Leann Sweeney - The Cat, The Professor and the Poison (Cats in trouble mystery)

The smallest feline is a masterpiece, I said, using a trembling finger to gently stroke the newborn kitten curled in the palm of my hand. And thats not me being brilliant. Those are Leonardo da Vincis words.

The Mona Lisa guy, right? my friend Candace said.

Yes, maam. An expert on masterpieces should know plenty about these wonderful babies, I said.

Look at you, Candace said. Your hand is shaking.

This is a big responsibility, I said.

Youre doing fine with these itty-bitty ones, she said. Better than I could do.

Tonight, here in the Mercy Animal Sanctuarys office, I definitely felt the full weight of the responsibility that shelter owner Shawn Cuddahee had bestowed on me. These four brown kittens entrusted to my care were preemies with a less-than-peppy mom. That meant tube feeding them every two hours, as well as caring for the weakened mama cat.

Though Shawn, who was spending all the daylight hours taking care of his shelter and these kittens, had taught me exactly what to do, I still feared I might make a mistake. Thats why Id asked Candace to spend the night shift with me-for moral support. Shed heard all the same instructions from Shawn and had taken notes, so she could help me make sure I did everything right. But as for hands-on assistance? Deputy Candace Carson of the Mercy, South Carolina, PD performed better with an attitude and a gun than with a litter of kittens.

She said, One more hour and we have to do another feeding. You did so good last time, Jillian.

Youre sure you dont want to give it a try? I said.

They all had nice fat bellies and fell right to sleep after you did the midnight feeding. Why mess with success? Her right eye twitched, and her voice was strained by what had to be her unease. The thought that she might have to do a feeding obviously made her more nervous than when shed stormed into my house last fall and taken a murderer into custody.

That week in October, when my Abyssinian was catnapped and I came face-to-face with a murderer, had changed me forever-and in ways I never wouldve imagined. Id moved to Mercy with my husband, John, whod been fourteen years older than I was, when he wanted to retire. But he died of a heart attack not long after we arrived. Now I made my living sewing little quilts for cats, a mostly online business and a very quiet job. Id thought my life was over when my husband died. But then Id gotten involved in a mystery and a murder, and by the end of it Id realized I had made new friends and was beginning a different life for myself.

Once the fireworks of the murder investigation ended, I began receiving e-mails from all over the country. Seems the story had reached the major news outlets. For some reason, folks have decided I can solve any mystery involving cats. So not true. I may be as curious as a cat, but I have no investigative training whatsoever. I responded to every e-mail to tell these desperate cat and dog lovers as much, but some remained persistent and have kept me updated about their lost animals. And of course they keep insisting that I can help them.

Putting those thoughts aside-the stories did tug at my heart-I said, Youre nervous about the feedings; I get that. I promise you dont have to do a thing except make sure we have enough coffee to keep us awake until six a.m. And I am running low. I lifted my Belles Beans travel cup. The last time Id stayed up all night on purpose was to cram for a college exam about twenty years ago.

Candace smiled with obvious relief. I can do coffee. That antique Mr. Coffee machine Allison insists on keeping has met its match. I will serve you awesome java.

Allison is Shawns wife and one of the sweetest people I have ever met. But Candace was right about the coffee-maker. I knew what to get them for their next anniversary.

Candace reached into her backpack and pulled out a small purple bag labeled STELLAR BREW. This is from the Organic Coffee Company. Bought it online. She stood and tiptoed over to the small table where the pot sat.

I set the sleeping kitten Id been holding next to its mothers tummy, and he never stirred. Though the office was small, the space heater did a less-than-adequate job of heating the place, and I didnt want him to get chilled. Despite the gorgeous spring day, the night had turned cool, and I was glad Id worn a sweatshirt. Id also brought a couple of cat quilts along, hoping to finish hand binding them, but the lighting was too poor for sewing. So both Candace and I had added to our own warmth by sitting on the quilts instead.

The kittens, of course, with their heated pallet and their mothers body, would be fine, temperature-wise. But the mama couldnt lick her kittens enough-Shawn wasnt sure why she was so weak-and every so often I stroked each one to keep its blood circulation adequate. I also had to rub their tummies with tissue after feeding to stimulate urination, another task the poor cat couldnt do regularly enough. She didnt seem to mind my help, but still, the babies looked so fragile, so breakable. I vowed not to make any errors tonight.

As Candace filled the Mr. Coffee with bottled water, Snug-thats Shawn and Allisons African Gray parrot-said, Put on the pot, Allison. Put on the pot.

Candace turned and stared up at his cage, which sat on a shelf close to the ceiling. Im not Allison, and Im not sure I like being ordered around by a bird. Shawn needs to have a talk with you about the word please, Mr. Snug.

Shawn should have a talk with himself if thats how he speaks to Allison, I said with a laugh.

She pointed at me. Thats a better idea.

The mother cat mewed pathetically, and I reached into the box and stroked her head. This sweetheart was fortunate to have been dropped at Shawns doorstep right before she delivered.