Cat Playing Cupid

by Shirley Rousseau Murphy

  The fear and confusion that that little wild cat must have felt coming out of the anesthetic, waking in a strange world inside a building, not remembering how he got there, finding himself in a cage, hurting and sick and afraid. Even with Dulcie there to calm him, he must have been terrified.

  Well, but he was being gently cared for now, with a special understanding that the young cat would find in no other doctor. She was still amazed that for all these years, John Firetti had looked upon the speaking cats as a natural part of his life.

  It was strange, too, that she, when she first discovered the truth about the cats, had felt that such cats should have been a part of her life all along, that not knowing about them had left something incomplete in her world, left it flat and dull. She'd not been surprised that, once she shared the cats' secret, a buoyant feeling of richness had filled so many of her life's empty spaces.

  She thought about the day she and Ryan and Hanni had been returning from their weeklong pack trip, riding home across the open hills, the day that Willow and her wild band first appeared to her, slipping out of the pine forest.

  Glimpsing the little phantom beings secretly following her, wonder had gripped her, the same thrill that had touched her the night Willow had come to her, needing her, trusting her enough to seek her out.

  Now, turning away from the cliff's edge, she stepped back into the Blazer and headed down the hills to Dr. Firetti's clinic, down Highway 1, a left at Ocean and a left again at Beckwhite's Fine Cars, where she glanced absently at Clyde 's automotive garage.

  Clyde and Ryan on their honeymoon, she thought, amused. She'd never thought it would happen. No little beforehand hints, no asking for help picking out rings, no sharing of plans and secrets, though the three of them were close friends. The two had been dating for a while, but Clyde had dated a long string of women, including Charlie herself.

  But then, Christmas Day, Clyde had started calling all their friends with the big announcement. Wilma said Dulcie had been so surprised she nearly did flips. The little tabby had just clawed the wrapping off her Christmas gift, which turned out to be Charlie's portrait of Joe Grey, so she was already giddy, wired with excitement when they heard Clyde 's news. To learn that he had actually proposed, that he and Ryan meant to take the big step…no one had thought it would happen.

  Parking at the side of the clinic, she paused to retie her red hair with its ragged ribbon, then grabbed her package off the seat, got out, and locked the car. She had brought half a rare filet for Sage, from last night's dinner. Through the clinic's front window, she could see Wilma inside the crowded waiting room.

  The door was blocked by a man in shorts and sandals trying to pull his basset hound away from a pair of fluffy "designer" mutts, while a black cat in a carrier hissed angrily. At the other side of the cheerful room, with its wicker chairs and hanging plants, Wilma was chatting with the receptionist, dark-haired Audrey Cane, about Audrey's young German shepherd; Audrey was radiant with pride in the dog's talents, was sharing her plans for his training when John Firetti came out and led Wilma and Charlie back to the small, quiet recovery room.

  Sage lay in his large cage, the wire door propped open, looking helpless in his bandages. When he saw Charlie and Wilma, his eyes brightened and he got clumsily to his feet, wobbling in his cast; the doctor reached to steady him.

  "Get him to drink all he can," Dr. Firetti told them as he lifted Sage into Wilma's carrier, onto a soft blanket. "You shouldn't have a problem getting him to eat, he's hungry as a wolf. Aren't you, Sage?" He looked seriously at Charlie. "Max doesn't know about the cats?"

  "He doesn't need to know," Charlie said. "Later, when Sage comes up to us, we'll be careful only to talk when we're sure Max is gone. Sage will have a nice bed in my studio, and another in our bedroom at night. I'll tell Max he's a stray I've seen hanging around, that I found him hurt."

  "And how will you explain that you didn't ever tell him about this stray, when you tell Max about every animal that comes around the ranch, the wild fox you like to draw, the skunk…You've drawn them all, and Max has seen them all."

  "I'll think of something. Preoccupation with the wedding…Mind on a new book…"

  Firetti nodded but looked unconvinced. Cops didn't buy easily into even the most reasonable alibis.

  "I have Sage on antibiotics," he said. "He doesn't mind taking pills if you put a dab of butter on them; he's a good patient." He glanced toward the closed door. "Of course the staff doesn't know. They say he's an amazing patient, that he does just what they want." He winked at Sage, and doctor and patient exchanged a long and trusting look. Then Firetti laid out the medicines they were to take home, and went over the times and doses.

  "I want to see him every day for a while. I'll stop by the house, Wilma, if that's all right-Sage can tell me how he feels, and I'll change the bandages." That was more than all right with Wilma. They set a time for his visits, and within half an hour the three were headed for Wilma's house, Sage's carrier strapped into Wilma's car, Charlie following in her red Blazer.

  ***

  W ILMA HAD SET up a bed for Sage near her desk in the living room where she and Dulcie liked to sit by the fire at night; she had covered the blue velvet chair with a puffy comforter, and had taped several sturdy boxes together to form a wide, shallow set of steps from the rug to the chair. Behind an end table was a sandbox, and on the floor beside Sage's chair was a plastic tray big enough to hold his water and kibble bowls. They entered the house through the back door, into Wilma's bright blue-and-white kitchen. A welcoming committee awaited them-Joe and Dulcie and Kit looked up from a plastic bowl where they had been enjoying leftovers from last night's dinner, and the three followed Wilma through to the living room where she set down the carrier.

  As she and Charlie settled Sage in his new bed, Kit leaped up and curled carefully beside him on the soft comforter, staying away from his cast. Wilma headed for the kitchen, and soon the house smelled of fresh coffee, warm milk, and warming cinnamon buns, soon Charlie carried a tray through to the living room, setting it on the coffee table. "You're taking the week off?" she asked her aunt as Wilma poured the coffee.

  Wilma nodded. "I plan to do my taxes-last minute, as usual, with Sage to keep me company. We'll have a cozy fire in the hearth, and I have the CD set up with Dulcie's favorite music, which maybe Sage will like."

  "And my bandages off soon?" Sage asked shyly.

  "As soon as the doctor allows," Wilma told him. "Meanwhile, all the steak and custard you can eat." She pushed back her long silver hair where it had escaped its ponytail. "You're our guest, Sage. You mustn't be shy about asking for what you want."

  "Or shy about getting spoiled," Dulcie said. "A few days with Wilma and you won't want to go back to the clowder."

  Sage looked uncertainly at Dulcie. The young cat was still trying to get used to the idea of feline/human conversations, was still trying to decide just how one behaved among humans.

  And he was still trying to get used to being shut within solid walls. Confined in a man-made structure, it seemed to Sage that a part of him must have gone missing. The open hills, the wind, the shadowed woods had all been taken from him, had left him feeling incomplete and small.

  Kit, lying close to him, watched him intently, her round yellow eyes just inches from his, gazing at him as if trying to see into his very soul, as if trying to know the young tom's deepest thoughts. That unnerved Sage, but excited him.

  "You'll stay here with me," Wilma told Sage, "until I go back to work, then you'll go to Charlie's house, at the ranch, and that's nearer your own hills and woods." She looked at Charlie. "First day I get back, I start training the new reference librarian."

  Charlie looked so alarmed that the cats came alert, watching her. "You're not planning to quit? The new librarian isn't taking your job?"

  Dulcie looked at her housemate in amazement. She'd heard nothing of this. If Wilma quit her job as a reference librarian, she'd have to give up her library office wh
ere the cat door opened from among the bushes outside, the door that let Dulcie into the closed library at night.

  No more midnight prowling among the books? No more pulling books from the shelves, dragging them up onto a table where she could read alone and unseen? No more nighttime adventures into exotic lands and distant times?

  "I'm not quitting," Wilma said quickly. "Only cutting back. And we do need more help. The new librarian will be full-time, and that will give us more actual hours, even with the reduced schedule I've set for myself." Wilma didn't have to work, she had an adequate federal retirement pension from her first career as a probation officer.

  Still, Charlie looked uneasy. "You're not…You're feeling all right?"

  "I'm feeling fine. Don't fuss," Wilma scolded. "I'm not sick, there's nothing wrong with me, there are simply some other things I'd like to do. How could I quit? How could I give up my library key?" Wilma said, mirroring Dulcie's thoughts. "How could I give up my office, and Dulcie's cat door? Who knows, I might even start riding again."

  "Are you serious? You can ride Redwing all you want, she really needs the exercise. If…"

  Charlie paused, watching Joe. On the desk, the tomcat sat at rigid attention, studying Wilma and then turning his gaze on Charlie, watching the two of them so fixedly that Charlie shivered. Joe's yellow eyes were far too intent and calculating. Whatever he had in mind, he made Charlie feel like a cornered mouse.

  "This is perfect," Joe said softly, turning to watch Wilma. "Are you serious about riding again?"

  Wilma looked at him warily.

  "This couldn't be better," Joe purred. "This fits right in with our plans."

  "What plans?" Charlie and Wilma said together.

  A slow smile spread over the tomcat's face, sending both women into a paroxysm of suspicion. "What?" Wilma said. "What's in that sneaky cat mind, that you think you can get me to do?"

  14

  A T LEAST CHARLIE'S acting sensibly, Joe thought as he leaped from a pine tree to the tiles of the courthouse roof-a lot more sensibly than Dulcie.

  Dropping down onto the lower roof of Molena Point PD and then into the branches of the ancient oak that sheltered its front door, he stretched out along a branch, thinking about his plan.

  "You're a fair poker player," Charlie had said when he'd told her what he had in mind. "Wilma and I get the book, which is too heavy for you to carry down the hills without tearing the pages, and you see that the department finds the body without involving me or involving you cats."

  "That's it," Joe had said, smoothing his whiskers with a white-tipped paw. "I can talk with Ryan myself if you'd like, to put things in motion. But I'd have to wait until they get back, I don't think she's up to talking with me on the phone yet-she's still getting used to face-to-face discussion." Joe and Dulcie had been sitting on Wilma's desk as, on the blue velvet couch, Charlie and Wilma finished their coffee and cinnamon buns and, in the easy chair, Kit napped, curled up on the comforter with Sage.

  "I'll call the honeymooners tonight," Charlie said. "I'm sure they can't wait for people to disturb them."

  "It's a good deal for Ryan, too," Joe had pointed out. "She'll love the plan, she'll be happy you called."

  Charlie sighed. "A honeymoon, Joe, by its very nature, is-"

  "What kind of honeymoon? Those two are up there scrounging through junk shops and wrecking yards. How romantic is that?"

  "I'll call her," Charlie said, looking helplessly at the tomcat.

  Joe gave her a satisfied smile, leaped down from the desk, and headed for the kitchen, pausing only to scowl pointedly at Dulcie. He was nosing through Dulcie's cat door when Dulcie, following him, pushed him aside, cornering him against the washing machine. Her green eyes blazed. "What are you angry at me about? What did I do?"

  "You're matchmaking, that's what you're doing."

  "Matchmaking?"

  "You needn't smile so fatuously over them, you needn't encourage them."

  "Shhh, keep you voice down. I can't make her ignore him, he's her friend. And why would I? He's weak and hurting, the poor cat needs sympathy. Kit grew up with Sage, they were kittens together, she-"

  "They're not kittens anymore. She's smitten with him. And you're not doing a thing to discourage her."

  "Why would I discourage her? Why would I want to?"

  "You're just like every other female! So damned romantic you lose all perspective. No more common sense than a chicken."

  Dulcie stared at him, her paw lifted to slap him. "You're jealous!" she hissed. "You're…You…Oh!" And she spun away, her ears down, her tail tucked under.

  "I'm not jealous!" he snapped, snatching her back with a hasty paw, his claws locked in her fur, his eyes blazing with amazement. "How could I be jealous! I think of her as a kitten! She's like our kitten! I feel like we raised her together."

  She simply stared at him.

  "Listen to me," he said angrily. "Remember how hard it was for Kit to leave the wild? What she went through when she felt pulled both ways, half of her wanting to go feral again, running wild, half of her wanting to be a part of human lives in her very special way? Do you remember how hard that was?

  "But she did decide," he said, "and she was so happy and proud of herself. She's doing more here than in the wild. Think of the crimes she's helped solve. She's so full of life, so clever and inventive…But now, with Sage pulling on her, she'll soon be torn apart again! If they become a couple, when Sage is ready to return to the wild, what do you think Kit will do? You want her to follow him? You want her to leave the village forever? You want never to see her again?"

  "She wouldn't do that. This is her home. Maybe Sage won't return to the clowder. Maybe-"

  "What else would he do? He doesn't like the human world. The minute he's healed, he's out of here, headed for the hills. And Kit with him, just as sure as mice have tails. Is that what you want?" And he shoved out the cat door, scorched up a pine tree and across the roofs, heading fast for Molena Point PD.

  Now, dropping from the oak branch down into a bed of cyclamens near the front door of the station, he stalked between the bright red and pink blooms and up the steps, and peered in through the bulletproof glass.

  The reception area, with its electronic control center and its one holding cell, was empty except for the cats' favorite dispatcher. Watching blond, middle-aged Mabel Farthy busy at her computer, he reared up to claw at the glass, demanding her attention.

  Mabel looked up, saw him, and frowned with exasperation. But she rose, hurried out from behind the counter, and swung the heavy door open.

  "Come on, Joe. How do you know when I'm right in the middle of something urgent? And how did you know I have carrot cake? Come on, up on the counter, if you want some. Where are your pals?"

  Heavily Joe jumped to the counter, his belly so full of Wilma's cinnamon rolls that even his favorite carrot cake didn't appeal. But he wouldn't hurt Mabel's feelings-couldn't afford to hurt her feelings and sour their relationship, Mabel Farthy was their entrée into the building. And Mabel's electronic realm, her ability to reach every law enforcement agency in the U.S. and beyond, gathering information from them, was the cats' entrée into the department's most sensitive intelligence.

  Besides, he liked Mabel. He would never hurt her feelings by rejecting her lovingly made offerings.

  Mabel spoiled her own cats, and she loved bringing treats for "her three freeloaders" and petting and talking to them. Now, although Joe thought he'd burst, he ate the carrot cake slowly, choking down each delicious bite and purring extravagantly for Mabel-while praying he wouldn't upchuck on her clean counter. He could hear, down the hall, the chief's voice from his office, in a tense discussion with a woman.

  Would that be Lindsey Wolf? But it was still early, not yet eleven-and her appointment wasn't with Max Harper but with Mike and Dallas. Keen with curiosity, he finished the cake, rubbed his face against Mabel's arm by way of thanks, and dropped heavily to the floor, belching delicately as he headed down the
hall.

  Lights spilled from the office doors he passed, from the conference room that smelled of overcooked coffee, and from the report room where the faint click of computer keys told him several officers were catching up on their reports. Only the interrogation room was dark; Joe was passing that small windowless space with its little table and two straight chairs when, from Harper's office ahead, the woman's voice grew sharp and authoritative.

  "This is most important, Captain Harper, or I would not have disturbed you."

  Slipping in through the chief's open door, Joe vanished beneath the credenza.

  Max and the woman stood in the center of the room, as if she had just entered, and as if he didn't mean for her to stay long. This was Lindsey Wolf? This showy, sleekly made-up woman? This was not what he'd expected. She was some looker, all right, but she sure wasn't the soft, tastefully clad, restrained beauty he'd pictured from Mike's remarks and from Clyde 's description.

  She was maybe in her forties, though it was hard to tell with humans, particularly women. Her sleek, brown, shoulder-length hair shone with red highlights as perfectly shaded as the color in a cosmetics commercial. Her makeup was artful, too, but not the subtle glow that Joe had envisioned. Her brown eyes, gazing up at the chief from beneath mascara-thick lashes, were way too friendly for a meeting that should be businesslike; she stood too close to Max, looking up at him in a way that was far too familiar.

  Harper stood his ground, watching her with that closed cop look in which Joe read sharp dislike, a look that sometimes alarmed the tomcat but usually amused him. Max was holding a clear plastic bag; inside, Joe could see a small sheet of letter paper, carefully hand-printed with a blue pen.