The Cat Who Had 14 Tales

When the man reappeared he was carrying a bulky load, which he took to the library window. Then he crept to the third floor, and there were muffled sounds in the bedroom. Phut Phat licked his nose in apprehension.

Now the man reappeared, following a pool of blue light. As he approached the armoire, Phut Phat shifted his feet, bracing himself against something invisible. He felt a powerful compulsion to attack, and yet a fearful dismay.

“Get him!” commanded a savage impulse within him.

“Stay!” warned the fright throbbing in his head.

“Get him! . . . Now . . . now . . . . . . NOW!”

Phut Phat sprang at the man’s head, ripping with razor claws wherever they sank into flesh.

The hideous scream that came from the intruder was like an electric shock; it sent Phut Phat sailing through space—up the stairs—into the bedroom—under the bed.

For a long time he quaked uncontrollably, his mouth parched and his ears inside-out with horror at what had happened. There was something strange and wrong about it, although its meaning eluded him. Waiting for time to heal his confusion, he huddled there in darkness and privacy. Blood soiled his claws. He sniffed with distaste and finally was compelled to lick them clean.

He did it slowly and with repugnance. Then he tucked his paws under his warm body and waited.

When ONE and TWO came home, he sensed their arrival even before the taxicab door slammed. He should have bounded to meet them, but the experience had left him in a daze, quivering internally, weak and unsure. He heard the rattle of the front door lock, feet climbing the stairs, and the click of the light switch in the room where he waited in bewilderment under the bed.

ONE gasped, then shrieked. “John! Someone’s been in this room. We’ve been robbed!”

TWO’s voice was incredulous. “How do you know?”

“My jewel case! Look! It’s open—and empty!”

TWO threw open a closet door. “Your furs are still here, Helen. What about money? Did you have any money in the house?”

“I never leave money around. But the silver! What about the silver? John, go down and see. I’m afraid to look . . . No! Wait a minute!” ONE’s voice rose in panic. “Where’s Phut Phat? What happened to Phut Phat?”

“I don’t know,” said TWO with alarm. “I haven’t seen him since we came in.”

They searched the house, calling his name—unaware, with their limited senses, that Phut Phat was right there under the bed, brooding over the upheaval in his small world, and now and then licking his claws.

When at last, crawling on their hands and knees, they spied two eyes glowing red under the bed, they drew him out gently. ONE hugged him with a rocking embrace and rubbed her face, wet and salty, on his fur, while TWO stood by, stroking him with a heavy hand. Comforted and reassured, Phut Phat stopped trembling. He tried to purr, but the shock had contracted his larynx.

ONE continued to hold Phut Phat in her arms—and he had no will to jump down—even after two strange men were admitted to the house. They asked questions and examined all the rooms.

“Everything is insured,” ONE told them, “but the silver is irreplaceable. It’s old and very rare. Is there any chance of getting it back, Lieutenant?” She fingered Phut Phat’s ears nervously.

“At this point it’s hard to say,” the detective said, “but you may be able to help us. Have you noticed any strange incidents lately? Any unusual telephone calls?”

“Yes,” said ONE. “Several times recently the phone has rung, and when we answered it, no one was there.”

“That’s the usual method. They wait until they know you’re not at home.”

ONE gazed into Phut Phat’s eyes. “Did the phone ring tonight while we were out, Phuffy?” she asked, shaking him lovingly. “If only Phut Phat could tell us what happened! He must have had a terrifying experience. Thank heaven he wasn’t harmed.”

Phut Phat raised his paw to lick between his toes, still defiled with human blood.

“If only Phuffy could tell us who was here!”

Phut Phat paused with toes spread and pink tongue extended. He stared at ONE’s forehead.

“Have you folks noticed any strangers in the neighborhood?” the lieutenant was asking. “Anyone who would arouse suspicion?”

Phut Phat’s body tensed, and his blue eyes, brimming with knowledge, bored into that spot above ONE’s eyebrows.

“I can’t think of anyone. Can you, John?”

TWO shook his head.

“Poor Phuffy,” said ONE. “See how he stares at me; he must be hungry. Does Phuffy want a little snack?”

The cat squirmed.

“About those bloodstains on the windowsill,” said the detective. “Would the cat attack anyone viciously enough to draw blood?”

“Heavens, no!” said ONE. “He’s just a pampered little house pet. We found him hiding under the bed, scared stiff.”

“And you’re sure you can’t remember any unusual incident lately? Has anyone come to the house who might have seen the silver or jewelry? Repairman? Window washer?”

“I wish I could be more helpful,” said ONE, “but honestly, I can’t think of a single suspect.”

Phut Phat gave up!