I’m sitting on the couch watching TV while Pandora’s in the kitchen making dinner. I can smell something burning, which means she’s trying that new recipe from the cookbook again. I should probably get up and tell her it smells like the smoke detector is preparing for battle, but I’m comfortable, and besides, she always says I interfere with her “creative process,” which I think is just a polite way of saying I ask too many questions while she’s cooking. John Mercer walked into the room a few minutes ago carrying a stack of mail and dropped it onto the coffee table before sitting beside me without saying a word. Bills, advertisements, coupons, junk mail — the usual pile of things nobody actually wants but somehow keeps arriving every day. Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t think twice about it, except something about it feels off, and I can’t stop staring at the stack.
See, in our apartment complex Mrs. Jenkins is always around the community mailbox area. She doesn’t officially work there or anything, but somehow she always knows when people get their mail. I’m pretty sure she spends more time around those mailboxes than the postal service does. Half the time I walk outside and she’s already there waiting, ready to begin a conversation I never knowingly signed up for. So the strange thing isn’t the mail itself. The strange thing is John brought it in. Why would John get the mail? It’s a tiny question, but now it’s bouncing around inside my head like a pinball. Maybe Mrs. Jenkins wasn’t outside today. Maybe John happened to walk by and grabbed it. That would make sense. Completely normal explanation. Mystery solved.
Except I distinctly remember seeing Mrs. Jenkins outside earlier today, and now I’m trying to remember exactly what she was doing. Was she watering plants? Talking to somebody? Mutters count as talking, right? Because lately she’s been doing a lot of muttering. Not loud enough that you can hear actual words, but enough where you notice she’s definitely saying something. I’ve caught her doing it several times over the past week, and now that I think about it, John’s been around her more too. Not a lot more, just enough more that you wouldn’t notice it immediately. It’s the kind of thing where someone asks if you’ve noticed anything strange and you say no, but then later that night you’re lying in bed staring at the ceiling and suddenly think, wait a second…
About then, Mr. Whiskers jumped onto my lap and started purring loudly. Normally that would calm me down, but today it felt suspicious. Not the purring itself; cats do that. But he kept looking toward Pandora in the kitchen and then back at me. Then back toward Pandora. Then at me again. I looked at him. He looked at me. I narrowed my eyes. He narrowed his eyes. That’s not normal. I’m not saying Mr. Whiskers was trying to communicate something, but I think he’s smarter than he lets on. I’ve caught him staring at Pandora’s laptop before like he was following along with whatever she was doing. Last week I walked into the room and he immediately jumped down and casually walked away like I had interrupted some important meeting. At the time I thought I imagined it. Now I’m not so sure.
Then I remembered Pandora got a strange phone call last week while we were watching TV. She looked at the screen, stood up immediately, and said it was work-related before walking into the other room. At the time I didn’t think anything of it because people get work calls all the time. But now John is getting the mail. I looked over at him sitting beside me, completely relaxed and staring at the TV like a man with absolutely nothing to hide. Which somehow made him look even more suspicious. Nobody looks that unconcerned unless they’re either completely innocent or extremely guilty, and I’m not sure which possibility bothers me more.
Then something hit me. What if John didn’t take the mail from Mrs. Jenkins? What if Mrs. Jenkins gave it to him? Suddenly my brain started connecting dots that may or may not even exist. What if Pandora’s strange phone call had something to do with it? What if John knew something? What if Mrs. Jenkins had been feeding information to both of them? What if Mr. Whiskers had quietly been gathering intelligence this entire time? Suddenly every strange thing from the past few weeks started replaying in my mind. Pandora being weird about her mail. Mrs. Jenkins muttering. John appearing at oddly convenient moments. Mr. Whiskers staring at electronics.
Then it hit me all at once. Mr. Whiskers wasn’t acting strange. Mr. Whiskers was monitoring people. I looked down at him. He looked up at me and slowly blinked. Slowly. Deliberately. Like someone who knew exactly what I had just figured out. Now I was sitting in my own living room seriously considering the possibility that my cat was somehow operating in coordination with Pandora, John Mercer, and Mrs. Jenkins in an apartment-wide information network centered around mail collection, and the worst part was that I was starting to think I might actually be onto something.
Pandora walked in from the kitchen carrying dinner and looked at me. “Hal,” she said, “why are you staring at the cat like that?” I looked at her. Then at John. Then at Mr. Whiskers. Then back at Pandora. “…Nice try.”