything about the fishbowl.
Deputy Bobby surrendered the kitten.
When we were back in the cruiser, he gave me a long, considering look.
“What?”I asked.
“No comment?”
