For A Cloth

I made no protest as the baby mouse began chewing on my ear. The parents had asked Basil to watch the infant for the day, but as he didn't care for children, he had immediately placed the young mouse in our care, for we considered the baby to be our own nephew.

"The humans are gone," Felicia remarked. "Watch this." Carefully holding the baby, she stood before the nearest mirror.

Our nephew stared in fascination at his own reflection. Who was that other baby, and how had he appeared out of nowhere? He started cooing and laughing at the baby in the mirror.

"Your Uncle Bartholomew would have loved to see this." The cat smiled. "You look so much like him! Before he started drin…before he started that bad habit of his...he used to have kind eyes and a sincere smile, like yours."

Unlike human infants, mouse babies are able to climb at an early age. We had to keep a close eye on the little one. Once he managed to crawl into the bowl of Mr. Holmes's pipe. Not long afterwards, he was near some sort of flask on the counter before we managed to stop him.

We always enjoyed spending time with our nephew, but not everyone who visited Baker Street had good news. One evening, a mouse limped up to Basil's door, nearly trembling as he knocked.

The investigator frowned as he opened the door. "Yes?"

"Innocent citizens are in danger," the injured mouse answered.

"Do come inside, and we shall discuss it further."

"Thank you, Mr. Basil." The mouse followed him inside the flat.

Dawson's eyes widened when he saw the visitor. "My dear sir, you really should consider…"

"Medical assistance is for mice with money," the visitor interrupted.

"If you would like, I could have a look at your wounds and see if I can be of service. There shall be no charge."

For a moment, the visitor was stunned. "You don't have to go through all that trouble, Doctor."

"No trouble at all," Dawson replied. "I am always willing to help a mouse in need."

"If you're sure…"

"Absolutely."

The mouse smiled. "I should be most grateful for your help, sir."

I could hardly believe what happened next. While Dawson worked, his patient kept still and made as few complaints as possible. Afterwards, he thanked the doctor again, telling him how much he appreciated his assistance. I can't remember the last time any of Dawson's patients were actually cooperative. For some reason, the poor mouse seems cursed with the horrible luck of having the most ungrateful patients in the empire.

For example, there was once a mouse who was bleeding to death. Dawson offered to tend the wounds, and the mouse refused, claiming he was unscathed. The mouse eventually became unconscious from blood loss and the pain of his injuries, and Dawson took care of him, even though he feared it was already too late. When the mouse woke up the next morning, he wasn't at all grateful that the physician saved his life; he was upset with the doctor for treating the wounds. However, if you ask Basil about any of this, he'll deny everything.

Anyway, when Dawson finished taking care of his most recent patient, Basil asked the purpose for the visitor's arrival.

"Can you stop whoever's doing this?" The mouse handed him a small square of red cloth. "For the past three weeks, many rodents in my neighborhood have been receiving patches of cloth, and those who have the misfortune of finding a cloth are sure to suffer in some way. Someone who finds a blue cloth will be drowned. Yellow cloth means someone's home will be burned to the ground…with that poor soul still inside the building. A green square means poison will be administered. Red, like I received this morning, means the victim will be left to bleed to death. Black is the worst of all, for it means an unexpected death, something very slow and painful. The only way to stop the coming attack is to follow the instructions on the note left beside the cloth and place a white cloth in place of the one left. This shows surrender, which means whoever places the white cloth will then become a member of the criminal ring that's committing so many murders."

I hadn't noticed Felicia was sitting beside me until I felt her nudge me.

"What do you say we start investigating while Basil sorts out the details of the case?" she suggested. "I'm pretty sure I know what part of town this mouse calls home."

"Alright."

Felicia muttered under her breath most of the way. It was mostly about "what kind of idiots warn their victims of the specific crime in advance" and "don't those amateurs know better than to challenge the world's greatest former criminal mind" and "when I find those imbeciles…"

"Down this alley!" she finally announced.

I stared in disbelief. "Is this a joke, cat?"

She sighed impatiently. "You're a sleuth! What do you have against alleys?"

"Nothing," I commented. "It's just that I haven't seen this much broken glass since the greenhouse two blocks away was destroyed. Is there even any cobblestone under all that gravel?"

"This is just perfect!" Felicia muttered sarcastically. "I can see the headlines now: 'Criminals Escape Prison; Detective's Fear Prevents Him From Doing Job Properly.'"

I rolled my eyes.

"So I guess I'll just have to take full credit for solving this case!"

"Alright! I'll do it!" Hesitantly placing my nose to the ground, I began to sniff the ground as I slowly walked down the alley. "You know, this would be easier if I knew what scent I was trying to find."

"Just tell me what's down there!"

"Chardonnay," I stated. "Or possibly Bordeaux."

The cat also smelled the ground. "That scent is Domaine Romanée-Conti, you idiot!"

"I'm also picking up traces of gunpowder."

Felicia grinned. "Now we're making progress!"

In a sudden burst of pain, I jerked back my head. It felt like everything between my nose and lungs was on fire. My eyes started watering, and my throat burned dreadfully.

"Cayenne pepper," the cat remarked sympathetically. "When mixed with black pepper, it can produce a mild tingle if a dog sniffs it."

"Mild my ears!" I retorted. "It hurts like you wouldn't believe!"

"I would believe it. Ratigan used to mix it with curry and put it on my wounds, especially the ones he inflicted."

I frowned. "If some churl did that to me, I'd murder the miserable…!"

"I did!" She grinned. After a pause, she shrugged. "Execution, really. It's only murder if the victim didn't deserve it." She tapped my shoulder reassuringly. "I'll help you find the trail again."

With that, she began walking toward the end of the alley as gracefully and easily as if she were strolling through the park. The shards of gravel didn't seem to hurt her paws, and she effortlessly avoided the rusty nails. She didn't even have to glance down at her paws to keep from filling them with broken glass. This was just another casual stroll to her. I never knew if it was because cats tend to be lighter on their feet than dogs are or if it was because Felicia was raised in alleys.

"Try seeing if you have better luck here!" she suggested, pausing in one particularly littered place.

"Are you out of your mind, cat?! That area of ground has 'lockjaw' written all over it!"

Sighing, Felicia rolled her eyes. "One, dogs rarely get that disease. It's more of a problem among humans and horses. Two, even if dogs could get lockjaw, you wouldn't."

"What makes you so sure?!" I demanded.

"I can't get that lucky!"

I sent a baleful lower her direction.

"You really ought to be more worried about thistemper," she continued.

"That would be 'distemper,'" I corrected.

The cat unsheathed her claws. "No, I meant this temper, the wrath about to shred your ears into ribbons if you don't stop making excuses and start acting like a highly trained professional sleuth hound instead of a lapdog! Your skill at tracking leftover table scraps is beyond compare, but you'd be more useful if you started finding criminals!"

I hesitantly began walking to where she was standing, making my steps as slow and careful as possible. The gravel felt rough under my feet, and I suddenly became aware that my paws were surrounded by glass shards.

"About time you got here!"

Ignoring the cat, I sniffed the ground. "Perfume." I followed the trail to a large crate.

Felicia lowered her head, listening intently for something. Her eyes narrowed as she flattened her ears.

"I thought I smelled a rat!" she mouthed. "Get the police…NOW!"

Without demanding an explanation, I hurried to the police station as fast as I could. The police didn't understand my barking, but they knew I was Basil's dog, so they assumed (correctly) that I was on a case and needed assistance. About twenty officers climbed onto my back, and I took them to where the cat was waiting.

When we arrived, we found the crate overturned. Felicia had the tails of seven mice pinned with one of her back paws. Her front paws were busy fighting a rat.

For those who have never seen a rat fighting anything, I wouldn't recommend the experience. It almost gave me nightmares. There would be a flash of teeth or claws, ending with the cat jerking her paw away just in time. The rat would then turn to leave, only to have its tail pinned by a cat who just didn't know how to give up. Finally the cat's paw proved quicker than the rat's reflexes; Felicia's opponent was pinned by the neck. The police were then able to arrest the felons.

As Felicia explained later, when she heard me complain of the cayenne pepper scent, she knew we were dealing with a skillful group of lawbreakers, led by someone who would understand how to throw a dog off their trail. The vintage of wine that we had scented on the ground was one of the finest, so the cat knew at least one of the felons could afford luxuries; however, the gunpowder let her know that although perhaps a bit sophisticated, these delinquents were also extremely dangerous. The perfume brought her to the conclusion that the criminal in charge was female.

"That being," she concluded, "I knew that anyone so intelligent wasn't an amateur, so her actions must be the result of overconfidence. That's why she left color coded pieces of cloth to warn her victims in advance. The only woman in Mousedom who has that much skill as a criminal would be the lady that Ratigan once knew, the one who taught him how to be a proper felon, the one he almost married at the start of his criminal career. The mice with her were just her messengers."

"I should have been the one to…" I began.

"I keep telling you, dog," the cat interrupted. "A sleuth can only figure out so much. To solve a case like this, you need someone who truly understands criminal mentality."

"I'm surprised the rat didn't hurt you."

Felicia laughed. "Don't you think spending all those years under Ratigan would teach me how to keep my paws away from an angry rat?"

I thought that ended the matter, but less than a week later, our mouse nephew's parents arrived with a quilt they had found on their porch. When they asked Basil what it meant, he explained that the various colors of fabric represented all the different crimes that had been committed according to the color code of cloth. However, the center of the quilt was different. Instead of being a plain color of broadcloth, as the other patches were, the square of cloth in the center was multicolored gingham.

"This is a gift for your child. Whoever made this quilt offers you assurance that he or she will do everything possible to ensure your family should never suffer the misfortune of falling victim to any manner of criminal deeds," Basil concluded. "As for the patch in the center, what is the word 'gingham' without the first letter?"

"'Ingham,'" the child's mother replied, "like my maiden name."

"It is a tribute to your brother's memory," the investigator stated.

"Mr. Basil, who would protect my family in Bartholomew's honor?"

For once, the greatest detective in all Mousedom didn't have an answer. I told Felicia about the quilt later and asked her thoughts.

"Before he started drinking, Bartholomew was like a brother to me," she replied. "I just wanted his biological sister to know that none will ever harm her family, and I will guard her child as I would my own, for as long as I live."

I stared in disbelief. "You know how to make a quilt?!"

She shrugged. "I write. Why wouldn't I know how to sew? Besides, a baby mouse doesn't need much fabric for a good quilt. It's not like I made it for a baby human or something."