Клер Донелли - The Big Kitty

“Finally this one cat, Patachou, or whatever she called him, ran across our yard and jumped up on the gate,” Chuck said. “I guess poor Festus had had enough. He broke his leash and went right through the gate. I was just getting home and heard it all. I followed them as Festus chased the cat. Dunno how he managed to catch him, but he did, right outside the Spruance place.”

His heavy shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I tried to get him off, but by then it was too late.”

Leah blinked away more tears. “She let those cats go wandering around the neighborhood, getting into any dangerous things they pleased, but she blamed us! It’s just not fair!”

Chuck tried to pat her shoulder, looking helpless. “We put up a bigger fence, and we’ve got special trainers coming to work with Festus. But he may end up muzzled, or confined to the house”—he broke off for a moment—“or we may have to give him away.”

“He’s a good dog,” Leah insisted. “Let me show you.”

She left the room, to return a few moments later with a large black and brown dog on a leash. He trotted in, spotted the new person, and approached.

But when he was just a couple of yards away, he stopped, sniffed, and began to growl.

Leah was mortified. “Bad Festus! What are you doing?”

The dog’s tail went down and he looked around, whining.

Sunny had an awful suspicion. She twisted on the couch so that the rays of the setting sun fell on the front of her sweater. Yes, there they were, shining in the light—fine strands of grayish fur against the blue fabric. She thought back to when she’d been getting ready for work that morning. Shadow had jumped up on her bed, examining the stuff she placed there, including her T-shirt and sweater. She’d left him alone while she got her bag out of the closet. He’d probably taken the opportunity to roll on the soft cotton.

And Festus had caught a whiff of Shadow’s scent.

That damned cat’s trying to get me killed, she thought.

“I’m sorry, I think there must be something on this sweater,” Sunny said, carefully rising to her feet. “Maybe I’d better be going.”

“But you understand this is a terrible accident? That Festus wouldn’t normally do anything like this?” Poor Leah Towle looked as confused and upset as her dog.

“I’ll try to explain things the way you explained them to me,” Sunny promised gently.

She felt sorry for the Towles and their dog.

But …

Like Festus, both Chuck and Leah were large and strong—and their feelings obviously ran high.

Either could have sent a little woman like Ada Spruance flying down the stairs … with one hand tied behind his or her back.

10

Shadow blinked awakein his hiding place under Sunny’s bed. He’d decided to get out of the way when she came and found the other female in the room. Among cats or two-legs, Shadow had noticed that when two females and one male were too close together, fighting often started.

The other female had left quickly, while Sunny had gone upstairs. That definitely hadn’t pleased the Old One. Shadow had seen that as another reason to make himself scarce. From what he’d seen, two-leg males tended to take out their temper on furniture—and cats.

The space under Sunny’s bed was dark but comfortable—no drafts because fabric hung down to the floor. It was clean, too, not like the space under the Dead One’s bed. That was so dusty that even the daintiest steps raised a sneeze-inducing cloud. Best of all, there was a faint trace of Sunny in the air. Shadow liked that. He’d hunkered down, sphinxlike, closed his eyes, and dozed.

When he awoke, it was some time later. There was much less light. Shadow crouched, suddenly alert, when he realized what had roused him—footsteps, and they weren’t Sunny’s. He had to listen for a moment before he finally recognized them. The gait was different—quieter—but that was the Old One.

Shadow waited until the feet were almost back out the door before he stuck his head out from under the bedspread. He saw the Old One’s back as the human stepped out into the hallway. But why was the two-leg moving with such exaggerated caution? Had he hurt himself? It didn’t seem likely, since he kept moving around, sticking his head into each room. Shadow followed behind him, investigating each room after the Old One left it. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary since the time Shadow had last explored them.

He trailed behind as the Old One went down the stairs, placing his feet carefully to keep the treads from creaking as they usually did. Moving on the tips of his toes, the Old One went into the room with the picture box—but he didn’t turn it on. Instead, he peered around to the corner where Shadow’s bed lay.

When he saw that, Shadow made a quick move for the dining room, climbing onto the seat on one of the chairs. From there, he could look out between the wooden spindles on the back of the chair without much danger of being spotted—the stripes in his gray fur blended into the shadows beneath the tabletop.

As Shadow watched, the Old One came past, still moving in that weird attempt to step soundlessly; at least soundlessly for a two-leg’s hearing. It almost seemed like a very clumsy attempt—

Shadow slipped down to the floor, fascinated. Could it be? Was the Old One trying to stalk like a cat? Shadow trailed along as the Old One headed toward the kitchen. Of all the two-leggity types he’d lived with, Shadow had never seen any of them play this game.

But what was the human stalking? Had a mouse or squirrel raised his stupid head?

The Old One reached the kitchen and peered in the dusk at the litter box and the food bowls.

Shadow blinked in amazement. He’s stalking me!

Almost unbidden, a meow came from his throat.

The Old One jumped and spun around, one hand on his chest. Shadow streaked away. Although he was always careful to stay out of kicking range, sometimes the two-legs threw things. Shadow considered that extremely unfair.

Before the Old One could get close again, Shadow darted into the living room and squeezed under the couch. It was a tight fit, but Shadow was reasonably sure a human like the Old One wouldn’t be in the mood to creep around on the floor looking for him.

He was right. Springs above him compressed as the Old One sat down, mumbling annoyed sounds. Then the picture box went on.

Not long afterward, Sunny returned. Shadow heard her steps coming from the door and felt a little surprised, not having caught the sound of her car coming up.

Before he even thought about it, he found himself popping out of his hiding place and padding toward her. Shadow forced himself to slow down. After all, this was just a quick check for interesting scents—and maybe a little marking to let the neighborhood cats know that Sunny was taken.

Then he stopped cold, his snout wrinkling. The stink she’d brought in the night before was bad enough. But now she reeked of Biscuit Eater. Shadow knew that for some unknown reason, many of the two-legs tolerated the mangy creatures—the large fawning ones or the little ones that scurried around yapping—all of them eager to slobber down their stupid biscuits. Not like a self-respecting cat.

One more sniff confirmed his initial suspicion; he smelled the Biscuit Eater who had killed Patachou on Sunny. Shadow had always thought that teasing a creature with fangs large enough to crush the biggest cat’s skull was just looking for trouble. Patachou’s death showed exactly how dangerous a game it could be.

But what could Sunny have to do with such a killer?

He stalked away, offended, and refused to be tempted back, even when a can of tuna was opened.

While the two-legs ate, Shadow sulked in the kitchen. From the sound of it, he was just as glad to be out of the way. The Old One’s voice was low and grumbling, while Sunny’s voice was high and quick. It sounded like an argument—something else the two-legs spent so much time on. For Shadow, a show of claws and a sharp hiss was often much quicker and easier.