Mr. Whiskers had exactly three jobs in life. First, supervise breakfast. Second, inspect every grocery bag that entered the apartment. Third—and perhaps most importantly—wake me up every morning at precisely the same time by sitting on my chest and staring into my soul until I acknowledged his existence. He had never once missed his schedule. Not on weekends, not on holidays, and certainly not on ordinary Friday mornings. Which was why I found myself standing in the living room with a cup of coffee, staring at an orange cat who was sound asleep on the couch nearly two hours after his usual wake-up call. He hadn’t even opened one eye. His paws twitched occasionally as he dreamed, but otherwise he looked perfectly content. Something, I decided, was definitely off.
Pandora was in the kitchen making lunch while humming softly to herself, completely unconcerned by what I considered to be a rather significant disruption to the natural order of the universe. The smell of grilled cheese drifted through the apartment, making it increasingly difficult to concentrate on my investigation. “Doesn’t this seem strange to you?” I asked, nodding toward the sleeping cat. She glanced into the living room for all of three seconds before returning to the frying pan. “He looks comfortable.” “Exactly.” “I’m not sure that’s a problem.” “Mr. Whiskers has never slept this late.” Pandora smiled without turning around. “He’s a cat, Hal.” “He’s our cat. He has standards.”
John Mercer wandered out of his room carrying a mug of coffee and looking considerably more awake than the only creature in the apartment actually famous for sleeping. He followed my gaze toward the couch and shrugged. “He’s tired.” “From what?” I asked. John took a sip of coffee before answering. “Running around like a lunatic last night.” I frowned. “He wasn’t running around.” John looked at me over the rim of his mug. “Hal, you spent almost an hour throwing that little toy mouse down the hallway because you said he looked like he was ‘having the time of his life.’” I opened my mouth to respond, then paused. “Well…” John continued, “He chased it every single time.” “He seemed enthusiastic.” “He also climbed the curtains twice.” “That was unrelated.”
Even with John’s explanation, I wasn’t entirely convinced. Cats recovered quickly. Surely one energetic evening couldn’t account for this level of commitment to sleeping. I walked quietly over to the couch and crouched beside Mr. Whiskers, expecting at least one ear to twitch in acknowledgment of my presence. Nothing. I gently rattled the treat container. Normally that sound could wake him from the deepest sleep imaginable. This time he stretched lazily, opened one eye just enough to confirm that I still existed, then sighed and went right back to sleep. I looked at John. “Did you see that?” John nodded. “Yes.” “He’s never ignored treats before.” “Apparently today he has.”
A knock at the door interrupted my growing concern. Mrs. Jenkins stood outside carrying a small basket of fresh peaches from the local market. “Good morning, everyone,” she said cheerfully. “I bought far too many again.” She stepped inside, spotted Mr. Whiskers sleeping on the couch, and laughed. “Oh, someone had a busy evening.” I stared at her. “How do you know?” She smiled. “I looked out my window around ten last night and watched him sprint back and forth across your living room chasing something while you laughed like a child.” Pandora covered her mouth to hide a smile. John suddenly found his coffee fascinating. Mrs. Jenkins continued, “I told my husband that cat would sleep until lunchtime after all that excitement.”
I slowly turned toward the hallway where the little fabric mouse still sat abandoned beside the baseboard. The entire investigation replayed itself in my head from beginning to end. Mr. Whiskers hadn’t been poisoned by an air freshener. He wasn’t reacting to mysterious neighborhood drama. There wasn’t some hidden illness sweeping through the apartment. He was simply exhausted because I’d accidentally turned a quiet Thursday evening into the feline equivalent of an Olympic training camp. The evidence had been sitting in plain sight the entire time, and somehow I’d managed to invent half a dozen much more complicated explanations before considering the obvious one.
Pandora cut my sandwich in half and carried the plate into the living room before sitting beside me on the couch. “Feeling better, Detective?” she asked with an amused smile. I nodded thoughtfully while watching Mr. Whiskers snore softly in the patch of sunlight streaming through the window. “I suppose I may have overlooked one or two details.” John laughed. “One or two?” Mrs. Jenkins chuckled as she headed back toward her garden, wishing everyone a pleasant afternoon. Mr. Whiskers, meanwhile, remained blissfully asleep through the entire conversation, apparently convinced that whatever mysteries humans occupied themselves with could easily wait until after his nap.
I took another bite of my sandwich and watched him dream, one paw twitching every now and then as though he were still chasing that little toy mouse down the hallway. “You know,” I said, “I think he’s replaying last night in his sleep.” Pandora smiled warmly. “Probably.” I nodded with complete confidence. “Good. At least someone’s investigation turned out to be productive.” John simply shook his head and returned to his computer, while Mr. Whiskers slept on without the slightest concern that he’d nearly inspired the most unnecessary mystery of the week. After all, being a cat is much easier when you let the humans do all the overthinking.