The Case of the Kamikaze Cat
by Fiona L. Woods
"Lori, as long as you're going to the bank for me anyway, please take Panzer for his walk," my Granny Gladys said.
"Oh, Granny," I protested. "You know how Mr. Barlow at the bank feels about Panzer."
Panzer hates everybody except Granny. He attacks anything that moves. Whether it's big or small, it's fair game for him. Granny calls him Panzer like the German Panzer divisions during World War II. Mr. Barlow calls him Kamikaze Cat.
"Mr. Barlow doesn't understand Panzer like we do," Granny said, stroking the purring black cat on her lap. "It's not Panzer's fault he mistook Mr. Barlow's shoelaces for carpet snakes the last time you were at the bank."
"Oh, all right," I said, smiling at the memory of Granny's carpet snakes, which were a holdover from sixteen years ago when I was five and walked around with my shoelaces untied and dragging on the floor. After all, how much trouble could Panzer cause on a warm, sunny spring day? I thought. Most people would be wearing sandals anyway.
Mr. Barlow, the bank manager, frowned at me as I walked into the bank, tugging Panzer by the leash on his harness. Mr. Barlow left his position by the door and went straight to his desk. I smiled apologetically.
Taking a tight grip on the leash, I pulled the cat to the end of the deposit line. "Please, just behave," I whispered. Panzer looked around at all the shoes and crouched with his tail switching, ready to pounce as soon as one got close enough. I took a tighter grip on the leash.
I looked toward the front of the line, hoping I wouldn't have to wait too long. The man at the head of the line waiting for the next teller appeared to be in as much of a hurry as me. Anxiously, he moved back and forth from one foot to the other.
Although the man seemed to be studying his deposit slip, I could see him nervously checking out the bank lobby from under the brim of his baseball cap. I really felt sorry for the poor guy. He had the worst toupee I'd ever seen. Believe me, in my line of work as a private investigator I've seen some bad hairpieces, but his was the worst.
The line stretched almost to the door with eight of us waiting. The man at the head of the line stepped out of line and walked over to the counter by the wall. He pulled a pen from the pocket in his ski jacket. He wrote on his deposit slip as though changing it.
Each time the line moved forward, Panzer would growl as I pulled him along. Everyone seemed to be watching me, except the man at the counter by the wall. He was doing his best to ignore the ruckus. Probably trying to keep from laughing, I thought, as I saw him glance at Mr. Barlow.
After the line had inched forward so I would be next at the teller's window, the man in the baseball cap stepped in line behind me. I turned and smiled at him, but he didn't look at me. "Would you like to cut in front of me?" I asked. "You were at the beginning of the line."
"No," he grumbled, keeping his head down so I couldn't see his face.
When the teller said, "Can I help you?" I dragged Panzer up to her window. He growled and hissed, but seemed content just to make a lot of noise and not to chew on my ankles.
When the teller handed me my deposit receipt, I turned and started dragging Panzer to the door. He started chewing on the leash and pulled backwards until he pushed against the man who had been in line behind me. My purse and its contents fell on the floor and the man dropped his deposit slip.
As I started picking my things up off the floor, I picked up the deposit slip. The man pushed me aside and grabbed the slip out of my hand.
"Excuse me," I said as Panzer pulled on the leash again and I let him jerk me against the man's legs. As he stumbled over me, the man dropped his deposit slip among the fallen things from my purse again.
I picked up the deposit slip from the floor. I quickly read it a second time. In neatly printed letters it said, Give me the money. I held it out to the man. He grabbed it.
As he started to turn away, I let go of Panzer's leash. The cat grabbed the man's shoelaces with his teeth. The cat wrapped his front paws around the man's legs and started clawing with his back paws. With a howl the man began jumping up and down trying to dislodge Panzer from his leg.
"It's a robbery," I hollered at Mr. Barlow. He was just standing there with his mouth open.
Tackling the robber by the knees, I looked up at Mr. Barlow's ashen face. I tried to get him to help me again. "Push the silent alarm!" Mr. Barlow stood there as if his shoes were nailed to the floor.
One of the tellers screamed, "I did it!"
* * *
"I can't believe I didn't spot that he was going to rob the bank," Mr. Barlow said after the police had left with the would-be robber.
"Always be on the lookout for men wearing bad toupees," I said.
Eyeing Mr. Barlow's shoelaces, Panzer pulled on his leash and growled. "Leave Mr. Barlow alone," I said, taking a tighter grip on the leash.
"You and Kamikaze Cat can come in here any time you want," Mr. Barlow said. "I'll just start wearing loafers."
THE END
Fiona L. Woods lives in the Pacific Northwest with her cat Panzer. This story was first published in the November 2005 online issue of “Crime and Suspense.” Contact Fiona.
