Shirley Murphy: Cat Seeing Double

"You feed them when they show up, give them a little snack, and install a cat door into your garage, and I guarantee they'll catch the mice."

"But that's silly."

"Try it. I promise."

"A cat door will only let in more mice."

"The mice are already getting in somewhere," he had pointed out, "despite the fact that you and Charlie went over the garages of both duplexes and patched all the holes. What difference is one more opening? Trust me. Cut the door, and leave a little snack."

Build it and they will come, she'd thought, wanting to giggle.

"Just do it. Joe and Dulcie will clear the place."

Out of desperation she'd followed his instructions, visualizing extended families of mice marching in through the newly cut cat door to set up housekeeping, vast generations of rapacious rodents settling in to gnaw the cords off drills and saws and droplights. Reluctantly she had put in the cat door and then had gotten on with the job at hand, which was the renovation of Clyde's backyard, transforming his weedy garden and scruffy lawn into a handsome outdoor living area.

After a week, all signs of mice in her garage had vanished.

Maybe this mouse that Joe dangled was the last one.

Maybe, she thought giddily, Joe Grey had brought this last mouse to her to receive her final stamp of approval.

Or her final payment? Would he present a bill? Or was this extermination job in partial exchange for Clyde's yard renovation? Well, Clyde had been pleased with the renovation.

Months earlier, when a small, exclusive shopping plaza was built behind Clyde's house, it had turned the property line at the back into a two-story concrete wall that destroyed Clyde's view of the eastern hills. She'd pointed out the virtues of the new wall, how it could be turned from what Clyde considered a negative feature to a positive asset. In the plan she submitted, she'd made every effort to replace the loss of a view with satisfying architectural interest, enclosing the outer limits of the yard with six-by-six pillars that met the smoothly plastered wall and supported a heavy overhead latticework in a simple Spanish style. This structure framed the maple tree and enlarged deck, the new southwestern style fireplace, wet bar, and outdoor grill. Beneath the trellises she had constructed a series of raised planters arranged in different heights among plastered benches. They'd installed tile decorations for the high wall, and had arranged interesting, bold-leafed plants against it. Voila, an eyesore turned into a handsome private retreat.

Soon, now that she was home from the San Andreas job, she would begin the second phase of Clyde's renovation, a second-floor addition, jacking up the attic roof to create the walls of a new master bedroom and study. Here in this small, lovely village of Molena Point, with its high demand for real estate, Clyde's upgrading was well worth the investment. The third phase of his project would complete the transformation as she opened the kitchen to the small dining room, then nudged the face of the Cape Cod cottage into a more contemporary aspect with a Mexican accent. Some people might call that bastardization. Ryan called it good design.

In the five months since she moved to Molena Point, she'd accomplished a lot. Had gotten her local contractor's license and the necessary permits to launch RM Flannery, Construction, had put together two good crews, and had finished three jobs beside Clyde's: a drainage project for four ladies who had just bought a home together for their retirement, the addition in San Andreas, and the far more complicated Landeau vacation cottage here in the village, which waited now only for the new handwoven carpet that had been ordered from England. The rug wasn't part of the architectural work but was the province of her sister Hanni, who had done the interior design. All in all a satisfying beginning for her new venture.

She had escaped San Francisco for Molena Point the night she finally decided to leave Rupert, had packed her personal possessions into cardboard boxes, loaded them into a company truck and taken off in a cold rage-in a move that was long overdue. Heading south along the coast, for the village she loved best in all the world, for the little seaside town where she had spent her childhood summers, she was filled not only with hurt anger at Rupert but with excited dreams for a new beginning-her own business, totally hers, completely free of Rupert.

But she fully intended to receive in cash her share of Dannizer Construction, which she had helped Rupert to build.

Her sudden decision to leave-when she found another woman's clothes in her closet-had been bolstered by the fact that her uncle Dallas and her sister Hanni had already moved to Molena Point, that both would be nearby for moral support. Dallas had taken a position as chief of detectives for Captain Harper in the smaller and more casual police department, shaking off the heavy stress of San Francisco PD for his last few years before retirement. And early this spring Hanni had opened a design studio in the village, leaving the large city studio where she had worked under too much pressure. Maybe this sudden midlife bid for new directions, this need to pull back and be more fully one's own boss, was in the blood.

When she looked again at the window, the gray tomcat was still staring.

"That's very good, Joe Grey. I'm proud of you. It's a fine mouse. But you can't bring it inside." What did he want her to do, fry it up for supper? At her words, his yellow eyes narrowed with defiance, his stubborn look so droll that she cracked open the door a couple of inches to see what he would do.

The sight that met her made her choke.

On the mat lay five dead mice lined up as neatly as the little toy soldiers she'd marshaled into rows, as a child.

The instant she cracked the door open, the tomcat dropped the sixth mouse precisely beside the others. He didn't try to bring it in; he simply laid it on the mat perfectly aligned, and looked up at her.

Was he grinning? The cat was definitely grinning.

She studied the tomcat, and the six dead mice presented for her review. This was some trick of Clyde's. He must have slipped up the steps and set up the dead mice as a joke. Now he would be watching her, hidden somewhere, like a kid glancing around the corner of the building. Except, what had made the tomcat drop the sixth mouse there?

She looked along the street for Clyde's car and up the side streets as far as she could see. Maybe he'd parked the yellow roadster up the hill on the back street.

But where did he get the mice? How could he have made the cat take part in such a ruse? Make the cat look in the window at just the right moment, dangling another mouse in his jaws, and then lay it on the mat?

Certainly Joe Grey was no trained cat, she thought, smiling. Clyde wasn't even able to train a dog effectively. She'd heard about the fiasco with the two Great Dane puppies that Clyde had raised, a pair of huge adolescent dogs with no hint of manners, two canine disasters until Max Harper and Charlie took over their training.

She wondered idly if Max and Charlie's romance actually began up in the hills at his ranch as they taught two misbegotten puppies some manners and trained them to basic obedience. Charlie had never said. But if that was the case the pups really should be ring bearers, she thought, amused, imagining the two big dogs trotting down the aisle with little satin pillows tied to their noses bearing matched wedding rings.

She had to get hold of herself. She really hadn't had enough sleep.

Charlie had stopped by this morning on an errand despite the fact that it was her wedding day, and they'd had a short, comfortable visit. Ryan had liked the freckled redhead from the moment they first met, had liked that Charlie didn't talk trivia and that there was no friction between them because Charlie had recently and seriously dated Clyde and now Ryan was seeing him.