The call came early, while Shadevale was still shrouded in that gray mist that wrapped everything. It was an old city, full of narrow alleys and shadowy parks—the kind of place where things could disappear without a trace. And in this case, what had disappeared was Dexter, a white cat with more lives than cats were supposed to have.
I quickly dressed and left my apartment. The Cat Recovery Team (CRT) wasn’t an organization that could afford to wait, and when a cat like Dexter sneaked away, you knew things could get complicated. The cobblestone streets were wet under my feet, and the air smelled of damp earth mixed with the distant aroma of coffee from some late-night café that was still open.
The Shadow Market, where he had been seen last, was a maze of colorful stalls and even more vibrant characters. An organized chaos that seemed to have a life of its own. The news of Dexter’s case had already reached the vendors, who looked at each other with a mix of amusement and curiosity.
I approached a fruit stall run by a man with weathered skin and hands stained with orange juice. I didn’t ask him anything; I just stopped beside him, watching.
“You’re looking for Dexter, aren’t you?” the man murmured while peeling an apple with a small knife. “The mischievous cat... I saw him a few hours ago. He went into the fabric shop at the end of the market, knocking everything over.”
I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Dexter wasn’t just fast; he seemed to have a knack for disappearing just when you thought you were close. I walked to the fabric shop, and sure enough, the signs of his chaos were clear: fabrics scattered on the floor, some scratches on the curtains.
I followed the trail to a small square behind the market. The place was almost empty at that hour, except for a group of kids playing near a fountain, not paying attention to anything else. But there was something else: in a corner of the square, someone was moving stealthily. I approached slowly, with the feeling that it wasn’t a coincidence.
Dexter, indeed, wasn’t alone. A man was hunched over a box, trying to catch the cat. The scene seemed odd, something didn’t fit. When the man noticed my presence, he turned abruptly, dropping the box.
“Trouble?” I asked, observing his tense posture.
“Just... trying to help. This cat seems to be lost.”
“Help? Is that what you call it now?” I wasn’t convinced. Too much hurry in the retreat, too many nervous gestures.
The man vanished in a blink, as if the shadows themselves swallowed him. A strange guy. I could have followed him, but something told me he’d cross my path again sooner or later. I crouched down and looked at Dexter, who had calmly settled down, licking a paw. He didn’t seem bothered by the encounter, as if he didn’t care at all about what had just happened.
I stood up, sighing. But Dexter, always one step ahead, had decided that the chase wasn’t over. He jumped to the ground and ran off down a narrow alley. I had no choice but to follow.
Dexter moved nimbly, running between boxes, knocking over trash cans, and jumping over fences as if all of Shadevale was his playground. I, on the other hand, could barely keep up. After what felt like hours of chasing, the cat suddenly stopped in a dark corner, right in front of a slightly open iron door.
Inside, I saw a faint light filtering through the cracks of the door. Dexter entered with his usual confidence, as if everything belonged to him, and I followed closely.
The inside was an abandoned warehouse. The walls were lined with old shelves covered in dust. On a table at the back, I recognized something familiar: a wooden box, the same one the mysterious man had tried to hide earlier. This time, it was open. And in front of it, the same man, watching its contents with frustration.
“Back again?” the man murmured as he saw me enter, but before he could say more, Dexter leapt straight onto the table. With a swipe, he tossed a rolled-up scroll onto the floor, and before the man could react, Dexter was already nibbling one of the edges.
“No! Leave it!” the man shouted desperately, trying to reach the cat. But it was useless. Dexter, with his natural agility, dodged all his attempts to catch him.
I took advantage of the chaos to get closer to the box. Inside were several jars like the one I had seen before, all with a strange glow inside, and more rolled-up scrolls. I had no idea what it all meant, but it didn’t look legal.
The man, exhausted and frustrated, finally gave up. “That cat… He ruins everything!” he said, casting a furious glance at Dexter, who was now playing with the scroll as if it were a toy mouse.
“What is this?” I asked, picking up one of the jars from the box. “What are you doing with all this?”
The man looked at me coldly. “It’s none of your business. But thanks to that darn cat, I’ve lost everything.”
“Lost what?” I pressed.
The man didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped back and, with unexpected speed, ran toward the door. But Dexter, with his mischievous timing, leapt right in his way, making him stumble and fall face-first onto the ground. I took the moment to grab the jar and scroll that Dexter had dropped.
The man fled, leaving the box scattered on the floor. Dexter, unaffected by the chaos he had caused, kept playing with a scroll while I gathered the scattered items and put them into a bag.
Back at the Central Office, it was discovered that the jars contained liquids for erasing traces and the scrolls were detailed lists of stolen items. The warehouse had been a hideout for concealing evidence. The mess Dexter made revealed everything that had been hidden.
The undercover operation was dismantled thanks to Dexter’s accidental intervention. Shadevale had avoided letting the thefts go unpunished, and the mischievous cat, satisfied, curled up in a corner while the case was resolved.