Catlock: The Great Game Ch .1

I'm tired.

I'm really really tired.

Every waking (and several sleeping) hours have been dedicated to tracking down or hunting up information on this Moriarty cat. It seems like Sher-cat is running me ragged. He's probably just as tired as I am, but he handles it much better. He's actually happier now that he's so busy looking for clues of this cat. I, on the other hand, am so tired that I keep hitting the wrong keys. Typing is hard, sleeping is easy; ergo, I quit.






I'm still tired. That paragraph was all I could manage for yesterday. I'm secretly wondering if Sher-cat is just experimenting to see how long I would put up with sleep deprivation for him. If that is true, and he reads this I feel inclined to warn him: It's not long.

Sherlock (the human) knows that we (the cats) come and go as we please, but John (also a human) does not, so Sher-cat and I have to investigate only when John won't notice we're gone. Sadly that is most of the time; he's at work all day and he sleeps pretty much all night, so whenever John is gone, so are we.

Which is bad. I like to sleep when John does, but Sher-cat needs me to let him out of the apartment, and when he leaves I get worried, so I follow him. Do you see the dangerous cycle?

Sher-cat stays out all night. He has an unusual instinct that tells him when to head home almost exactly when John wakes up. We've actually beaten him by almost thirty seconds for the past three days. I think we're just really lucky cats.

We've gotten really hokey information on Moriarty thus far, (stuff like the color of his fur, and his favorite cat food.) and I'm not sure if we're looking in the right direction. It would be really funny to me if this Moriarty cat was just some random cat somewhere in the city without any clue that we're looking for him. I would die laughing if we found him and he acted totally clueless. I would need a camera to capture the look on Sher-cat's face for all posterity when he figures out that the tip Adlercat gave him was bologna.

Speaking of Adlercat, Sher-cat has been acting funny ever since he saw her last. I have this unshakable gut instinct that something was UP between them, but I can't prove anything. Every so often Sher-cat will ask for her while we're looking for Moriarty-clues. He says he's trying to trace back the chain of information, but I think he might be fibbing.

I'm almost positive.

Ninety nine-point-nine percent sure.

Probably.

I haven't seen her since. Sher-cat hasn't either I suppose. She said that she would be killed for giving us information on her boss, but I can't say I'm too broken up about her vanishing. I went online and searched for what a dominatrix was. I wasn't pleased with the results.

I read back to Sher-cat the part about Moriarty being a random cat and he's biting me. I'll type later.





I found my new favorite thing: cat toys!

John must have noticed that we never played with our old toys (which were ringing balls and brightly colored pillows. That stuff is for kittens!) so he went to the store and bought us some new ones!

There was a gray mouse…THAT SQUEAKS WHEN YOU HIT IT! I love that one! I bit it and kicked it and it made a bunch of delightful sounds! Don't get me wrong, I like mice just fine…but come on; I AM a cat after all. It squeaked! And it was so soft and firm! I batted it around for hours!

He also got this long plastic rod, with a bunch of green feathers and a bell on the end; that one was Sher-cat's favorite. I've never seen Sher-cat PLAY with anything before (unless you count rubbing up against the skull playing) so it really surprised me to see him attacking anything with such vigor! I've also never seen him loose his composure so much before. His pupils were nice and dilated with joy and he leapt with so much energy and enthusiasm! And he could jump so high! I never knew! He almost jumped as high as John's head! It was really amazing to see him spinning around in mid-air, pawing and biting at feathers that were always just outside his reach.

John played with Sher-cat and the feather wand forever. He was an expert at teasing Sher-cat with it, getting him riled up and then pulling the feathers out of the way just in the nick of time.

Sherlock the grouchy human sat in one corner of the flat throughout our whole romp, never saying anything until towards the end when we both began to get winded.

"It's a waste of money buying cat toys, they're just going to eat them and get bored." He said sulkily.

"But it's a lot of fun to watch for now, and they didn't cost all that much." John responded.

"It's the principle of the matter John! We can't just go fueling a never ending cycle of waste and disappointment!"

John rolled his eyes. "The cats are cooped up in the flat all day; it's healthy for then to get a little exercise every now and again. Not that you'd know the value of exercise."

"We are given a finite number of breaths on this earth, and I'm not going to waste mine running up and down a side walk." He snapped back. "Besides, they're not as 'cooped up' as you would think."

I gasped, scared that Sherlock would divulge our little secret and worry John, but John either didn't hear him, or didn't pursue the subject. Thank goodness for small miracles.

Unfortunately we had to go clue hunting that night, and I was exhausted. Sher-cat was also tired, but he seemed to radiate this weird, untapped energy that he dipped into when he was normally drained. I was a little bit jealous.

It's morning now and I'm still tired, but I'm determined to keep writing, no matter what. I still have a few hours before John needs to wake up, so I'm going to sleep with him for a while. He's warm and doesn't move around too much and his bed sheets always smell good.





Sherlock caught me typing the last entry. I don't know what to do. I don't know what he's going to do. I'm scared. I stopped typing, turned around and he was RIGHT THERE!
I closed the window and ran to John's room as fast as I could. I'm scared. What if he tries to keep me from writing? What if he tells John and they read it? With all of the dangerous things we do, do you think they'll try to lock the doors? Sher-cat says they won't do that because they need to keep the doors unlocked for clients, but I'm still scared.

What if Sherlock decides to dissect my brain? I need it!






Good morning. How are you? I'm fine.

I'm great!

I've met someone online!

I know what you all are thinking, online relationships never end well, but she seems like a really nice cat! She says her name is Lily! She's told me a bunch about herself and she says she has read my entries online. She's even left some notes on my tumbler account!

Maybe I'm deluding myself into thinking this kind of relationship can work, but I don't have a whole bunch of lady-friends. Sher-cat keeps me busy most of the time, and I don't have time to make normal friends, much less girl friends.

She seems nice, and she's sent me a picture of herself, so I can say with honesty that she looks nice; but in her I see more. I see the possibility of normal.

It might be a slight thing for most cats, most people's normal is wake up, eat, play, sleep and love but my new normal is wake up, eat, chase down bad guys, analyze crime scenes, break out of the flat, fight to stay alive, pretend I'm a normal cat and try to catch a few hours of sleep before something happens to me again.

Don't get me wrong; it's an exciting life full of adventure and intrigue, but I wish there was a little more romance, or down time for me. The pull is intense between safe, happy normal cat and ferocious, wild, former-stray crime fighter.

In the end I always end up following Sher-cat and ignoring my cat instinct to lie down and sleep. As they say in the streets: friends follow friends into traffic. Wherever Sher-cat goes, I'll dutifully follow (Even if it's only to keep him alive. What else are friends for?)



*Sherlock edit: "Oh for goodness sake, you are not still writing this stuff are you? We've had four cases and followed up a dozen or more leads on Moriarty (Who, need I remind you, is certainly real as the trail points too), but if it doesn't end in a fight for your life, or a cat that's caught your eye it hasn't made your records! Utter balderdash! I have half a mind to take up the chronicling on my own; then we'll have a real show of force! And by the way: it's not my fault they don't like you."





Help… I think.

I've been getting weird messages lately. Some of them seem innocent enough, and I'll always respond with a joke, but some of the messages are really begining to scare me.

It's always some anonymous person either on my tumbler; or on my deviant art accounts but lately I've gotten a few in my personal e-mail account that I set up just a few weeks ago. Here they are in order:

"Well written doctor. For a rank amateur. I think I will pick out that quote and use it as your epitaph."

"Be nice Doctor, or I will kill Sherlockcat."

"I know your secrets. I will have you meowing for mercy, if you can still breath."

"I see you, but you can't see me. I will come and I will get you. Be ready."

"You should be screaming. And probably running. Not that it'll matter when I descend upon you."

Are you prepared to take you're place in my great game? If not, too bad. I've told you once before to be ready. If not now, then it's too late."

And this is the most recent one from my new personal e-mail (I'm freaked out because no one should know my new personal email. I haven't used it yet!)

"You have shown your hand doctor; the end is near."

Gosh… When they're all lined up like this it looks really intimidating. You need to understand that these came over the course of several weeks, not all at once. I'm not even sure if they're all the same person, but I have the feeling they might be.

I've shown Sher-cat. He told me to go to sleep. That seems like a really good idea, though I'm sure I'm going to have nightmares. I almost miss the anon who told me he was going to take me to Hogwarts. He was annoying as hell, but at least I was sure he was joking… I'm pretty sure.

Hogwarts seems better than…THAT!






Dr. John Watsoncat was typing up his most recent entry, the one just above this one when he was alerted to the sound of nails against the window pane. In a flash Sherlockcat Holmes was investigating.

I'm Sherlockcat Holmes, and I'm trying my paw at writing these infernal diary entries while Watsoncat recovers from his ordeal. He's implored me to use proper story-writing skills, which apparently involve starting from the very beginning of the narrative and not revealing information until it becomes apparent in the timeline of the story. I've reminded him that he himself has broken these rules before, but I will attempt to follow the rules, however anal, for his satisfaction.

Though this would be a much shorter and ultimately more profitable venture if I focused solely on the logic and ignored the frivolous nature of popular literature.

A dark brown cat with splotches of tan fur and large green eyes had climbed up to our flat and asked to see Watsoncat.

I told her that he was unavailable and he jumped upon my window sill and attempted to push me off; I swear he can be impossible sometimes!

They had a short conversation where I gathered that the female called herself Lily, and that they had chatted briefly online before. It is in my nature to never be trusting of the fair gender and I was immediately skeptical.

When she asked leave of my partner just as we were attempting to disembark on an investigation I became incredibly suspicious.

"See reason." I implored him. "You hardly know the girl, and we have work that needs to be done."

But the girl batted her eyelashes and smiled in a charming, suggestive manner and my partner was reduced to a bumbling pheromone machine.

"Please Sher-cat. It's only one day." He told me jumping to the floor decidedly. "You can manage without me. I haven't been on a date in eons!"

"You haven't lived for eons." I reminded him. "And though I can manage alone I prefer to have an associate on which I can thoroughly rely."

He assured me that I could deal with myself for a little while and he went out to meet the female-kitty. There's not a suspicious bone in his body. She alluded to inviting him to her apartment and I was promptly abandoned.

I entertained myself for a while with small acts of personal hygiene, but in time these too became tediously boring and I decided to slip out and check to see if the yard had any need of me, and if not then visit some of my stray-cat informants for follow up interviews about Moriarty.

I was just about to leave when the computer rang. This was odd, for I had never known it to do that before. I'm not terribly computer literate, but I managed to play with the mouse a bit until it stopped. A letter opened up on the screen and I managed to read what it said briefly before it disappeared:

It was a photo of a rough caricature of five cats scrawled in what looked to be orange crayon. I did not know any of the cats just on sight, but I had the feeling that these cats were supposed to be familiar to me.

The note itself said: "Five cats may die before the day is up. If I were you I'd see what the Yard was doing. 12:00."

The time was particularly ominous. It was almost ten thirty while I was reading the note. I had no doubt in my mind that the time on the note was the time a cat would die.

I wasted no more time reading, I went to leave via the door when I realized my trusted doorman had left on an earlier errand. I cursed my poor luck and settled for escaping through the window. I had taught myself that trick some time back, but I was loath to use it, for I could not close a window once I opened it and our flat was elevated high off the ground.

I carefully climbed down and happened upon Lestrade from the Yard who was coming to seek assistance in a case.

As requested from the note I questioned him about it. He explained that a cat's body had been recovered from the Thames in a bag. They suspected cruel humans as usual, but something seemed odd about the cat so he came to me.

The body had been found in a simple burlap sack just off of Tempus wharf, and it immediately became apparent that he had drown, but the nails had been torn off of the cat as he clawed at the bag, which is unusual in toss-and-drown missions from humans.

This he explained to me as we ran to the wharf. It took only thirty minutes running, but time was beginning to dwindle when I clued him in on my part in his investigations. He seemed skeptical and questioned me repeatedly about the nature of the note. I hadn't time to answer all of his questions as we arrived and shrugged of his last few quips at my nature. It was obvious he didn't entirely trust me, but what did I care? So long as the crimes were solved, I was satisfied and he would have to be too.

When we arrived on scene Danderson was thankfully nowhere to be found, though his little girlfriend Sylvia was making a mess of the area sniffing the wet sand and leaving footprints everywhere.

Mollycat had removed the body from the bag and updated me on the state of the body as I set to work on the area. The cat definitely drowned, but it must have spent quite sometime in the bag, for its claws were not only stuck in the course material, but had also rendered several holes in the sack. The fur on his paws still had conglobated orbs of dried blood, which meant that the blood had been dry enough, and therefore old enough not to dissolve in water.

I recognized the cat as one of my favorite informants, a stray named Big Ben. I was disappointed in how he had met his end. He was a gentle creature and I had somewhat of an affinity for him.

The sack was tied with a rope, which I examined thoroughly. The rope was tied in such a way as imply that it was initially tied to something else. Instead of a cut, or a fray I found that the rope was black and charred, or in other words burnt.

The scenario I had formed was that the cat had been put in a bag and dangled over the river, and then the only cord keeping him from a watery grave had been burnt and then severed; plunging him into the river.

Just then I caught sight of Danderson creeping along the river's edge. He looked as though he was investigating, just like every other cat on scene, but I saw the small brown lizard he was chasing. His brain is full of lizards.

I decided to do a little experiment using him and the boats on the water. I saw a small boat and knew it to be two meters long just by sight recognition. I made a running tackle and shoved Danderson into the water and timed how long it took him to float past the boat on the current, which whisked him away as he yowled bitterly.

"Sherlockcat! What is the matter with you?" Sylvia cried at the back of my head, but I was too busy to listen.

"Molly, what was the time of death on this cat?" I asked.

"About three hours if I'm reading the rigor right." She stuttered.

I calculated the numbers in my head. If he had been dropped off at Towers Bridge, which I could see rising regally from where we were at the wharf, he would have been found earlier, so the only possible location that allowed the right time of death with the current rate of the current was The London Bridge.

"I don't have time to explain." I told them, "But he was dropped off from London Bridge and we must get there before twelve o clock."

It was only about eleven fifteen at the time and I set off running for London Bridge with the entire division in tow, except for Molly who was left behind to finish her work on the body before humans arrived.

We met little interference, save a wet, cold Danderson who complained bitterly about being used for my experiment and we arrived at eleven thirty if I can still read shadows correctly.

London Bridge on Borough High Street is a plain stretch of concrete with ample walking space for humans and five lanes for traffic. I knew precisely what I was looking for, so it wasn't hard to find a rope tied to one of the granite blocks that ran along the length of the bridge.

When we approached the trapped cat, the unique device attached to the metal hand mounted to the column instantly grabbed my attention. It was, in all simplicity, a magnifying glass attached to a small arm which positioned it in just the right way so that when the sun was directly overhead the glass would bend and focus the light creating a beam of heat which would act as a hot knife, burning the rope and severing it. I leapt upon the colonnade, careful not to lose my footing and plummet into the water and sure enough, hanging below me was another burlap sack, just as the one Ben had been found in with clear lumps indicating a cat inside.

I hastily detached the magnifying glass from its arm, neutralizing the danger and tossed it into the river. Then the rest of the Yard helped me pull the cat to safety.