Shirley Murphy: Cat Playing Cupid

"Our veterinarian is a good man," Charlie said. "He needn't know what this young cat is. He treats Joe Grey and Dulcie and Kit, and he doesn't know about them. He's a kind man, Willow. He's honest and caring, and he's very skilled. Please, let me take him there? You could come with us, to calm and reassure him."

Willow dropped her ears; she bent her head to nudge Sage, then looked up at Charlie. "I will come, but I must return quickly and see to the others. Others are wounded, though not so bad as Sage. I must help with them, lick them clean, do what we can."

Did Willow, Charlie wondered, not expect Sage to live? So she was committing herself to those who would live? She wanted badly to ask more about what had happened, she knew that Stone Eye could be brutal. But there was no time to ask. Rising, she fetched clean towels from the tack room, and a large metal tray that she used to lay out doctoring supplies for the horses. She folded a towel on this, to pillow Sage's body. She gathered antiseptic, a bottle of water, and gauze and clean cloths to staunch the blood.

Kneeling again beside Sage, gently she lifted him onto the makeshift stretcher. "Lie still. Oh, please, Sage, lie still." And she began carefully to bathe the wound and try to staunch the bleeding before she moved him very far. His pain seemed to have eased; she didn't know whether that was good or bad. If the young cat was in shock, she knew they must hurry.

Willow crouched close to him, speaking softly. "Listen to me, Sage. We can trust Charlie Harper, we must trust her. We must go with her, and you must do as she tells you. She will take us where you will be safe and cared for, where someone with skill can mend your leg so you can walk again. Do you understand?"

Sage blinked and nudged weakly at Willow, as if meaning to say he would try. But he cut his eyes at Charlie, not daring to speak in her presence.

Charlie, pressing gently with gauze pads, got the blood stopped, for the moment. Looking deep into the young tom's eyes, she tried the same uncompromising tone that Willow used, and that seemed to comfort him. Perhaps such authority seemed secure to Sage, perhaps it translated into safety.

"We'll go in my car," she told him, "and that will be frightening for you. You will be safe, I promise. I'll do my best for you, and so will Dr. Firetti. He won't know what you are, Sage. You can be sure that I won't tell him. He'll be kind, he'll give you something to stop the hurt, and he'll mend your leg."

Charlie hoped she wasn't promising more than Firetti could deliver; she saw in Willow 's eyes the same question. They looked at each other for a long moment. What if the leg could not be mended? What if it must be amputated? Or what if Sage kept his leg, but would be forever lame, unable to hunt properly or to travel fast and far with their wild band, unable to keep up with the clowder?

"Dr. Firetti will do the best he can," she repeated. "No one, no one , could do better."

Carefully picking up the makeshift stretcher and heading for her car, she looked down at Willow trotting along beside her, looking warily at the car. Willow stood watching as Charlie tucked the tray safely down on the front seat of her SUV, laid a soft lap blanket gently over Sage, and fastened the seat belt around the tray, securing his rigid little body. He widened his eyes as the belt seemed to imprison him.

"You must lie still. The belt is to protect you, to keep you from falling. The car will seem fast and bumpy. I'll hold on to you, too."

Willow hopped up into the car, seeming to swallow her own fear of the great metal machine as she settled gently next to Sage. Charlie, moving around the SUV, swung in and laid a hand on Sage's shoulder; as she started the engine he went even more rigid, his eyes growing huge with fear.

"It's all right, Sage. That noise is just the engine. Please be still. Please, don't hurt yourself more. I promise I won't let you be harmed-and soon the hurt will ease."

But Willow said simply, "Be still, Sage. You must mind us! It won't be long." It was all Willow could say-she, too, was shivering with fear of the noisy vehicle as Charlie set out up the ranch lane, driving slowly. When they went over a bump in the gravel road, Sage whimpered with pain, and Charlie felt her stomach twist.

"Dr. Firetti will ease the hurt," she repeated. "He'll help you rest and heal."

Sage blinked up at her in a terrified yet slowly trusting way that made her heart hurt with tenderness. He was in such pain, yet he was doing as Willow and she told him, the terrified young cat was trusting her, and that innocent trust almost undid her.

Heading out on their long road to the highway, she punched in Dr. Firetti's number on her cell phone. One ring. Two. Firetti answered on the third ring as she turned onto the highway and down the hills toward the village. She thought her call had probably interrupted his dinner. Driving as smoothly as she could on the old, two-lane road, through the heavy dusk, she told Firetti that the cat was a stray she'd been feeding, that she'd been waiting for him to grow a bit tamer before she took him down to be vetted and have his shots.

She told Firetti the cat had been in a fight with another stray. She didn't know how else to handle the matter. She thought about the possibility of rabies, but she didn't think that likely; there was not much rabies in their area except for the occasional rabid skunk or bat-and certainly those two bands of speaking cats were far too wise to get near a rabid beast.

But Firetti wouldn't know that. Under the circumstances, the doctor would probably have to quarantine Sage, and that would complicate matters. Sage was not a cat to be kept in a cage, the speaking cats loved their freedom too well, were too intelligent to tolerate confinement; Willow had had experience with cages, and Charlie knew how stressed she had been.

Well, she'd deal with that problem when Firetti mentioned it.

"When you are healed," Willow told Sage, "Charlie will take you back to the ranch so you can come and find us, so you can rejoin the band on the far hills."

"Not back to Stone Eye's band?" Charlie whispered.

Willow looked up at Charlie, her green eyes flashing with challenge. For a moment their gazes held again, transcending their difference in species; it was a moment that seemed beyond time, where species were no longer separated, where each knew the other intimately; it was an exchange that thrilled Charlie.

"Stone Eye is dead," Willow told her.

Charlie looked at her, startled.

"Last night, Stone Eye's warriors slipped into the ruins, stealthy and swift. Stone Eye wasn't with them, not in the first wave. They attacked brutally. We fought them, but they were fifty or more, and we were only twelve. We couldn't stand against them, it would have been our end. When they killed two of our young strong cats, we ten slipped away and ran.

"Just north of your barn, they surrounded us again. We dove into a hollow tree that Cotton knew. We left our scent down inside it, for them to follow, and then we climbed. Sage…Sage was with Stone Eye's warriors."

Charlie looked down at Sage, shocked.

"Sage ran with Stone Eye," Willow said. "When our band broke away from him, Sage was young and he clung to the security of that tightly ordered life. I think that sometimes he wanted to be away from Stone Eye's brutal rule, but other times he was too afraid to leave. He would not come with those who escaped to join our free band. He wouldn't leave, despite Stone Eye's cruelty," she said sadly.

Charlie shivered, trying to imagine the young cat's indecision and fear.

"But last night," Willow said, "as they gathered around the tree to dig us out, with Stone Eye yowling orders, we leaped down on them, slashing and raking. In the dark, Cotton throttled Stone Eye before he could twist and grab him-and it was then, when Stone Eye screamed with pain, that Sage saw Stone Eye's weakness, and turned on him wildly.