Free How To Tail a Cat by Rebecca M. Hale

was prone to distraction, along with several other odd behaviors.
    Perhaps, she mused, he had wandered off.
    Turning a slow circle, Dr. Kline studied the front atrium area once more before reaching for a walkie-talkie hooked to a belt around her waist. Pushing a plastic button on the side of the device, she brought its mike to her mouth.
    “Has anyone seen Sam?”
    • • •
    WITH A LITTLE help from a curator who happened to be walking past the Academy’s Swamp Exhibit, Dr. Kline quickly honed in on the location of her wayward frog expert.
    She found Sam bent over the brass seahorse balcony, staring down into the tank at Clive, the Academy’s famous albino alligator, who was resting comfortably on his heated rock.
    “There you are, Sam,” she called out with relief.
    He didn’t appear to hear her greeting; his attention remained focused on the colorless creature in the tank below.
    She approached the balcony and tried again.
    “Hello there, Sam.”
    Still receiving no reply, she leaned over the railing, trying to intercept his gaze.
    “Sam?” she repeated, aiming the full volume of her voice at the big man’s left ear—to no effect. His shoulders dropped another inch or so over the side of the balcony.
    Standing on her tiptoes, she reached up and tentatively tapped him on the shoulder.
    “Sam?”
    At her touch, Sam’s whole body convulsed. The scientist ducked as he jumped and spun around, a startled, wild-eyed expression on his freckled face.
    “Hey there, Mister Frog Whisperer,” she said, grabbing hold of his vest to keep him from flipping backward over the balcony. “Thanks so much for coming.”
    “It’s my pleasure . . . ahem . . . Dr. Kline,” Sam mumbled with an awkward grin as he straightened his shoulders, centering his weight on the concrete floor.
    “I’m so glad you’re here.” She sighed, taking a short step away from the railing. “I’ve tried everything. I just can’t figure out what’s wrong with them.”
    “Mm-hmm,” Sam nodded, absentmindedly fiddling with the green button sewn onto his vest as he glanced over his shoulder at the Swamp Exhibit.
    “They won’t touch their food,” she persisted. “And their color is off. They seem a little pale.”
    “Mm-hmm,” he repeated, still preoccupied by the alligator.
    Dr. Kline paused, perplexed. It was unusual for Sam to act so disinterested in an important frog-related matter.
    “Would you like to take a look at them?” she asked hopefully. “They’re downstairs on the aquarium level.”
    Immediately, Sam turned to face her. “Why didn’t you say so?” he replied briskly. “Let’s go.”
    Without further hesitation, he set off toward a large stairwell leading to the basement.
    Brow furrowed, Dr. Kline chased after him.
    Moments later the pair disappeared through an entrance bearing the label “Steinhart Aquarium.”
    • • •
    DR. KLINE STRUGGLED to keep up as Sam clomped down the concrete stairs, his long legs taking two and three steps at a time.
    “They’re just off to the right,” she panted as they entered the basement level.
    Abruptly halting, Sam swung his arm out in front of his chest.
    “After you.”
    Dr. Kline hurried off down a tank-filled corridor. Sam took two strides to follow and then veered sharply off course. By the time the scientist looked back to check on him, he had disappeared into the maze of exhibits.
    He had one more thing to do before visiting the frogs.
    • • •
    SAM CROUCHED IN front of the nearest display to get his bearings, and a pair of ten-year-olds soon packed in around him. The boys were captivated by the neon-striped ribbon eels in the display’s tank. Sam briefly joined them in staring up at the eels—their thick, wiggling arms of clothlike skin looked for all the world like sock puppets. Then he pulled an exhibit map from his pocket and held it up to the tank’s light to search for his location.
    He was now in a dramatically different environment than the