The Case of the Missing Birddog. John R. Erickson

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      Do I dare give out the identity of the stranger who had arrived at the office? Maybe it wouldn’t hurt. Okay, it was Pete, our local cat. Mister Lurk in the Iris Patch. Mister Kitty Moocher.

      When I saw him lurking there, just outside the office, I whirled around to Drover and whispered, “Shhh! Not another word. We’re being watched. I don’t want any of this to go outside the Security Division.”

      “It’s only Pete.”

      “Drover, I’m aware that it’s only Pete, and that’s the whole point. He doesn’t belong to the Security Division and we don’t want him listening while we discuss our internal problems.”

      “Oh, okay. What’s our problem?”

      I glared into the emptiness of his eyes. “The problem is YOU.”

      “I’ll be derned. That’s my problem too.”

      “Of course it is, and that’s my whole point, but we can’t talk about it in front of the cat.” I shot a glance over at the cat . . . and was astonished to see that he was . . . chewing his paw. I dropped my whisp to a voister. My voice to a whisper, I should say. “Do you see what I see? The cat is chewing his paw, Drover, and all at once I’m beginning to wonder . . .”

      Kack-kack-kack.

      That was Drover. He was chewing his foot again. My probing gaze dashed from Pete to Drover and back to Pete. Do you see what was going on? They were both licking and chewing their respective paws. Even more mysterious was the fact that they were both chewing and licking their left front paws.

      All at once these two seemingly unrelated actions began to form themselves into a hazy pattern. Something was going on here and I had to get to the bottom of it. I left Drover to his absurd foot-chewing and made my way over to the cat.

      Pete wasn’t looking at me. He had no idea what was going on around him, and you know what? He seldom did know what was going on around him, because he was a cat—a smug, arrogant, greedy little creature who happened to be just a little . . . dumb.

      I’m sorry, but there’s no nicer way of putting it.

      Yes, he was just a dumb little ranch cat, and he had no hint that I had just stumbled upon a very odd clooster of clugs . . . cluster of clues, shall we say . . . that seemed to be pulling me into a new and possibly dangerous investigation.

      I put on a blank face that revealed nothing, and strolled over to him. “Good morning, Pete. How’s the weather?”

      His eyes popped open, and he stopped chewing his paw. “Well, Hankie! I didn’t realize I was standing right outside your office, and I certainly wasn’t listening to what you were saying.”

      “I know all that, Pete, and we needn’t repeat the obvious.” It suddenly occurred to me that I had just made a little play on words. “Pete and repeat. Heh. A little humor there.”

      The cat blinked his eyes. “I don’t get it.”

      “Fine. Never mind. We don’t have time for you to ‘get it,’ as you call it. I’m a very busy dog.” I glanced over both shoulders. “I, uh, noticed that you were chewing your paw just now. Is there some reason for that?”

      “Well, Hankie, I’m sure there is, because there’s a reason for everything, isn’t there?”

      Again, I glanced around to be sure we weren’t being observed. “Yes. But how did you know that?”

      “Well, Hankie, I guess it was just a shot in the dark. You know what they say about a blind hog.”

      “Exactly. A blind hog eats no bacon.”

      He grinned up at me. “No, no, Hankie. ‘Even a blind hog finds an acorn now and then.’”

      “Oh yes, that one, but don’t try to change the subject, Kitty. I want to know about the paw. I saw you licking it and I want to know why. No more stalling. Out with it.”

      “My goodness, Hankie, you seem very serious about this. Is something wrong?”

      I checked over my shoulders again. “At this point we’re not sure, and if we were sure, I couldn’t tell you. All I can say is that we’re checking out a couple of leads.”

      “A couple of . . . whats?”

      “Leads. Clues. Trends. Things that don’t quite add up.”

      He let out a gasp. “Oh my, so it could be something serious?”

      “I’m not at liberty to discuss our work, Pete. Just answer the question and move along. Tell me about the paw.”

      “The paw. Well, I have two paws in the front and two in the back.”

      “Yes? Go on. There’s more, Pete. I want it all. Why were you chewing your left front paw?”

      His eyes widened. “Ohhhhh! So that’s it. Hankie, I’m amazed that you noticed.”

      I gave him a worldly smirk. “See? I knew there was something here, I knew it. And for your information, Kitty, I notice everything. Now stop trying to wiggle out of my interrogation. Answer the question.”

      Suddenly his eyes became very . . . hmmm . . . very secretive and cunning, and now he was the one who was glacing over his shoulders. He probably thought I didn’t notice, but he was very wrong.

      He moved closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. “So you know about the moon?”

      “The moon? You mean that it’s made of cheese? Of course I know it, Pete. Astrolomy is one of my fields of interest.”

      “No, I mean the phases of the moon, Hankie. When the moon reaches a certain phase, it causes cats and dogs to . . . chew their paws.”