I was sitting on the couch watching Pandora type away on her laptop while pretending I wasn’t curious about what she was working on. Every few seconds she would smile to herself, pause as though weighing the perfect word, and then continue typing with renewed determination. It had all the signs of someone enjoying a project, which naturally made me want to know exactly what it was. Across the room, John Mercer was in the kitchen making breakfast, or at least attempting to. Judging from the metallic clanging, the occasional muttered apology to an inanimate appliance, and the unmistakable smell of toast that had stayed in the toaster far longer than intended, breakfast was putting up a respectable fight.
Mr. Whiskers, John’s orange tabby, occupied the opposite end of the couch with the relaxed confidence of a creature who considered paying rent beneath his dignity. He opened one eye just enough to confirm I was still there before settling back into what I could only assume was his eighteenth nap of the morning. I picked up my phone to pass the time, opened Facebook, and immediately discovered I had made a tactical error.
Karen had commented on the photo Pandora and I had posted the night before. We’d gone to the park to watch the sunset, and Pandora had managed to capture one of those rare pictures where neither of us looked like we’d blinked at exactly the wrong moment. Karen’s comment consisted of precisely two words.
*Looks nice.*
I stared at the screen longer than any reasonable person should have.
Pandora finally looked up. “You have that face.”
“What face?”
“The one that says you’ve started thinking about something that doesn’t actually matter.”
“I don’t think that’s fair.”
“It usually is.”
I turned the phone toward her. “Karen left a comment.”
She glanced at it for barely two seconds before handing it back. “Looks like she liked the picture.”
“That’s your interpretation?”
“Should there be another one?”
I frowned. “It’s only two words.”
Pandora shrugged. “They’re positive words.”
“Maybe.” I looked back at the screen. “But why only two? Why not ‘Looks really nice’? Or ‘Beautiful picture’? Or even a little sunset emoji? This feels… abbreviated.”
Pandora smiled the patient smile of someone who had learned that interrupting my train of thought only encouraged it.
Mr. Whiskers lifted his head and looked directly at me. His expression was impossible to read, but I was convinced it contained judgment.
“You know something,” I told him.
He responded by slowly licking one paw.
That was exactly what someone trying to avoid questions would do.
John wandered into the living room carrying two slices of toast that had crossed the line between breakfast and archaeology. He looked at my expression, then at Pandora, who was already trying not to laugh.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Karen commented on our picture.”
John nodded. “Nice.”
“No, she wrote, ‘Looks nice.’”
He blinked once.
“…Okay.”
“That’s it?”
“What more is there?”
“I think there might be a hidden meaning.”
John looked at Pandora, then back at me.
“I think the hidden meaning is that she thought it looked nice.”
He wandered back toward the kitchen before I could explain why that conclusion seemed far too obvious to be trusted.
I leaned back on the couch and tried to let it go, but my brain had other ideas. Maybe Karen had wanted to come to the park and was politely expressing disappointment. Maybe she knew about another overlook with a better sunset and was subtly criticizing our choice. Maybe she was being sarcastic. Written words didn’t come with tone of voice, and that had been causing misunderstandings since the invention of the alphabet.
Mr. Whiskers climbed onto the back of the couch and sat directly behind me, silently watching over my shoulder.
“I knew it,” I said. “You’re monitoring the investigation.”
He yawned.
A cat’s yawn can mean many things. It can mean boredom, contentment, or simple fatigue. At that moment I chose to interpret it as calculated indifference from someone withholding critical evidence.
Pandora closed her laptop and scooted closer. “Hal.”
“Hmm?”
“How long have you been thinking about Karen’s comment?”
I checked the clock.
“…About twenty-five minutes.”
She laughed. “You’ve spent less time deciding whether to buy a television.”
“This could be important.”
She rested her head on my shoulder. “Or it could be two words from someone scrolling through Facebook while waiting in line at the grocery store.”
Before I could respond, someone knocked on the door.
Mrs. Jenkins stood outside holding a plate covered with a cheerful floral towel.
“I made blueberry muffins,” she announced. “Again. Apparently I still haven’t learned how to bake for one person.”
Pandora welcomed her inside while I accepted a warm muffin that smelled far too good to refuse.
“I saw your picture from the park,” Mrs. Jenkins said. “It turned out lovely.”
I nodded cautiously.
“You noticed Karen’s comment?”
She smiled. “Oh, yes.”
I sat up a little straighter.
“So… what did you think she meant?”
Mrs. Jenkins looked genuinely puzzled.
“She meant it looked nice.”
“No hidden meaning?”
“Heavens, no.” She chuckled. “Karen comments ‘Looks nice’ on nearly everything. Last week I posted a picture of my new mailbox.”
“What did she write?”
“‘Looks nice.’”
I felt a tiny piece of my elaborate theory crumble.
“And before that,” Mrs. Jenkins continued, “I posted tomatoes from my garden.”
“What did she say then?”
She laughed.
“‘Looks nice.’”
Pandora couldn’t contain herself anymore. She burst into laughter so suddenly that she nearly dropped her coffee. Even John leaned around the corner from the kitchen, still holding his charcoal-colored toast.
“Did Hal solve the mystery?” he asked.
“There wasn’t one,” Pandora replied between laughs.
John nodded thoughtfully. “That explains why I couldn’t find any clues.”
I looked down at my phone one last time before slipping it into my pocket. Twenty-five minutes of detective work had been undone by a mailbox and a handful of tomatoes.
Mr. Whiskers stretched, hopped gracefully off the couch, and strolled toward the kitchen without giving me another glance. He’d watched me build an entire conspiracy out of two harmless words and had wisely decided not to intervene. If cats kept score, I had no doubt he’d just won another round.
As I reached for a second blueberry muffin, Pandora smiled and gave my hand a gentle nudge.
“You know,” she said, “these really do look nice.”
The room erupted in laughter, and even I had to admit that some mysteries are solved not by brilliant deduction, but by realizing you’ve been arguing with a cat who was smarter than you all along.