IT ALL STARTED WITH A DEAD CAT...

By Joyce Henricks

A Jewish mother, grandmother, amateur sleuth, and avowed
socialist, Hannah is many things to many people. Not everyone
appreciates her opinions and bossy attitude, but those who
can see past her sometimes-prickly exterior discover a warm
and caring woman.
Hannah believes you have two choices when you encounter
injustice. You either ignore it, or you do something about it.
And as far as Hannah’s concerned, the first option is never
acceptable. She’s going to bring this creep to justice.
“It all started with a cat. . .” combines serious social issues
with a warm and humorous story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Apr 17, 2025
• ISBN: 9781665773706

Joyce Henricks

Joyce Henricks was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York. She lives in a small university town in Michigan where she taught philosophy and raised her children. Although officially retired, she teaches an occasional course, writes and continues to be an advocate for women’s causes.

Book preview

Copyright © 2025 Joyce Henricks.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Archway Publishing

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.archwaypublishing.com

844-669-3957

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-6657-7369-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-7370-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2025903333

Archway Publishing rev. date: 02/17/2025

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 48

CHAPTER 49

CHAPTER 50

CHAPTER 51

CHAPTER 52

CHAPTER 53

CHAPTER 54

CHAPTER 55

CHAPTER 56

CHAPTER 57

To Guy,

For your help and your friendship

A sleek silhouette of a black cat, poised and watchful.

CHAPTER 1

It was a warm, sunny September day, a perfect day to be outdoors working in the garden. There was always weeding to do. Today was a good day for adding pruning to her list of chores. Hannah Lowenstein, a small woman in her seventies, dressed in black slacks and a blue shirt, was sitting on a small stool, reaching down to deadhead the azaleas in the front garden, which showcased the colorful perennials that needed more attention than the large trees and bushes in the backyard. Hannah treated her flowers as children, requiring nurturing. Once they reached a certain age, however, they were on their own.

As she sat there, enjoying the scent of newly mowed grass, the cloudless, azure blue sky, and the light breeze, she thought back to life before moving to Brewster. Here she could look out from the kitchen window and see birds of all colors. She didn’t know the names of the birds, but could pick out the bright red one who was a regular visitor, along with its greenish brown companion. She assumed the blue bird was a blue bird—or maybe a blue jay.

It had taken her a while to adjust to life in Brewster, a small town in Michigan, after a lifetime in New York City. She found that small towns had some charming features, although nothing to rival the treasures of a large cosmopolitan city like New York. No ethnic restaurants, just the usual fast-food ones, and the plethora of pizza and Chinese buffets. No museums. No book stores. No interesting places to spend an hour or so window shopping.

But the main difference that she noticed was that neighborhoods weren’t real neighborhoods! You never saw people outdoors except when they were mowing their lawns. And children never played in the street; when they weren’t in school, they were driven by stay-at-home mothers to their afterschool activities, or stayed indoors, immersed in their video games.

But she had come to like living in Brewster—or, more honestly, living with her family. Leo, her husband, had been dead for over three years, and most of her friends were either dead or in nursing homes. At least here she could be useful. Janice, her daughter, the principal at the local high school, had a stressful, almost all-consuming job, and the children were at the ages where they needed someone at home—at least that was what Hannah thought.

As she continued snipping off the dead blossoms, she heard a car screech to a stop and then felt something hit her foot. Puzzled, she looked down and saw a trash bag which contained what looked like a bundle of gray rags, but when she bent down to pick it up found she was holding a dead cat in her hands.

Shocked, she dropped the cat. It was only the stool that kept her from falling. There was blood on her hands, which she wiped on her shirt. She felt dizzy. Her heart was racing. Her head was filled with questions: What should I do? Should I call the police? Should I call Janice? Why did they drop the cat here? Why did they have a dead cat? Did the cat die from being thrown from the car or was it dead already? Whose cat is it? There were more questions forming. But she realized that they weren’t likely to be answered, at least not by her, so she stood up slowly, picked up the cat, and carried it to the garage where she, oh so gently, as if it were a live animal, put it in a large box. She covered the box, and walked unsteadily to the house.

Her heart still racing, she sat down at the kitchen table, questions still filling her head. Were they trying to scare me? Was this a message? I know having a dead animal, or a part of one—like a horse’s head in your bed—is bad news. Why would anyone wanna frighten me? And what kind of a message was a dead cat? A note with letters cut from newspapers I could maybe understand—it said something. But a dead cat?

Now her dizziness was being joined by fear. After a few minutes, her heart starting to slow down and her dizziness diminishing, she started to feel better—until she burst into tears. After a minute of what she called self-indulgence, she blew her nose and stood up. Well, that was foolish. Didn’t ever think I would turn into a sniveling old woman the first time someone throws a dead cat at me. Takes more than that to scare this old woman.

Now her fear was being replaced by anger. How dare they! Just a bunch of young punks with nothing else to do with their time than to try to scare an old woman, one probably chosen at random and I just happened to be the first one they saw.

Three distinct paw prints, a subtle pattern of black and white.

When David entered the room, he found his grandmother sitting at the kitchen table head in hand.

S’up, Grandma?"

Oh, just thinking, darling. How was school today?

The usual—boring! But the good news is that Coach thinks I have potential. He’s thinking of putting me in as quarterback for a few games to see how I do.

Potential? Potential for what? Getting a concussion? Breaking a leg? Getting drafted by the NBA?

It’s the NFL, not the NBA—that’s for basketball. You don’t understand. First of all, football’s not that dangerous—we wear helmets; and second of all, if I do well, it could mean a scholarship to a college. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?

Of course, darling. Anything to save money even if it means you’ll be maimed for life! Oy, I give up talking to you. But you know I never interfere. So, are you hungry?

Nah, we went out for pizza after practice. I probably won’t want any dinner.

That’s nice.

David looked at Hannah. This was usually where she scolded him for ruining his appetite. But she said nothing more, just went back to staring ahead. He left the room, glad to have escaped the scolding, but confused. Even he knew this wasn’t typical Grandma behavior.

She got up from the table, walking unsteadily to the refrigerator, where she took out a bowl of marinating chicken. She started to shake. Nonsense. I’m letting those punks get to me. I’d better shape up—I don’t want I should worry anyone.

By the time Janice came home the kitchen was filled with the aroma of cardamon, coriander, and other exotic spices. Janice came over to place a kiss on her mother’s cheek and said, Smells delish, Mom. What is it?

Oh, it’s a new recipe a woman at the market gave me. It has lots of spices I don’t usually use. It probably won’t taste like it’s supposed to because my spices are so old. They’ve lost most of their flavor. But we’ll see.

David entered the kitchen just then and looked at his mother. Mom, can we talk?

Of course. Why would you ask?

I don’t wanna talk in front of Grandma…

What’s going on? Mom, do you know what this is about?

What, I‘m a mind reader? How could I know? He hasn’t said anything. David, say something so we can get on with the conversation.

David rolled his eyes, took a deep breath, and said, Okay, if that’s what you want. I didn’t wanna talk about you in front of you.

So, behind my back is better?

Enough, interrupted Janice. Say what do you wanna say, David.

I just wanted you to know that Grandma was acting funny when I got back from practice. She was just sitting there, and didn’t get angry when I told her Coach had taken us out for pizza after practice. You know how she is about spoiling my appetite before dinner.

Janice smiled and looked at her mother. You have to admit that is unusual, Mom. What happened?

Nothing, no big problem. I found a dead cat—it kind of upset me. I’m fine.

Just then, they heard a loud crash. Hannah jumped, but calmed down when Janice said, Probably just Paul. He was right behind me on the way home….Boy, you are jumpy. Are you alright?

I’m fine….What was that crash?

Swear words, followed by a slammed door, announced the entrance of Paul, a tall good-looking, blond man in his forties. Usually calm, he came into the kitchen shouting. What the hell was that doing in the middle of the garage? A big box right in the middle. And when I went to move it, guess what I found? Receiving no answer, he continued, A dead cat.

Everyone was silent, struggling to come up with a possible explanation for a dead cat in a box in the garage. Everyone, except Hannah, who continued to stir the pot on the stove.

Mom, do you know anything about this?

Hannah stopped stirring and turned around. First, I apologize, Paul. I wasn’t thinking when I dropped the box there. I just wanted to put it someplace so I shouldn’t have to see it.

Why would you have a dead cat to start with, Hannah?

Well, you see, when I was pruning the azaleas in the front yard, someone drove by and threw it at me. You wouldn’t want I should just leave it there, right? So, I carried it to the garage and put it in a box. I wasn’t thinking, I just wanted to put it away. I couldn’t leave it out there—that seemed disrespectful somehow.

Janice and Paul looked at each other. David just sat at the table, mesmerized by the story he was hearing.

Hannah, who threw the cat at you? Did you see them? The car? Anything?

She turned to her son-in-law. I wasn’t paying attention. I was focused on the azaleas. All I remember is that it was a black car, going very fast—and loud. I thought they were throwing garbage on our lawn—the cat was in a trash bag—and I was annoyed at the littering, or what I thought was littering. I think they were young boys, but I’m not sure…it was hard to tell…

Okay, Mom, interrupted Janice, until we find out more, I don’t want you working in the front yard alone. Okay?"

I think you’re making a big to-do about nothing. They were probably just some young punks having fun scaring an old lady. But okay, I’ll be careful.

With that promise, dinner was served. The consensus was that Hannah’s own chicken stew was preferable to the new recipe. Conversation was limited to the formulaic, How was your day, while everyone was thinking about a dead cat in the garage.

A sleek silhouette of a black cat, poised and watchful.

CHAPTER 2

Nothing was done about the dead cat, except to give it a proper burial in the backyard under the tree where the children had buried the previous family pets: two cats, a dog, and innumerable goldfish. Hannah had refused to call the police, claiming it was just a prank, but gave in to Janice’s insistence not to make herself a target by working in the front yard alone.

The days went by, nothing unusual, just the usual everydayness: Janice to the high school, Paul to his law office, and David to school and football practice. Hannah took care of the house: tidying up, feeding Max, the family Golden Retriever, preparing the dinner, watering the plants and flowers in the backyard, and sneaking out the front door to do the same in the front garden.

Nonsense, she muttered, "What am I? A nebbish? Afraid to go out of my house because of some adolescent hooligans? Not on my watch!" Hannah loved opportunities to use the expressions she heard on TV, even when they weren’t relevant.

Three distinct paw prints, a subtle pattern of black and white.

It was the day for the School Board to meet. Hannah was excited. It was her second year on the Board. While she hadn’t had the impact on school policies she had hoped for, she was convinced that, now that she understood how to play the game, she would be more influential, more patient with the chitchat that went on about various sports events. She realized that, to the community and most of the School Board members, the athletic programs at the schools were a high priority. If left to their own druthers, the members would only discuss the athletic programs—who won, what should the coaches have done, etc., ignoring the academic and social aspects of school. She knew that criticizing their priorities would get her nowhere. Patience was her new mantra.

This year she had two goals: (1) to keep working on a shelter for homeless children, and (2) to do something about the bullying that had increased in the schools during the past year.

The country was in the second year of the Covid pandemic and schools, which had not been meeting in person, were getting ready to open. The main item on the agenda was to make decisions about how to safely open the schools. The Board had been given the latest recommendations from the CDC and it looked like a fairly easy decision: masks for students and staff and improved ventilation in the classrooms. What could be controversial about that? wondered.

She dressed in what she called her professional outfit: a navy pantsuit, a blue blouse, and a multicolored scarf around her neck. For the occasion, she also wore some jewelry. The only thing out of place was her Skechers sneakers. They were comfortable and, she argued, nobody noticed her feet hidden under the table.

The first indication that this evening wouldn’t be a typical meeting was the large group of people with signs lined up in front of the building. Hannah was confused. Who are these people? What do they want? No Masks? What does that mean?

Hannah had almost made it to the door when someone pushed her. If it hadn’t been for Kevin, another member of the School Board, right behind her, who caught her in time, she would have fallen. As she gathered her balance, she looked at the woman who had pushed her. The look of hatred on the woman’s face frightened her. She turned to Kevin and asked, What was that about? I don’t even know her! He simply shrugged and opened the door.

Once inside the building, she turned to Kevin and thanked him, surprising him with a great big hug. By the time they entered the meeting room, Hannah had recovered her composure, smiled at the other members already seated at the table, and said, Well, what was that all about?

George Cotter, the chair, responded, Obviously we have to reconsider our plans for requiring masks in the classrooms. The community isn’t in support.

So, that little group out there is the community? Surely we’re not gonna let the actions of a few ignorant people override the safety of the children.

Those ignorant people, as you call them, are gonna be in here in a few minutes and will be presenting their views—in front of reporters—and we have to listen to them. And I would strongly advise you, Mrs. Lowenstein, to be careful how you respond. Calling them ignorant, or worse, will get you nowhere, and will make our job as a Board more difficult.

I don’t want I should make trouble—just want you should remember to think of the children’s safety first.

We’re always thinking of the children’s safety, Cotter replied. Now can we get on with the meeting. Our visitors are entering.

Well, good. So, there’s no problem. We listen to them and then make our decision. Sounds fair to me.

It would be a gross understatement to say that Hannah and Cotter didn’t agree. They rarely found themselves on the same side of an issue. In fact, anyone observing them interact for even a few minutes would conclude that these two people really didn’t like each other.

Unfortunately, George Cotter was a prominent—that is, wealthy—banker in town and the other members of the Board were reluctant to oppose him, given their financial dependence on his support. So, it was usually up to Hannah to raise objections. Occasionally, some brave soul would quietly speak up and admit that maybe Hannah had a good point. But when no one else on the Board—other than Kevin—spoke up that ended the discussion. Hannah was used to this and, with the help of the editor of the local newspaper, had developed other avenues to publicize her view, which increased the animosity between her and Cotter.

The loud, boisterous crowd outside turned into a quiet group as they entered the room. Hannah was pleased. That’s a good sign. Maybe this won’t be so difficult. A little playing to the press, but in the end they’ll be reasonable.

Cotter started the meeting by asking the treasurer for a budget report. The treasurer started to talk when there was a call from the audience: Point of order, point of order,’ someone shouted. Oy, so we’ve got a parliamentarian," muttered Hannah, which brought her a look of censure from Cotter.

Well, a point of order has to be heard. What is your concern, sir? Cotter asked.

We wanna talk about why we don’t want our children to wear masks in school. It’s a violation of their freedom...

Cotter interrupted the man. Yes, that’s on the agenda, but first we have to vote on whether to amend the agenda in order to take up that question. We usually leave those issues for the part of the meeting when members of the public can present their concerns—and that comes up later in the meeting. But, if you would like to make a motion to amend the agenda to discuss the issue of masking in schools, that would be helpful.

Excuse me, Mr. Chair, but doesn’t the amendment have to come from a member of the Board, not the audience? Hannah knew her Robert’s Rules, even though there were few occasions to use them. But this was clearly one of them. Whoever heard of a member of the audience making a motion!

Showing signs of embarrassment, Cotter quickly recovered his composure and said, Well, then, in all fairness, and to show that we are open to the public’s concerns, I move that we suspend the agenda and take up the question of masking in the schools. Is there a second?

There was the expected second, and a vote was taken—five-two in favor, the usual result on votes—Hannah and Kevin always casting the losing votes.

The arguments produced against masking in the schools made no sense to Hannah. What does wearing a mask have to do with one’s freedom? We have to wear clothes; does that restrict our freedom? Should one be able to walk around naked in public? And what is that nonsense that wearing a mask prevents oxygen from getting to the brain and therefore harms the children? Where do these people get these ideas?

Well, Hannah knew it was a waste of time to attack the particular claims being made, so she went a different route.

Well, I understand your concerns, but you’re a small group and I don’t think you represent the community…

Just then a man jumped up, shouting, We don’t wanna hear what an outsider has to say, especially a commie Jew from New York.

A gasp and then a hush, and then some mumbling in the audience. A few people were nodding, but most were shaking their heads. The people sitting next to the man who had shouted were trying to calm him down. The other Board members looked frozen. What do we do, they were thinking, as they looked to Cotter for guidance, who just sat looking straight ahead.

Before Hannah could calm herself down to reply, Kevin stood up. Sir, you are entitled to your ignorance and even your arrogance, but we will not tolerate you insulting one of our members with your vile hate speech. He turned then to Cotter and said, Mr. Chair, I ask that you remove that man from the room, or that you suspend this meeting and set up another time to discuss this issue.

The other Board members