Shirley Murphy - Cat Breaking Free

Approaching across the roofs, she saw Clyde's car in the drive. The living room lights were on and she could smell something nice, a deep slow beefy smell, like maybe a roast in the oven. With that good aroma filling the evening, Joe would surely be home. She was headed for Joe's tower when she heard Clyde's voice yelling, blocks away behind her, calling, calling Joe Grey.

But at the same moment two other voices exploded, closer, ringing out from the house next door, from Chichi Barbi's bedroom: a man shouting and swearing and Chichi shouting back at him.

"The hell you don't have it! Give it over, Chichi! Why the hell would you take the key! What the hell would you want with the damn key! You said you didn't want nothing to do with them. Hand it over!"

"I don't have your key, Luis! Why would I take it!"

Shivering with the violence of the man's anger, but keening with curiosity, Eat sped across Clyde's roof for the back of Chichi's house and dropped down into the twiggy branches of the lemon tree. Clinging among its thorns and leaves, she peered in through Chichi Barbi's window.

Max and Charlie returned to the ranch well after dark: the cloud cover was breaking apart, and the full moon picked out new details across the pastures and fence lines, making the horses shy. Bucky was more teasing than startled, having fun with Max. Redwing was naturally more nervous, she bowed her neck and snorted but she didn't try to bolt.

"Just being a female," Charlie said. "Likes a little drama." "And you?" Max said, riding close to her. "How do you like your drama?" In the moonlight he couldn't see her blush, but he knew she was; it didn't take much. He loved that about her, that she blushed so easily, that he could gently embarrass her.

"Don't try to distract me with your ways, Captain. I want to hear the rest of the plan-if you want to tell me."

"The jewelry store owners have been meeting, getting together two or three at a time, in someone's shop at odd hours. Making their plans as quietly as possible." He moved Bucky aside from some ground squirrel holes, though Bucky was perfectly aware of where he was stepping and cocked an ear back at Max in annoyance.

"But what is their plan?" Charlie said patiently.

Max eased Bucky against their own pasture gate so he could open the latch. "Fake jewels," he said, looking up at Charlie. "John Simmons and Leon Blake suggested it." He swung the gate wide. They rode through, and he closed it. "They're collecting every realistic piece of imitation jewelry they can lay hands on to replace the real stuff. They've already begun to switch the jewelry in the cases every night, using pieces as much like what they have in the daytime as they can manage. In the heat of the break-and-enter, they're counting on no one taking the time to examine the take closely."

He had lowered his voice as they approached their own stable yard, watching the lighted sweep of yard and barn, the shadows beneath the trees and around his truck and around her SUV, though the dogs sensed nothing amiss; they raced ahead sniffing and checking the territory in their untrained, rowdy way. When dismounting, Max slid open the stable door, the dogs raced in, circled the open alleyway between the stalls, then shoved their black-and-tan noses deep into their bowls of kibble.

As Charlie slid off Redwing and undid the girth, her thoughts were full of elegant jewelry cases lined with fakes. She was still smiling as she walked Redwing to cool her down, then led her into her stall, took her halter off, filled her water bucket and tossed her a couple of flakes of hay. But would those men notice the switch? Would one of them think to put a jeweler's glass on a diamond, or take a careful look at the rich settings?

She began to worry about what she would tell the cats-what she dare tell them. And to wonder what danger she might put them in if they weren't told, if they didn't fully understand the operation. And she knew she had no choice.

Besides, when she promised Max to tell no one, in Max's mind the meaning was that she would tell no human. Max had made no mention of cats.

The short, dark, square man was roaring drunk. The stink of secondhand alcohol through Chichi's open window made Kit want to retch. What was wrong with his face? He had adhesive bandages on it and on his hands, under his long-sleeved shirt.

Chichi stood facing him, very angry. "I don't have the key to your cage! What would I want with those stinking cats! I don't even know what you want with them!"

Cats? Kit's heart was pounding. Cats in a cage? What cats?

"There was no one else to take the friggin' key! Them cats couldn't!"

Kit's whole body was rigid. Only her tail moved, lashing wildly against the branches. She concentrated hard to make it still. Sometimes her tail was like a stranger, all out of control. What cats? In what cage? And where?

"And now them two others," Luis said with triumph. "They're the same, you can bet! Why else would they be in there?"

Kit began to shiver. She had to find out where, and fast! She pressed against the screen, drawing in a great breath, sniffing Luis as he rounded on Chichi, trying to smell past the whiskey for some other scent, for cat scent-for the scent of Joe Grey and Dulcie.

But she could smell only the booze.

"Did you search Abuela?" Chichi asked suspiciously.

"Of course I searched her. She don't have the damn key."

"You searched Abuela!" Chichi screamed. "You pig, you searched your own grandmother! You are scum, Luis. Pure scum!" Chichi lunged at him and slapped him. Luis grabbed her hands, twisted her arm behind her until she screamed. As he turned, forcing her against the dresser and raised his arm as if to hit her, his sleeve brushed the screen right across Kit's nose.

And there it was: Joe Grey's smell. Sharp on Luis's sleeve. The smell of the enraged tomcat, mixed with the smell of blood and medicine.

Kit was shaking so hard that for a moment she couldn't move. A cage… Trapped in a cage…

Where? She had to find out where.

She moved fast, springing out of the tree and across the damp grass and weeds and around the house to the front and across Clyde's yard onto the porch. She was crouched to bolt through Joe's cat door, when she stopped.

He wasn't in there; she could still hear him far away, calling for Joe. Oh, Clyde, he's in a cage, they're in a cage and no one knows where, no one hut Luis and Chichi - if they're in a cage, how long before… . before…? But Chichi knows where, she knows this Abuela so she must know where… Kit needed Clyde. She needed him bad, right now. Clyde could make Chichi take them to where Joe and Dulcie were in a cage. Chichi had been there, she knew where, Chichi would have to lead them…

But if the key was lost? Well, Kit thought, then Clyde would have to break the cage. Clyde was strong, he'd know how to do that…

Rearing up on the porch, she looked down the street where Clyde was shouting for Joe, and she streaked away through the night toward his impatient voice…

Clyde was headed home when something bounded at him out of the night, hitting him in the chest like a bullet; and Kit was clinging to his sweater, blathering in his face trying to tell him something about Joe and Dulcie. In a cage? What cage?

"Slow down, Kit. Take it slow." He undid her claws and pulled her off, and cradled her in his arms. "Shhhh, Kit! Don't talk out here, wait until we're inside." He double-timed home, and they were hardly through the door when she blurted it all out, talking nonstop, in a panic.