The Cat Did It

A bushy haired man named Branson was sitting up on his faded couch that proudly wore the scars of a glorified scratching post. Sitting on the other side of his smoke glass end table were two detectives donning drab grey suits. Their badges were the only colorful part of their attire, perched on their belts next to the spare magazine. One of the detectives, who identified herself as Detective Fraser, was rifling through her bag to grab some photos. The other detective, Detective Peck, sat back in his seat and snuck a peek at his coworker's ass. Branson could see the interest, but he never thought a detective would be so unprofessional in his presence. Detective Peck looked back at Branson and winked at him, before sitting forward.

"Mr. Stairfield, we are here to ask you a few questions about your cat," Detective Fraser said, with a stack of photos and drawings in her hand. 

Branson cocked his head. "My cat?"

"Yes, sir. Recently we had a string of vandalisms and robberies where we have caught all the suspects."

"Okay…" Branson said, unsure where they were going with this.

"All of them had the same story. They told us a cat told them to do it."

"They sound crazy."

"We would agree, but they all gave us the same description of the cat," Detective Peck said.

Detective Fraser laid out a few of the photos and drawings, all depicting a black cat with red eyes and fur that stood on end. Branson took a brief glance at them before looking back at Detective Fraser. 

"Your neighbor said you have a black cat," Detective Fraser said. 

"Well, my neighbor is a liar! It shouldn't take a detective to know that. Who told you?"

"Alice Fletcher. Lives a few doors down," Detective Peck said. Both detectives sat at the end of their seats, surprised by Branson's hostility. 

"Alice Fletcher is a loon. And a little…" Branson trailed off, noticing the detectives were starting to take more interest in him. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, I just get worked up when her name comes up. She is always trying to get me in trouble."

"We aren't accusing you of any crimes, Mr. Stairfield. We are simply looking for some cooperation in our case."

"I thought you said you arrested everyone?" 

"We did. The problem is we recently had a murder and the suspect in that case explicitly mentioned a black cat told him to do it," Detective Fraser said, pointing to a picture of the cat. 

Branson looked between the two faces of the detectives. He knew what they were implying and he wasn't having any of it. 

"Do you think I did it? Is that why you're here?" Branson said, standing to his feet.

"We are not saying that sir…"

"You think I dress up as a cat and go brainwash people into committing crimes? You want to see my closet? Come on. I'll show you. No cat suits in there!" Branson almost yelled at them. 

"Please calm down, Mr. Stairfield," Detective Peck said. 

Branson waved his hands around. "Calm down? Why?"

"We just want to see your cat," Detective Fraser said.

"I told you, I don't have one!"

"Then why is your couch all ripped up?" Detective Peck questioned.

"I bought it second hand! Even comes with a permanent cat piss smell. Want a sniff?" Branson said, lifting up the cushion.

"And the litterbox?" Detective Peck asked, pointing to the grey box with kitty litter next to his grungy door.

"Came with the couch. Haven't had time to throw it."

Detective Fraser collected her photos and put them back in her bag. She shoved it into Detective Peck before he could lose his temper. She pulled a card out from her suit pocket. 

"I can see we came at a bad time. If you do see a black cat, please give me a call," she said, placing the card on the table.

Branson watched them both with steely eyes as they left his apartment. The door closed shut and Branson picked up the card on the table. It had her name, badge number and contact information as well as the case number on the back. He walked over to the kitchen and turned on the stovetop, leaving the card on top. 

From behind, a black cat scurried out of an adjacent room and jumped up on the couch. The cat meowed and Branson turned to face the cat. 

"You really fucked up this time," Branson said. The cat responded with a meow. Branson moved over to the window and opened it, letting in the fresh outside air. He looked down at the sidewalk that was three floors below him. The undercover looking police crustier was parked near the curb.

"They are getting too close. You need to fix your mess," Branson said, turning to face the cat. The cat jumped off the couch, ran toward Branson and jumped up on the window sill. It looked back at Branson and meowed one last time to him before jumping to the next window sill.

"And none of that loose end bullshit again," Branson called out to the cat that had already sprung to the last set of window sills. The cat landed on a railing which surrounded some green shrubs along the exterior wall.

The two detectives walked out of the building side by side and the cat balanced on the railing near them. It meowed, getting the attention of Detective Peck. He looked right at the cat before he grabbed Detective Fraser's ass. She turned to him and slapped him across the face. The cat meowed again. There was a brief pause where the detectives were either going to tear each other apart or kiss. Unfortunately, it was the former. They both drew their service weapons, but Detective Fraser was not hindered by the bag. Three shots rang out as she shot her partner twice in the chest and once in the head.

People across the street screamed and a car that was driving by screeched its tires, leaving smoke in its wake. The woman looked over to the cat and it meowed one last time. Another shot rang out and Detective Fraser collapsed to the floor over her partner. The cat looked up at Branson, who watched the whole ordeal unfold from the comfort of his window. He looked over to the card that went ablaze. The stovetop coils were red hot and the card shriveled up into nothing more than ash. Branson gave the cat a nod.

"Look what you made me do, Alice. Look what you made me do."