Shirley Murphy: Cat Playing Cupid

MUCH LATER,when the party had ended and everyone had gone, when Clyde had put out the fire and Ryan turned out the lights, Joe and Rock and Snowball followed the couple up the stairs; soon they were all tucked up in the king-size bed, Ryan and Clyde sipping a nightcap as a fire burned on the hearth, its reflections dancing along the beams above them.

"Here's to Joe Grey," Ryan said, stroking the tomcat. "Gibbs is behind bars, where he belongs-you and Lindsey sure nailed him."

"And here's to Dulcie," Joe said. "If she hadn't alerted you two, I'd be locked in some stinking cage about now-or smashed flat on the concrete, decorated with tire marks."

Ryan shivered, then laughed. "You're a disgusting tomcat." She picked him up and hugged him, deeply embarrassing him because she was wearing only a thin, low-cut nightie. His embarrassment made her laugh harder. She put him down, watched him curl up between Rock and Snowball. Clyde, finishing his drink, turned out the light and, for this one night, despite their newlywed status, he and Ryan settled down to sleep among the warm, bed-hogging menagerie.

Dozing off, Joe thought, Sleep well, Dulcie. Sleep well, Kit, and was glad to have the tortoiseshell settled in once more, hopefully content, again, with her adopted family.

BUT AT THEGreenlaw house Kit wasn't sleeping snuggled down with her humans. She sat wide awake in her tree house, alone in the moonlight, far too energized to sleep. She thought about joy. She thought about all the wonders in the world she hadn't yet seen and smelled and tasted and clawed and leaped over.

Lucinda said that joy was the deep-down power one was born with-that some folks nurtured joy and let it grow, and some folks crippled it. She thought about Sage and prayed for his happiness. And she thought that somewhere out there in the world was the right tomcat for her. Waiting for her?

She thought about that for a long time, wondering. Then suddenly, filled right up to her ears with exciting thoughts, she raced out of her tree house along the oak branch, did a wild flip onto the windowsill nearly missing it, leaped inside onto the dining room table and off again to the rug, raced three times through the house as fast as a cat can run and landed on the bed, waking Lucinda and Pedric and making them laugh and hug her. And there she curled up between her two housemates. She slept at once, dreaming of so many wonders yet to see that in sleep her dark paws kicked and raced, her fluffy tail twitched, and she let out a little mewl of delight that made Lucinda and Pedric smile-made Lucinda think, as she so often did, Joy is her nature, and that will never change.That will always be so.

I want to thank Dr. Alyce Wolford for her understanding comments. Any errors or deviations are mine.

SHIRLEY ROUSSEAU MURPHYhas received seven national Cat Writers’ Association Awards for best novel of the year, two Cat Writers’ President’s Awards, the “World’s Best Cat Litter-ary Award” in 2006 for the Joe Grey Books, and five Council of Authors and Journalists Awards for previous books. She and her husband live in Carmel, California, where they serve as full-time household help for two demanding feline ladies.

www.joegrey.com

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