Mr Proddy And The Stolen Cat Food by Andrew Oliver

Bill Robinson was going through his mail, tossing every other item straight into the

yellow top. “Clairvoyant At Large” in large red letters caught his eye. On a whim, he kept it

for later.

On the kitchen table over his evening meal, a TV dinner straight from the

microwave, he looked at today’s mail. A gas bill. A credit card statement, he was maxed

out again. A birthday card, for next month, from a US cousin. Coles, Woolworths, and IGA

catalogues. Sometimes it was worth buying in bulk, if the special was good. He looked

around the kitchenette end of the bedsit, assessing the supplies. He couldn’t afford any

more rent on a Constable’s salary. Then, the last item, the clairvoyant advertisement …

“Clairvoyant At Large

Madame Sally Ann offers advice on marriage, business prospects, lucky numbers.

With the help of a crystal ball, tarot cards, and her familiar, she will tell you your future!

Telephone 0412666000 evenings or email sallyann_clairvoyant@gmail.com for an

appointment!”

He laughed, couldn’t be anything in such nonsense, could there …

* * *

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 Bill woke the next morning as the clock radio blared out GOLD FM’s 7 a.m. news.

He’d been dreaming of his future, or non-future, permanently a junior constable doing dull

but necessary tasks. He wanted a breakthrough a career achievement a case that he could

take credit for solving to get promotion to detective constable, and get more interesting and

challenging work.

* * *

This Tuesday morning Bill and his partner Jack Addams were going to another

supermarket hit by the cat food shoplifter. Throughout the western suburbs of Melbourne

for the past three months, a serial shoplifter was stealing small gourmand cat food cans and

sneaking out through the self-serve paying a ten-dollar note for assorted one dollar items

home brand bread and baked beans and home brand milk but nothing for the cat food. The

supermarkets only knew about it because of CCTV footage reviews. The thief usually had

his overcoat collar turned up, and they had no clear photo. In the evening the stores were

sitting ducks for this as they had no supervision of the self-serve areas.

After advising another annoyed store manager to put on more service staff Bill and

Jack sat in the security office upstairs looking through the CCTV footage for the evening in

question on a bank of screens.

“Another five hours wasted,” said Bill, after they’d viewed the lot.

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 “What we need is a stroke of luck - a clear image of his face - to put on posters

around town, but he’s smart and careful,” replied Jack.

The partners went to McDonald’s for a late lunch.

“Somebody’s got to do it, review these CCTV tapes, I suppose,” said Bill, “But I didn’t

join the police force to bore myself silly … if only we could crack this case, we might be

assigned more interesting duties.”

Jack just munched on his Big Mac and nodded.

* * *

Four weeks later Bill was going through his mail Monday 7 p.m.; Madame Sally

Ann’s leaflet was still sitting at the bottom of his in-tray on the kitchenette bench. Couldn’t

harm anybody to try, he thought defensively, as he dialled Madame Sally Ann’s number.

A high-pitched voice answered, “Madame Sally Ann, who is it?”

“Bill Robinson, I’ve got your leaflet, I was wanting some career advice, well, …”

“I’ve got an unbooked midnight appointment tonight … Around the séance table …

Bring one hundred in cash!”

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 He wrote down the proffered address, and said: “I’ll be there.”

* * *

The Footscray weatherboard looked decrepit. The garden was overrun with weeds,

the concrete path cracked. He looked at his watch: 11:45 p.m., almost time. He walked

down the moonlit path and rapped the doorknocker. A porch light suddenly went on.

Then a tall woman in long purple robes and lace veil opened the door, and said

“Bill?”

“I’m here for my appointment.”

He could smell lavender incense sticks. She moved aside and he entered the front

room, where a séance table stood illuminated by small candles standing here and there.

She motioned him towards a large overstuffed lounge chair, next to a side table

with two lit candle sticks and an burning incense stick.

“Sit down, tell me all your troubles.”

* * *

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 “ … and I’ve spent three months fruitlessly trying to catch this cat food shoplifter.

Reviewed over two hundred hours of CCTV footage over three months. Then the thefts

stopped. I got blamed for finding nothing.”

It was 12:31 a.m., and a large black cat wandered into the front room from the

passage.

“There you are Mr Proddy,” said Sally Ann, “I thought I noticed you hanging about

listening in.”

To Bill, as an aside, she said: “He’s my familiar. In the witching hour he hath power

of speech.”

“Well, Mr Proddy, what do you think?”

Mr Proddy growled.

Sally Ann got up from her chair and returned three minutes later with a saucer of

fresh cream, saying to Bill: “He’s demanding payment in advance again, his mind’s a

cesspit but he often hits the mark.”

“Well, Mr Proddy?”

Mr Proddy leapt onto the séance table and licked the saucer clean. Then, in high

pitches, as if he were a small boy, he spoke moving his jaw and breathing fast …

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 “Thank you for the cream, as you know money means nothing to me. It seems you

have a shoplifter whose cat has expensive tastes, a fussy eater shall we say? And, the

shoplifter was short of money for three months, until four weeks ago. Why not get a list of

registered cat owners from the local council you say it started in Sunshine and find out who

has been breached off Newstart for three months ending four weeks ago? Compare the

lists, forget about the CCTV.”

Bill eyes had glazed over; he stammered: “You’ve got a talking cat! Unbelievable!

You could go on the late night talk shows …”

“But we want to help people, not seek fame and fortune. Use our powers for good!”

Madame Sally Ann put out her hand, “A hundred in cash, as agreed.”

Bill handed over five $20 notes, and said: “Thanks ever so much!”

* * *

Bill woke the next morning as the clock radio blared out GOLD FM’s 7 a.m. news.

He was still tired out. He needed coffee and breakfast. He dressed put on his boots and

walked to the nearest McDonalds. At 8 a.m. his shift started.

* * *

At 8:15 a.m. Bill asked the desk sergeant Peter Smith, “Sarge, can I speak to you for

five minutes? It’s just a little idea.”

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 Peter looking at the half drawn up rosters sitting on his desk said: “I could give you

fifteen minutes at 11 a.m.? Must finish these rosters and post them on the noticeboard

first.”

* * *

At 11 a.m. Bill and Peter were sitting down with mugs of tea in the tea room.

Bill started: “You remember the cat food shoplifter …”

“But it’s over now.”

“It’s unsolved!”

“Yes …”

“Perhaps if we got a little cooperation from other authorities … I was thinking of the

local council cat registrations and Centrelink … What if someone got breached who had a

cat?”

“Completely against privacy regulations.”

“But the newspapers say that federal law now allows access to all sorts of

information with merely an administrative order for police investigations … Might have to

liaise via the Australian Signals Directorate but … They watch over everyone!”

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 “Look into it, Bill. Report back to me next week.”

* * *

It was so easy to solve. Bill looked at the two printouts, sorted by surname and first

name, he received two days later, after speaking to Walter Riley of the A.S.D.; getting the

right direct line number took two hours, but time well spent. Walter seemed happy with

helping out as the new funding for the A.S.D. was invested added crime fighting on the

Internet … just as long as it was for an imprisonable offence!

* * *

There were just five names on both lists for Sunshine.

* * *

Later that day Bill and Jack were in their patrol car outside the address where the

third match lived. As before they first went through the garbage bin, which was out for

collection, searching for gourmand cat food tins. Success! Bill and Jack then walked up to

the front door and pressed the doorbell.

“Mr Frank Swan?” Bill asked when a middle aged man answered the door. “We

were wondering where you bought the cat food tins that are in your garbage bin?”

“Well I was only at the local Woolworths just last weekend,” said Frank.

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 “On information received, we’d like you to come back to the police station and

answer some questions …”

Frank looked shifty, then ran towards a car parked across the street. Jack arrested

him, catching Frank while he was still fumbling with his keys opening the car-door.

* * *

Bill and Jack both received brief thank you calls from the western suburbs area

managers of Coles and Woolworths. The more interesting duties started three months

later, after Bill had commenced a detective constable course at the police academy. Frank

Swan was sentenced to three months jail twelve months later, but immediately released as

he’d already served that time on remand. And his cat was adopted out.