The Case Of The Missing Play: Part II

When last we met, Savoy had found something in the wardrobe department so shocking she nearly gave up tuna! 🙀

And what did she find, you may ask . . . ?

Yep, that’s right . . . The missing Patches!

*********

The next day, at the office, Savoy filled, the Kontinental Kat and myself, in.

“So, Patches was there all the time?” The Boss asked.

My tummy rumbled rather loudly and I made a few raucous retching noises but managed to keep my breakfast down, to everyone’s relief.

“Are you going to be okay?” Savoy gave me a wonderful look of concern.

I admit, the glance I returned to her was full of loving admiration.

She ignored my feeble mooning and answered the chubby, black cat’s question. “Yes. She’s been at the theatre the whole time. Patches didn’t want the Mounties after her. No criminal does.” Savoy reiterated Patches’ biggest fear.

“The RCMP don’t bother with petty crimes like local nip dealing. Those misdemeanours are up to Chief Inspector Magic and P. C. Pumpkin . . .” The Kontinental Kat explained.

I began to gag and hack again.

“ . . . The Mounties only deal with international hardened criminals and fraudsters. You know, internet hackers from Brazil and such.” The Boss furrowed his brows at me.

I, immediately, ceased hacking. I did not want the Mounties on my a** either.

“Not that kind of hacking, Dash. He means the vile, cat-hating, sheep of the South American country who have no scruples whatsoever.” Savoy explained.

There was a knock on the door and the Kontinental Kat motioned for us to hide under the desk once more. I was pleased to spend more ‘alone time’ with my Belovéd, as we dove for the safe space.

The door opened and the meow of Harvey Spielcat resonated throughout. “Have you got it yet?” He asked, his meow dripping with curiosity.

“We have. And you’ll be happy to know that all will return to normal forthwith.” The Kontinental Kat replied.

“Is it as good as it’s reported to be?” Mr. Spielcat wanted to know.

“What do you mean, ‘good’?” The Boss was confused.

“The play. The missing play that you found . . . Is it as good as they say? Will it save the festival?” Mr. Spielcat waited for an answer.

“Oh, you meant . . . ?”

I’d never seen the Kontinental Kat squirm (and honestly, since I was hiding under the desk, I technically wasn’t seeing him now) but his voice held that slightly panicked tone.

He continued, “I . . . I . . . haven’t had a read through as of yet. My agents are on it though.” The Boss seemed to be digging in deeper.

“Phew . . . I, really, thought I was going to have to sell the company to a trillionaire, lowlife, degenerate scumbag who thrives on nothing but a stroked ego and greed.” Mr. Spielcat wiped his forelock. “If things don’t pick up soon, I might have to go that route anyway.”

“That seems like a rather harsh solution.” The chubby, black cat observed.

“You’ll let me know when I can collect the script, won’t you?” The producer asked. He was laser-focused on his objective.

“Fear not. The Kontinental Kat Agency will get their man. Or in this case, ‘get the missing play’.” And with that the Boss escorted the client out of the office. He closed and locked the door. Then meowed, “What are we going to do? You two better find that missing play!”

Savoy and I crawled out from under the desk. I, immediately, let loose a giant nip-trifle hairball. I was still feeling the effects of the rehearsals for the play, ‘Trifle For Trifle’.

*********

We went back to the theatre and I entered the wardrobe department, to find Patches and Savoy beavering away with pen and paper.

“What are you two doing?” I asked.

“I’m about to light up. Care for a nip doobie?” Patches needed a rest. One giant inhale finished off her stogie and she promptly fell asleep.

“What’s going on, my Belovéd?” I turned to the love of my life.

“We’re writing a play.” Was the answer.

To meow that I was hurt, would be telling a lie. “Why didn’t you ask me to help? I’ve been known to wield a pen for the amusement of the world every now and then.” I blew my own horn. I had to have a seat as the fumes from Patches’ muscle relaxant affected my tummy. Outrageous noises emanated from my belly area.

Savoy noticed my discomfort and moved away from me. She continued to meow, “How about you write the missing play and I go in search of your poisoner?” She suggested.

This seemed like a terrific idea. How she came up with these things, had me stumped. I picked up the pen and got down to it. “Could you let Marilyn know, I’ve been detained.” I called over my shoulder as Savoy left the room.

*********

Savoy ended up in the orchestra pit. She knew Marilyn Meowroe was a flirt but why she focused on the grey and white cat, was a total mystery. Savoy heard the commotion before joining three cats. Marilyn and Sarah Furnhardt hissed at each other. They stood between the black, sackbutt player, Dancer. He grinned inanely at the hissing fit the two felines participated in. When the claws came out and the felines began rolling around on the floor, sending fur flying through the air, she finally reached them.

“Stay away from him, you hacking poisoner!” Marilyn hissed.

“He’s mine. I can poison whomever I like! You might be next!” Sarah yowled back.

Marilyn bunny-kicked Sarah until the older cat ran off. Marilyn stood up and her ears air-planed towards Dancer.

He shrugged his shoulders and laughed. “Kek . . . Kek . . . Kek . . . That was gnarly, Sheilas.”

Savoy interrupted and asked Marilyn, “Why did you call Sarah a ‘hacking poisoner’?”

Marilyn didn’t answer. She was too focused on the musician.

*********

Opening night for the play ‘Trifle For Trifle’ began without a hitch. The seats were packed and the audience was receptive. It wasn’t until Act II, Scene III where I had my big scene with Marilyn on the balcony. Ms. Davis and I acted our fur off but then disaster struck.

Right when I was in the midst of my speech about the evils of flirting, Marilyn let out a yowl and pitched herself from the balcony into the orchestra pit. From what I could see, she landed squarely on the horn soloist, taking out the sackbutt player!

The play came to a grinding halt. The curtain came down and calls of, ‘is there a vet in the house?’, thundered throughout the outdoor theatre.

Backstage, the Kontinental Kat found me and had me announce that we had to stop the production due to a serious injury to one of the musicians. The crowd dispersed.

*********

The next day, Savoy and I kept our eyes peeled at the theatre. After such an appalling opening night the Kontinental Kat wanted us to be on the spot for whatever developments were to commence.

Harvey Spielcat came into the theatre. He was visibly shaking.

“Oh, my Cat . . . We’ve had to return a ton of money! This cannot be happening!” He grasped his head with his paws and began to cry.

Patches, the wardrobe mistress, stepped forward and rubbed her head on his. “All may not be lost, Harvey.” She told him.

“How can you meow that? It’s a disaster.” He lamented.

“Maybe not. I was looking through some old costumes and found this . . .” Patches handed a play script to the producer.

Mr. Spielcat took it and wandered, slowly, off to his office. He threw it on his desk.

Savoy and I followed him. We could see, through a crack in the door, Mr. Spielcat in the office where a Muskrat sat beside Mr. Spielcat and his desk. Surrounding the Muskrat was a band of nefarious feral Santa Inêz, all of them hacking away at their iPads!

“Uh oh . . . This might be trouble.” Savoy observed.

The End!

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