It wasn't Travis, either.
Turns out he has a girlfriend back in his hometown somewhere in Long Island. I guess the schools aren't as welcoming to the undead there or something. Colette, who is Watson to my Sherlock, Robin to my Batman, Kato to my Clouseau (although her kung fu is weak!) overheard him bragging to his friends about his "wicked hot trad girlfriend" back on "the Island". She couldn't get close enough to see, but apparently he backed up his claims with some Facebook-ish type evidence.
"Yeah, right," says I. "The old 'girlfriend back at home' ploy. I ain't buyin' that snake oil, sistah!"
Sometimes, when I have a mystery to solve, I find that it helps to wear a fedora and talk tough like a 1940's L.A. gumshoe. I didn't have a fedora, though, just this really cute black with pink polka dots headband. Colette just looked at me like I was crazy.
"He had messages from her," she said. "And pictures."
"Right," I said. I decided that confrontation was the key.
"Hey, Trav," I said when we were walking to his next class, on what was supposed to be the last day of me chaperoning him, "I need to ask you..."
"Look," he said. "Before you hit on me, you should know I have a wicked hot girlfriend on the Island."
"What?" I said, and then he proceeded to tell me how he'd been seeing her for three years, they are in love, they will be together as soon as super-science finds a cure for zombiism, etc. etc. etc.
"Really, Travis? OMZ!"
"Look, Margi," he said. "Don't be sad. You are cute and all, but Bree and me...it's really love."
Grr. I wasn't hitting on him, for the record.
And now, to talk to Eric and find out what this kitty obsession is all about!