#detective bustopher

Detective Bustopher

Tw cat murder (not a named cat)

“Remember, Mistoffelees, if it becomes too much you can take a break or leave outright at any time.” Bustopher said seriously.

Mistoffelees bit his lip and nodded. He knew by now his uncle would not judge him for any squeamishness. He had assisted on three murder cases since that of the gray parrot, two more birds and a hamster, and had managed with minimal queasiness and no drastic reaction since the first fainting spell. But this case…in this case, the victim was a cat.

Bustopher had asked Mistoffelees several times if he was sure he wanted to come along, and he had, and he is, but he would be lying to say he wasn’t a little nervous. Still, Bustopher won’t face murderers alone anymore if Mistoffelees can help it.

They arrived at the crime scene; a rather normal looking house disregarding a broken window. Bustopher glanced back at Mistoffelees, one final chance to let the lad leave, but Mistoffelees only nodded solemnly. Bustopher nodded back, accepting his decision, and they entered the house.

At the sight and smell of the body, Mistoffelees froze and squeezed his eyes shut with a quiet gasp.

Bustopher halted in his tracks and turned back to Mistoffelees. “Are you all right? You can stay back here, if you want.”

Mistoffelees took a shaky breath, then a calmer one, and shook his head. “I’m fine.” He opened his eyes and looked at Bustopher. “I want to help.” He pointedly stepped further into the room.

“Very well.” Bustopher approached the body with not a few worried glances at Mistoffelees, who followed with only the slightest hesitance.

The corpse was facing away from them, and at first glance it could simply have been a cat laying on the floor. Circling to the front of the body, the cuts on the torso and the blood spilling out became visible.

Mistoffelees conjured a handkerchief and pressed it in front of his muzzle, both to muffle the smell and stifle a gag. He swallowed thickly, and tried to tell himself what was done to the gray parrot had been worse than this. His mind did not appreciate the reminder.

Bustopher was keeping a wary eye on Mistoffelees, but the brief moment it seemed he might be ill had passed and he remained steady on his feet. Bustopher turned to the body. A tom, only slightly younger than himself. There were several deep cuts that would have appeared to be claw marks if not for the spacing.

After a minute Mistoffelees was beginning to feel more collected, and at Bustopher’s side he managed to examine a smaller wound near the cat’s hip.

Then Bustopher moved, and Mistoffelees saw the dead cat’s face.

In human movies, corpses’ eyes were always closed. The person would either die with them closed or someone else would close them. This cat’s eyes were wide open. Glassy. Empty. Dead. Staring right at him.

Mistoffelees’s arm dropped limply to his side and the handkerchief fluttered to the ground. “…I think I need to sit down,” he mumbled weakly.

The words and the distant tone of his voice alerted Bustopher, who sprung into action. He reached out his arms to steady Mistoffelees as he turned gracelessly away from the corpse, ready to help guide him into the next room.

Mistoffelees reacted dazedly to the touch and looked up at Bustopher. Then continued looking up further. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed.

Bustopher, who had stepped closer and adjusted his grip at the sight of Mistoffelees’s expression, caught him easily. He gathered him up into his arms and left the room.

As Bustopher was gently laying Mistoffelees out on the floor he began to stir. “Quaxo?”

Mistoffelees was on the ground. Why? Someone’s paws were on him, and he thought he heard a voice. Maybe the voice woke him up. He’d open his eyes in a minute, it didn’t seem like a good idea quite yet. He had a headache and felt slightly nauseous. He let out a partially involuntary groan. Slowly-why so slow?-he reached a paw up and laid it over his mouth, and took a few shaky breaths through his nose. The voice became clearer.

“That’s it, lad. Just breathe.”

Mistoffelees felt someone rubbing his back. When his stomach settled a bit he moved his paw to massage his forehead, then finally pried his eyes open. The carpet he didn’t recognize, but the cat next to him… “Uncle?”

Bustopher sighed with relief. “Yes, I’m right here.”

Mistoffelees furrowed his brow and started to push himself up.

Bustopher helped him. “Easy, Quaxo, easy.”

“Where-” Mistoffelees began, but then it hit him. “Oh,” he faltered.

“Ah, stay with me now,” said Bustopher, gently tilting Mistoffelees’s head to face him.

Mistoffelees found himself looking into Bustopher’s concerned, very alive eyes. He let out a slow breath and returned to himself more fully.

“There you are, lad.”

They pressed their foreheads together and rested a moment.

Abruptly Mistoffelees pulled away and drew his knees up to his chest, looking suddenly guilty.

“Now, now. None of that. Fainting is a perfectly natural reaction under these circumstances,” reminded Bustopher gently, resting a paw on Mistoffelees’s shoulder.

Mistoffelees glanced at him, then turned away again. When he finally spoke, it was very quiet and hesitant. “…Maybe I’m not cut out for this.” It felt like a confession.

Bustopher’s face softened further, and he squeezed Mistoffelees’s shoulder reassuringly. “If you would like to return home, you may. I can handle things here.”

Mistoffelees looked startled for a moment, uncurling himself from the tight ball he had been in to look at Bustopher properly. Then he frowned. “No…no you’re not facing a murderer alone,” he said, sounding more determined.

“Well, if you’re sure you’re feeling better,” Bustopher ventured.

Mistoffelees risked a glance into the next room. Only the tail and back feet of the corpse were visible, but it was enough to make his stomach turn at the memory. He leaned back again, wincing, and sighed. “…Actually, I might throw up,” he admitted.

Bustopher looked alarmed, and Mistoffelees hurried to clarify.

“If I go back in there, I mean. But I still want to help! Maybe I could stay out here? And…if you find any odd object I could see if I sense anything from it?”

Bustopher smiled softly and nodded. “We can work with that.” He nuzzled Mistoffelees then stood. “I admit I would have worried if you had taken my offer and left for home alone. Who knows what might be afoot out there tonight?”

Mistoffelees wrinkled his nose and rose to a kneeling position. “Hey! I can hold my own!”

Lord-Somebody-Or-Other is one of Bustopher’s closest non-Jellicle friends. He’s a drunk, but a harmless one.

Bustopher Jones: Your what?

Griddlebone: My buns.

Bustopher Jones: Buns? Your buns? You brought buns and you didn’t tell me? Where are they? Where are the buns?

Griddlebone: Oh! No, monsieur. The BONES in my body.

Old Deuteronomy: I can’t help it, I’m old.

Bustopher Jones: Not that kind of has. The kind that kills!