For A Cure

"SHERLOCK HOLMES!"

Any time Mrs. Hudson says someone's name like that, it's a good indication that she's upset about something. I knew she must be very angry this time, for she usually referred to the investigator as "Mr. Holmes" instead of using his first name.

"What troubles you, Mrs. Hudson?" he inquired.

She crossed her arms and pointed to something. "Being the clever detective that you are, sir, perhaps you'd care to explain what that horrid THING is doing on my table!"

Mr. Holmes examined the object in question. "It's naught but a deceased rodent. Is that any cause for such agitation?"

"It's on my table!" she reminded him. "How did it get there?"

"You do have a cat," he responded nonchalantly. "Think you perhaps…?"

"Nonsense! She would never do such a thing! She always takes mice outside, where they belong, before she disposes of them! Besides, she's too well-mannered to walk on furniture!"

I nearly laughed. Mrs. Hudson clearly had no idea how many nights Felicia had slept in chairs or that she had managed to succeed in climbing the tree that the humans had decorated last Christmas.

"Have you considered that your feline companion may be somewhat less than a professional at executing rodents?" Mr. Holmes queried.

"She catches mice well enough! I've seen her do it!"

Mrs. Hudson had a point. Felicia was the expert mouser: She would chase and capture any mouse seen running across the floor, put the creature into her mouth, step outside, and spit the mouse out with a frown, silently scolding the rodent for making her look bad. From what I hear, she used to do something different with the mice when she still lived with Ratigan, but with Basil's nemesis gone forever, Felicia's come a long way as far as reformation.

"If I may be permitted to share my thoughts on the matter…" Dr. Watson began tentatively.

Mrs. Hudson frowned slightly. "Yes?"

"We know the cat is doing her best to keep the mice out of our home, but it occurs to me there's only one of her, and who knows how many rodents may be scampering about? Perhaps if we were to set a few traps, we could assist her in ending our rodent problem."

After considering the situation, Mr. Holmes answered, "Your compromise is rather plausible, Doctor, but I cannot bring myself to accept the conclusion that we have an infestation of myriads of small creatures. Have you heard scampering within the walls or any manner of squealing by night? We may have a few vermin, yet as there would appear to be no blatant vestiges, save for the creature on the table, I sincerely doubt Mrs. Hudson's cat is overwhelmed by a large number of rodents."

"At any rate, we should allow her to dispose of it."

Mr. Holmes nodded, and Dr. Watson opened the door and threw the dead mouse outside. Felicia immediately hurried out, and I followed.

As soon as the humans shut the door, the cat sadly shook her head. "This poor fellow died of some kind of disease! I can tell he didn't have any poison, and he isn't injured at all. It was a sudden illness."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"Toby, I've lived with criminals. I know how to determine a cause of death. As is the case with many mice, this poor soul thought he should raid a human home for something to eat. However, he failed to realize how sick he really was, and he died before he had the chance to find food."

"Do you think he's contagious?"

"We should see what Dawson has to say," she replied, rapping at Basil's door. "I only hope we don't have an epidemic."

The housekeeper answered. "Yes?"

Although we domestic animals don't usually make a habit of speaking in front of mice, we still find ways to communicate with them. We gestured to the dead mouse, and Mrs. Judson promised to see that Basil investigated the matter.

When Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson were out investigating a case later that afternoon, Basil came to speak with us. He seemed worried, and I wondered if we were facing the beginning of a murder case.

"The poor chap you brought to my door appears to have met his untimely demise due to some manner of illness, for which there is currently no known cure."

I ignored Felicia's "I told you so!" glance.

"Dawson fears the worst," Basil continued. "If he cannot be of assistance in some manner, he fears the disease could develop into a pandemic throughout the empire, quite possibly infecting even humans, although cats are apparently immune to the malady."

For the longest time after he left, we were silent.

"You may have to start eating mice again," I commented.

Felicia's eyes widened in horror. "What?!"

"If you eat the sick mice, the disease won't spread. You'll actually be a hero. Think of all the lives you'll save by disposing of those who are going to die anyway."

"I hate you, Toby."

The next day, we were walking through the park when a mouse approached us.

"Cat, will you please eat me before I catch the sickness that my neighbor has?" the mouse begged. "It would be more merciful."

Felicia frowned.

"Or if you would just eat my neighbor before the illness spreads and kills my children, I would be willing to sacrifice my life if you ever want to eat another mouse later."

The world's worst criminal cat began beating her head against the nearest tree a few times.

"That does it!" she announced as soon as we got back home. "We end this now! I'm finding a cure for this before anyone else mistakes me for a mouser! The Pied Piper of Hamelin be my witness; I swear it on Bartholomew's grave!"

I was frightened. It sounded like Madame Melodrama had finally gone mad. Before I could stop her, she had managed to pry open Dr. Watson's black bag and scatter the contents all over the floor. The door opened, and the humans stepped inside the flat before I could figure out the reason for the cat's actions.

Dr. Watson gasped at the sight. I couldn't tell what he was muttering under his breath, but I don't think it was the national anthem. Mr. Holmes stared at us. For the briefest moment, I thought I saw him trying to hide a slightly amused grin.

He became more serious. "Mrs. Hudson? Might I have a word with you?"

Mrs. Hudson entered the room. "Yes, Mr. Holmes?" She noticed the tools and medications on the floor. "What has your dog done this time?!"

"I believe Toby to be innocent. Your cat is the true culprit," Mr. Holmes responded.

She gasped. "My poor kitty!" She scooped up Felicia and held her close. "I only hope she hasn't accidentally swallowed anything that could harm her!"

"From what I can gather, nothing seems to be missing," Dr. Watson commented. "I'll keep an eye on her to make sure." He began picking up the items on the floor and putting them back into his bag. "This task brings to mind the dead mouse we found on the table earlier. Certain physicians have informed me that they've had to tend a few patients who have developed an illness from mice that invaded their homes. The cure is surprisingly simple enough." He described what human doctors had been doing for their patients, how the disease could be cured, and what steps could be taken to prevent the sickness in the first place.

That was the moment I understood. Felicia had been trying to find a way to make Dr. Watson discuss the malady, the same disease that was claiming the lives of so many mice. Human society is more advanced than rodent society in many ways, so the cat had been trying to find out if humans had discovered a cure for the ailment.

After the humans had fallen asleep for the evening, Felicia found a scrap of paper and wrote everything that Dr. Watson had mentioned about the illness. She used her smallest penmanship and signed it "Bennett."

"It was the name of Dawson's friend in medical school," she explained. "With any luck, Dawson will believe the note came from him. I hope it helps save lives before the disease spreads too much."

"I'm ashamed I didn't think of a way to get the information," I confessed. "After all, I work for two detectives."

She nearly laughed. "Of course you weren't the one to think of it, dog! This job involved risking disapproval from authorities by purposely breaking rules, espionage in the form of casual eavesdropping, and forgery! It is not the kind of case a detective solves! It is work for a former criminal!"

"I guess since you found a way to avoid reverting back to your old habits of eating mice, you aren't going to be obese again like you were when you first came to live here."

Felicia rolled her eyes. "The only reason I'd ever allow myself to gain weight now is if I had a good reason."

"Like what?"

The cat thought a moment. "Perhaps if I were with issue."

"What kind of issue?"

She stared at me like I was an idiot. "You know…in the family way? Blessed? Expecting a visit from the stork? With child? In a delicate condition?"

"I still don't get it."

"Never mind. I have to slip this paper under Basil's door so Dawson can read it as soon as he wakes up tomorrow."

When she finished her errand, Felicia curled up on her favorite cushion. "May you have nightmares even worse than the terrors you experience by day."

I frowned. "Who says 'good night' like that?!"

"Ratigan's former henchmen." She yawned. "Sleep behind bars."

"Does that mean 'pass out drunk behind a tavern' or 'go to sleep and wake up in jail the next morning'?"

"You're about one question away from a good night kiss, sleuth!"

I had a feeling the cat was bluffing. I don't think Felicia wanted to kiss me good night any more than I wanted her to do so, but an intelligent investigator never underestimates the cunning cruelty of a former felon, so I settled down and went to sleep.