Shirley Murphy: Cat Playing Cupid

"This so infuriated Stone Eye that he flipped over, threw Cotton off, grabbed Sage by the leg and shook and flung him.

"And then Coyote was there, fighting Stone Eye. I've never seen such a fight, Cotton and Coyote were crazy with rage at Stone Eye's brutality to young Sage, they killed him before his warriors could help him.

"When Stone Eye lay dead, Charlie Harper, the cats began to cheer. What a wild sound, that excited cheering breaking the still night. Now…" Willow 's green eyes burned at Charlie. "Now we are all free of him. Free of the slave master." And for the first time that evening, Willow smiled, her pale ears sharply erect, her eyes glowing. "The tyrant is dead, Charlie Harper. Now, Cotton and Coyote will rule, now we will all live free again, and there will be no tyranny."

But Charlie, slowing behind a creeping truck, only hoped they could keep their freedom. In the world of humans, it seemed to her, there was always another tyrant ready to destroy the meek and gentle, another dictator burning to enslave those weaker than himself.

Willow lifted a paw, watching her. "There is something more, Charlie Harper."

Charlie passed the truck, then pulled quickly back into the single lane. The evening traffic was growing heavy in both directions on the darkening two-lane.

"We had another death," Willow told her. "A week before we were attacked. An elderly member of our band. We buried her in the ruins." Willow 's small clowder had lived in the ruins of the old Pamillon Estate, among its fallen walls and crumbling cellars, ever since they'd left Stone Eye's domination.

"We dug deep to bury her, but we had to abandon the first grave we started. There was a human body there, we uncovered human bones. Old, earth-stained bones. A hand, an arm, part of a shoulder."

Charlie thought they had found one of the Pamillon family graves, that they had been digging in the old family cemetery.

"We covered them over again, and moved to the soft earth of the old rose garden," Willow said.

Charlie glanced at her. "But the rose garden is the cemetery. What…?"

Willow looked up at her. "Yes," she said softly. "We buried our dead one beside the graves of the Pamillon family, buried her at the back of the garden where the tall old bushes bloom best."

Charlie pulled over as a speeding driver passed, narrowly missing them. "But where was the human grave?" she said, cursing the hare-brained driver.

"It was in a little courtyard outside a bedchamber, a sheltered garden walled in on three sides by the house, and overgrown with bushes and vines. Through a glass door you can see into a chamber, see a toppled dresser and an old, carved bed with tattered hangings."

Willow flicked her tail. "The strangest thing, Charlie Harper, is that the human skeleton wears a bracelet. The corpse wears a bracelet that bears the picture of a cat. What do you think that could mean?"

"Anyone might wear such jewelry. Millions of humans are fond of cats."

"But that particular cat…There is another exactly like it, carved into the stone over the bedchamber door." Willow licked her pale calico shoulder. "Exactly the same cat. Rearing up, with his mouth open and his paw thrust out."

"Maybe the Pamillons kept cats," Charlie said. "Maybe other cats lived there at one time, ordinary cats but so dearly loved that they became a kind of symbol-the way people put bumper stickers of dogs on their cars." But she knew that was a weak explanation.

Beside her, Willow 's eyes glowed with unease. "There is more about cats," Willow said, "there is a book about cats hidden at one side of the grotto. A book about cats like us, a book about speaking cats. Could the people who lived there have known about us, Charlie Harper? Did someone in that house know about speaking cats?"

Charlie's pulse had gone cold. Every stranger who knew the cats' secret was a potential threat to Willow 's wild band, and to Joe and Dulcie and Kit.

They were nearly to their turn, the evening traffic now bumper to bumper; though she kept her distance, twice she had to brake abruptly, reaching to hold Sage and to try to calm him; he was very nervous, and he seemed almost panicked with pain. She was so anxious for him that she wanted to race ahead on the wrong side of the two-lane; the slow bumper-to-bumper traffic was maddening.

"Near the human grave," Willow said, "is a fissure where the walls have caved into an old cellar; several weeks ago Coyote chased a squirrel down there and found a small wooden box tucked among the stones.

"We pulled the box out with our claws. I don't know what made me fight so hard to free it and get it open. Coyote would have left it, but I had a terrible, urgent feeling that we needed to see inside.

"What clever hands humans have. It took three of us fighting that lid to unhook it. Inside was a piece of folded leather wrapped around something heavy. Inside that was an old book wrapped in frail cloth, a book with a leather cover and gold lettering. We dragged it out of the box and opened it, and in the starlight we read the first pages."

Charlie turned left on Ocean, headed for Firetti's clinic. Beside her, Sage lay limp and still, his head down on the seat in a way that turned her cold.

Willow put her face to his face. "He sleeps," she said softly. "He is breathing." She was quiet a moment, then, "Some of the tales were the same ancient stories our clowder used to tell before Stone Eye forbade them-he called them the lies of humans, stories about our ancient beginnings. We remembered them from when we were kittens, gathered, of an evening, in the big clowder circle.

"But there were other stories, written by a human who knew about cats of our kind, who had seen them and spoken with them, in another country. Those stories frightened us. We shoved the book back in the box and hid the box again, deep in the crevice. If any cat loyal to Stone Eye had found it, they would have clawed it to shreds."

"Why didn't you destroy it," Charlie said, "when such a record is so dangerous?"

"I don't know," Willow said worriedly. "In that book is our history, our story. It gives away our secret, and yet it is our treasure, too, so rich in our own history. How could we destroy it?

"I don't like that humans would have such a book," the calico said thoughtfully. "But maybe some humans felt as I do. Maybe they meant to keep our secret, hiding the book carefully. As if they could not bring themselves to tear or burn it? It is a precious thing, that book, those words that tell about us."

Charlie couldn't answer; the idea of the book both frightened and excited her, just as it did Willow. But right now…She pulled up to the clinic, praying for Sage, her hand on his limp little body.

FIRETTI'S VETERINARY CLINICoccupied two small old cottages just behind the large automotive agency that included Clyde Damen's upscale auto repair shop. The original houses, one a small frame structure, the newer a one-bedroom cabin constructed of heavy beams and cement blocks, had long ago been joined together by a central kennel and turned into a pleasing professional complex. Dr. and Mrs. Firetti, Mary, lived in the cottage next door. Pulling up in front, Charlie turned to look at Willow. "Do you want to stay in the car, or come in with Sage?"

Willow rose as if to follow her, but then the pale calico, looking out warily at the big building, seemed to lose her nerve. Charlie couldn't fault her, the poor cat was about at the end of her strength. She'd fought two battles this long day, had run for her life from the first violent attack, then had escaped the warriors a second time and helped the wounded young tom to safety-despite her fear of the human world, she had entered the stable, surely terrified. She seemed, in fact, not only at the end of her strength but of her resolve. Charlie touched her gently.