Bob vs the Cat Read online

  Bob vs. the Cat

  Kate Baray

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a purely fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by Catherine G. Cobb.

  Cover Design by James, GoOnWrite.com

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.

  For Mel, who encouraged me to be just a little silly. And is great at brainstorming. And is understanding of how needy writers can be.

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  Bob vs. the Cat

  The Junk Shop felt like home. And it was, for now. He had a place to sleep, a human to care for, and a ready supply of canned crab. What more could an Arkan Sonney want? If he were a cat, Bob would be purring—but his kind weren’t really the purring sort. He settled on a quiet hum of satisfaction, smoothed his fur-like quills until they were downy soft, and then settled down for a nap.

  Curled in a ball with his nose almost touching his corkscrew tail, atop his favorite stolen sweatshirt, on his favorite couch—life smelled of roses and rainbows.

  He lifted his nose in the air.

  His nose twitched.

  He cracked an eye. Then the other.

  Cat.

  His world smelled of…cat.

  He stood and inhaled, a delicate pull, tasting. Not just a cat. His small nose wrinkled.

  The acrid scent of fowl mixed with feline: gryphon.

  The stink, the threat, made his hair puff out.

  Bob had marked the shop as his own. The lines of demarcation, reinforced weekly, shone brightly. To those creatures with the sight, the warning was clear: No foul-intentioned creatures shall pass.

  And yet the smell of gryphon filled his nose and mouth as the thieving creature came closer. Bob felt his second set of teeth push at his gums.

  He hopped off his couch, considered—stealth? attack?—but determined with a flick of his corkscrew tail that he had too little information. Stealth first. His nose twitched again. Then attack.

  There could be no confusion, neither concerning the territory lines nor the gryphon’s failure to heed those lines. This was war.

  Jack caught a flash of movement in the corner of his eye. He spun around on his favorite bar stool, the one behind the register. And there it was, a small black cat. No more than six or seven pounds and terrified. He had no idea how the tiny creature had wandered into the store, but the thing was sorely in need of a meal. Its hip bones protruded, and its fur had the dull and patchy look of an undernourished, sickly animal.

  His partner was out for the day, so he wouldn’t get any grief over letting such a bedraggled creature into the store.

  “Hey, cat.”

  The cat froze, its body slunk low to the ground and its eyes huge.

  In a casual, non-threatening tone, he said, “You’re in a junk shop. No high standards or posh clients here. In case you didn’t catch it on the way in, that’s the name: The Junk Shop.”

  He felt like an ass, but the cat’s stance had relaxed slightly.

  “How do you feel about crab?” That’s one thing he always had on hand these days. And cats liked seafood, right?

  The cat perked up.

  “Is that the magic word? Crab?”

  Jack had to pass by the cat to get to the stash of canned crab he kept back in the office. He kept it in his peripheral vision without directly looking at him, and circled wide. He didn’t want to scare him into hiding. Who knew how long it would take him to find the damn cat, and cat urine wasn’t a scent that would improve the shabby shop.

  He paused. And his partner Marin would kill him if he lost a cat in the shop. When he moved forward again, he moved with slow, deliberate steps, “do not startle the cat” running through his head in a kind of mantra. When he opened the door to the office, he expected to find Bob lounging in one of his favorite spots. His little furry buddy disappeared when anyone else was in the shop, but he tended to hang around otherwise.

  A cat hardly qualified. Then again, maybe Bob was territorial when it came to other animals. The Junk Shop had been suspiciously free of pests ever since Bob had moved in. Jack pulled out one of the cans of crab he kept stocked for Bob and popped off the lid. Maybe Jack should have a chat with his friend to make sure he didn’t hassle the cat.

  As Jack reached for a bowl to dump the crab into, he caught movement in his peripheral vision. The little black cat had followed him into the back office. Probably lured by the strong odor of a free meal. Jack placed the bowl on the floor, careful not to make any jerky movements or let the bowl clatter on the concrete, and then he slipped out of the office, closing the door behind him.

  After doing a quick internet search, he came up with a short shopping list of essentials. With the cat trapped in his office, he needed to come up with a litter box pronto, so he figured he’d grab the basics at the same time. He left the shop as quietly as he could and crossed his fingers that the little stray didn’t decide to mark his office in his absence.

  Bob’s nose twitched. The thing before him may look like a cat, but the air stank of gryphon. And if he squinted just so…yes, the flesh-tearing beak and vicious claws wavered in and out of sight. Bob retreated to his secret hiding place. He wasn’t ready for a confrontation quite yet.

  Who did the thieving creature serve? What item did he intend to pilfer? The audacity of the creature astounded. To set himself at odds with Bob, The Junk Shop’s protector—Bob preened as he considered his not insignificant reputation—it was either folly or else the thieving gryphon had a powerful master.

  These were the questions Bob wanted answered before he approached the interloper…eating his crab. What was Jack thinking? Humans could be so incredibly dense at times. He found the species endearing in other ways—but their willful ignorance greatly annoyed on occasion.

  Bob thought back to his last few foraging trips. He’d found some lovely items for the store. The 1970s lamp, a curbside find. The pretty bracelet with the shiny stones, washed up on a beach. The antique revolver, buried in a cave. That one he’d cleaned first, and he was certain Jack hadn’t yet discovered it inside a recently acquired box of garage sale remnants. Bob shook his head. So slow to catalogue their new acquisitions, it was a simple matter to add the pretty bits that he found before either Marin or Jack processed incoming stock.

  Bob curled up on one of Jack’s old T-shirts as he considered other recently acquired items. The old book, rescued from the trash where it had just begun to mildew. The funny little doll, buried in a time capsule that no one remembered. The little colorful cube toy with moveable parts, hidden in a dumpster. Bob didn’t think any of these items were of great value. They’d each exhibited that certain shiny brightness only a few Arkan Sonney could see. A glow that meant the discarded item was desired by someone, somewhere. That was Bob’s special talent.

  Humans called it luck. But Arkan Sonney weren’t any more or less lucky than the next being. Bob simply saw something that others didn’t. His special talent was matching. He could match that special longed-for item with its new owner.

  Bob sniffed. He was quite good at his special brand of magic. Spectacularly good. Had he, perhaps, picked up an item coveted by the gryphon’s master? Bob squeezed his eyes shut. But, as hard as he thought, he couldn’t imagine one of his shiny pieces matched
to the likes of a gryphon’s master.

  Perhaps Jack or Marin had accidentally picked up some item of magical value?

  Bob sniffed in consternation. Very unlikely, indeed. The dragon Marin had an eye for things magical. She would have known. And Bob was quite familiar with the contents of the shop. No, it had to be one of his own recent acquisitions.

  Which turned the question back around to Bob’s finds. Had he picked up something special without realizing it?

  He needed to know who controlled the gryphon.

  Bob had a hunch it was a strong master…which meant a keen nose would pick up the master’s scent. It might be time to visit his old friend, Nelson. Not long ago, Jack had rid Nelson’s attic of a nasty, uninvited visitor. Bob hoped his timid friend was grateful enough to use his super-sniffer to identify the hand pulling the gryphon’s strings.

  “No.” Nelson sneezed. “Even the thought—” Nelson shuddered and his hair puffed out.

  Bob had known Nelson for a long time, but he still found the sneezing fits difficult to understand. How did a creature with that particular nervous twitch have such a good sense of smell? Nelson was a wonder in many ways, and more complex than his twitchy demeanor would lead one to believe.

  Bob tried to keep that complexity in mind as he steeled himself to pitch his case. “Just a little sniff. You can stay hidden, so the risk is minimal.”

  “The thought of becoming involved in one of your adventures gives me hives.” Nelson turned around in a circle, almost but not quite touching his corkscrew tail with his nose. “See? Right there: hives.” Another loud sneeze followed his pronouncement.

  “But you’d be veiled. And you’d be doing me a favor.”

  Nelson heaved out a great wheezing sigh. “The trouble you find, Bob. And your choice of home… I simply don’t understand.”

  “You live at ease in your home due to my human. Don’t forget that it was Jack who rid your attic of its nasty visitor.” Bob hoped his friend’s sense of duty would win out. He squinted at Nelson. Paralyzing fear or duty? Was the fearful guy wavering?

  “It’s a bad idea.” Nelson’s whiskers twitched. “What exactly would I be sniffing?”

  Bob hid his smile. “Nothing much. A little cat, maybe a third your size. And remember, you’d be hidden.”

  Nelson’s vibrating whiskers stilled and he cocked his head. Then his eyes narrowed. “Just a cat?”

  Bob had hoped for a gentler lead in, but… “A gryphon-cat.”

  Nelson let loose an explosive sneeze and his second set of teeth flashed. Like a nervous tick, Nelson’s extra teeth receded, flashed, and then receded again. This was going to take some time.

  Bob waited.

  In between breathless gasps, Nelson said, “Sharp beak. Nasty claws. Thief.” He practically spat the last word.

  Bob perked up. He’d forgotten Nelson had a history with gryphons. Two had snatched a favorite bauble from Nelson many years ago—but Nelson had a long memory for a slight.

  “Yes. I’ve had a rather interesting scavenge haul this week.”

  “Nasty, nasty beasties. They’ll steal your haul. In a minute, don’t you doubt it.”

  “But if you’ll come and take a sniff, maybe I can find out who this one is working for and put a stop to his shenanigans.” Bob assumed his most polite expression and waited.

  Nelson blinked. His skin quivered with uncertainty.

  Perhaps it had been too much to ask.

  But then Nelson surprised them both. “Yes. Yes. It’s the right thing. Yes, but we have to go now. And stay hidden. And far away.”

  As fearful of sharp claws and razor beaks as Nelson was, apparently his sense of fair play was stronger. The knowledge that Bob’s fairly acquired shiny objects were the target of a sneaky, thieving gryphon might have triggered an asthmatic fit, but justice had beaten it back. Bob grinned. The heart of a lion encased within the sneezing, wheezing, twitching skin of a scared little Arkan Sonney. That was Nelson.

  And so Bob and Nelson returned to The Junk Shop and lurked, hidden from human and gryphon, waiting for a prime sniffing opportunity.

  Bob peered through the vent high in the wall of Jack’s office when he heard the door open. “Nelson.” He nudged his sleeping friend.

  “Hmm?” Nelson shoved himself closer to the wall and squeezed his eyes shut.

  Nelson put Bob’s ability to sleep anywhere, anytime to shame.

  Bob poked him harder. “Wake up. Our target’s in the office.”

  When Bob and Nelson had arrived at The Junk Shop, the supposedly timid little cat was out in the public area of the shop. With Marin gone for the day, Jack was manning the register. Bob couldn’t help but note that the gryphon had chosen a day when Marin was away to attempt his infiltration. Marin would have spotted the creature as easily as he had.

  Nelson snuffled sleepily, but at least he wasn’t sneezing.

  “Ha-chew!”

  Bob sighed. Good thing they were working in stealth and undetectable by all but the most magically sensitive. Nelson couldn’t sneak outside of a magical veil to save his nervous, sneezing hide.

  Bob pointed his muzzle in the direction of the vent, but Nelson shook his head, refusing to approach the mesh barrier. He did finally stand up and sniff the air from several feet away. His nose twitched. He sniffed again. Then his eyes widened. “Kelpie.”

  Bob growled. “Penelope.”

  Nelson backed away from the vent cover, shaking his head. “Don’t know Penelope.” He kept backing away until he vanished, likely back to his home in the charity shop attic.

  Bob couldn’t blame him. Kelpie were difficult, and frequently nasty, creatures. Nelson was likely quivering all the way home. Bob would arrange a proper thank you for Nelson once the gryphon-kelpie incursion was resolved.

  As nasty as kelpie were, there was a bright side to discovering Pen was involved. Bob now had a very good idea which item the gryphon had come to steal. And he also knew why the creature had infiltrated the shop rather than simply taking what he wanted.

  While a gryphon was certain to thieve, a Kelpie might. Penelope had no moral qualms when it came to theft, but she was bound by arcane rules that limited her actions in certain circumstances. In this instance, stealing would put her at odds with the ocean, an old nemesis of the fresh water kelpies.

  She was after the bracelet. His shiny, pretty bauble, touched first by the sea, and then found on her sandy shores. It had sparkled in the sun atop a bed of sand, waiting for Bob to find it. His pretty, shiny bauble had been a beautiful gift from the sea. Penelope would never dare steal a gift given by the sea. Not outright.

  But winning it? That was an entirely different story. If Penelope could win his shiny bauble, through fair means or trickery, he didn’t doubt she would.

  Bob drooped. Kelpies and the sea, with their arguments that were old as time, reminded him of home. When Bob was a little pup still living on the Isle, he’d heard stories: lightning was the sea striking at a wayward kelpie and thunder was the kelpie’s cry of pain.

  He puffed out his hair. He lived in Texas now. There was no room for homesickness in his life of adventures and scavenges. And Jack needed him.

  He paused as a question coalesced: Could the kelpie witch not simply have purchased the bauble from the shop?

  Bob snorted. Not now, she couldn’t. His territory had been invaded. Lines of demarcation crossed. A filthy creature ingratiated itself with his human. No evil beastie would win his shiny bauble.

  Just as Bob’s righteous indignation had reached truly towering heights, the gryphon slunk off in its cat form to pee in the corner of the office—two feet away from the litter box Jack had provided.

  Bob’s hair puffed out, stiffening into sharp needles. He had to find that bracelet—and get rid of that cat.

  Bob groaned.

  Jack had found the bracelet.

  The cat-gryphon had to be at fault.

  Bob couldn’t imagine why Jack had processed the stack of inventory
where he’d stashed the bracelet today of all days. There was no logical reason other than that vile cat’s influence.

  But Jack had certainly found it; he was cleaning the shiny bauble now.

  When Jack took a toothbrush to the bracelet, Bob swallowed a squeaky protest. The metal was hard, and the clear stones sturdy, but the tiny green stones were soft. Bob cringed as Jack scrubbed away at the delicate stones.

  But now wasn’t the time to fuss over little details. Bob needed a moment alone with Jack, because the solution to the gryphon problem was startlingly simple. Bob knew what the beastie wanted and that the bracelet had to be given willingly, so all he had to do was convince Jack to boot the interloper.

  The gryphon might not be able to detect Bob’s location beyond the veil he’d constructed, but it didn’t matter because the cat clung to Jack like a needy little black bundle of fur.

  So Bob waited while Jack finished damaging the shiny bracelet.

  And Bob waited some more while Jack dug through a box of newly acquired inventory.

  Bob waited some more while Jack locked up the shop and headed into his office for a lunch break.

  And that’s when fate smiled.

  Jack got a whiff of cat urine, found the spot where the gryphon had rather unwisely sprayed in the corner of the office, and sent the mangy beast out into the main area of the shop.

  He was pulling cleaning supplies from under the bathroom sink when Bob stepped through the veil.

  Jack stood up suddenly and banged his head on the counter.

  He set aside the gloves and spray bottle of cleaner he’d been retrieving and rubbed his head. “Hey, Bob. You’ve been scarce today. Is it the cat?”

  Bob couldn’t believe his luck. He nodded vigorously.

  “I doubt Marin will be a fan, so he won’t be here for long.” Jack glanced at the corner of the office. “Not long at all, if the pee thing doesn’t stop.”