Nancy J. Bailey - Furry Murder 01 - My Best Cat Read Online Free Page A

though it was Hospitality’s job, whenever I got the chance, I would run and fetch their cola or coffee.
    “You are so thoughtful!” they would say.  The men, that is.  The women were generally a little harder to sell.  I could usually get to them, though, by finding out whatever kind of cats they had bred.  All the judges were breeders, or had been at some point.  If I started taking an interest in their breed of choice, and asking them lots of questions, they would sort of forget themselves and defenses would come down.  This happened especially if I acted like a prospective buyer.
    If a judge made a joke to the spectators while he was judging, I would be sure to laugh.  I naturally had a very loud and infectious laugh.  Sometimes I could time it just right if I knew the joke was coming.  I would take a sip of water from my bottle, and then when the judge made the joke I would lean forward and spray the water out, as if I couldn’t help it.  I was, of course, careful not to wet the cats.  I would then clap my hand over my mouth and look embarrassed.   The judges loved this. 
    In “Ten Ways To Influence Anyone,” I also learned to imitate someone’s body language.  If a judge leaned on the table with one hand, I would casually lean the same way, either on the same hand, or if I was standing across from him, I would mirror his movement.  If he scratched his nose, I would scratch mine too, or make some less obvious motion toward my face.  This was supposed to bond the person with you, a subliminal language telling them that you are like them, sort of a kindred spirit.  I wasn’t sure how well this one worked, but I kept using it just in case.
    While I did the ring work, Jack took care of Baloo.  He groomed him and he put a nice sheen on his coat with Bay Rum.  We’d had an attack of ringworm in the cattery during the past winter.  I thought that was going to slow us down.  But I had a secret weapon – a Baloo duplicate!  Mowgli, his brother.  Mowgli actually had better clarity than Baloo but his color was not as intense.  Still, they looked similar enough.  Mowgli was a year older, but from the same breeding.  He didn’t have the same happy show attitude, and sometimes got a little grumpy with the judges.  He would get all hunched on the judge’s table.  They would shake toys to try to get him to show off a little, but he would just sit there with his ears kind of flattened.  I gave him Valarian Root to calm him, but it didn’t seem to help any.
    Fortunately, by this time a lot of the judges knew me, and remembered Baloo.  “He’s having an off day,” I would explain as I carried Mowgli past.  For added emphasis, as I placed him in the judging ring cage, I would talk to Mowgli. “Okay, Baloo, you be good, Mr. Man!”
    And even with his attitude, sometimes they would still call him up for their top ten finals.  That’s where the real points were.
    Jack didn’t approve of me switching the two cats, and showing Mowgli under Baloo’s name.  But it was only for a couple of months until the scaly ringworm spots were healed and Baloo’s hair had grown back.  It was early in the season too, so the points were not as essential as they were now.  I told Jack to keep his mouth shut, and he did.  We didn’t always get along, but we were a team.  Period.

Chapter Four
    Wesley Taft
    Thursday Morning
     
    “The thief is here,” Max muttered.
    I looked up and saw her.  It was six months after she had taken Rusty from us, and Roxanne was still strutting around the show halls like nothing had happened.  She walked right by with her chin in the air, as if we were invisible.
    “Did you see that simper on her face?” I whispered.
    “Hold her up,” Max instructed.  He was combing our Japanese Bobtail.  She had a remarkably thick coat, even though she was a shorthaired cat.  Her hair lay close against her body, but sometimes her britches tangled and she didn’t like the comb