The case of the missing Molly

Early in the day, I found out that my roommate Ryan was in a bicycle accident. I was sitting in the local bagel shop drinking a large cup of coffee, doing the Post’s Su Doku and reading some documentary transcripts when I ran into Ryan’s girlfriend, Lissette.

“Did you hear about Ryan?” she asked me. She was worried.

“No,” I answered.

“He was riding across the Williamsburg Bridge,” she explained, “and he felt lightheaded, passed out and hit his head.”

“Oh man,” I said, “that’s terrible. He fell off of his bike?”

She nodded.

He was on his way to apply to be a bike messenger.

I finished my breakfast and returned home. I had work to do; I am editing a fundraising trailer for a documentary about Andy Warhol superstar Candy Darling. She was a transvestite and became famous in Warhol’s culty underground scene. (Lou Reed wrote “Candy Says” about her, as well as one of the verses of “Take a Walk on the Wild Side.” )

The project contains over 18 hours of footage; it’s been a very difficult and daunting task, but I have been making progress.

I sat in my room editing the 15-minute trailer. For a feature documentary, it’s not uncommon to cut a short version of the film and use it to raise money. I had a screening at 4:00 p.m. for the producers and I was rushing to get it ready.

My room was freezing; I could feel the wind ripping through our small house. The windowpanes rattled, the doors to all of the bedrooms flew open and shut as if the place was haunted. I couldn’t concentrate.

I was running late, and as I pulled the front door closed behind me, I remember thinking, “I haven’t seen the cat in awhile.” But I was late, so I dismissed the thought immediately.

The meeting went very well. The producer liked my work and I was practically skipping home when Robin, one of my other roommates, called to see what had happened, “I heard Ryan is in the hospital,” he said.

It all came rushing back to me. “Yeah, I think he hit his head.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Yeah,” and then a thought. “Have you seen the cat?” I asked quickly.

“No.”

I thought back to the morning and the sounds of the doors slamming open and closed. When I got home, I ran upstairs to check the door to the porch. It was open.

We checked the backyard. My roommate Rob checked the neighbor’s backyards. We shook her food dish and meowed in the street. We yelled her name; we rang the bell on a string that she loves more than life itself¾ expecting it to work. Willing her to come back.

Molly is Ryan’s cat. But he doesn’t own her yet. She was too small to be adopted so we are her foster parents for the next few weeks. When she gets old enough, Ryan is supposed to take her back for a check-up. Molly is registered in his name; he gets the blame if we lose her.

“Bad day.” Robin said. “He’s in the hospital and now it seems like he owes some animal shelter a new cat.”

We found Lissette’s phone number late that night and called her. We thought maybe she could tell us if Ryan had taken the cat. We didn’t see how it was possible, but thought that perhaps, before we plastered the neighborhood with missing posters, we should exhaust all of our options.

I was chosen to make the phone call.

“Hey, it’s Zac. How’s Ryan?”

“He’s doing alright, spending the night in the hospital. He had to get eight stitches in the back of his head.”

“Oh, man.”

Her voice was soft; perhaps I had woken her up. I didn’t want to tell her about Molly. But we had to know if she had any information. It was getting late and we were out of leads.

Lissette had no idea. I regretted even asking as soon as I had. It sounded so stupid when it came out of my mouth and I thought “now, I’ve made her even more nervous.”

“She’ll find her way home, right?” she said, even more softly.

“I certainly hope so.”

“Maybe you should put some food outside,” she suggested.

“Good idea,” I said.

Robin recommended that we put a couch cushion out as well. “Maybe she’ll smell it,” he added.

I moved her food bowl outside the back door. We looked for another bowl to put outside the front door. I opened the food cabinet to fill up the bowl¾the food was gone.

I could hear the dramatic chord echo through the silent night. The plot thickens.

Robin opened the closet where we keep the litter box. It was gone as well. Another chord. The answer was so clear. Someone had taken the cat. We had figured it out. My only regret was that it took us close to three hours to check to see if the litter box was there.

I called Lissette back and told her what we had discovered.

Ryan comes home today. He’s okay and will be pleased to know that the cat is not lost, although I guess he knew where she was the whole time.

I wonder if he still wants to be a bike messenger.

- Zachary Stuart-Pontier