Рита Браун - Sour Puss

"No fair"Pewter skedaddled back under the eaves.

The two dogs laughed, which did not improve Mrs. Murphy's humor as she took a direct hit.

Driving home, the three animals listened to the radio. Mrs. Murphy, grumbling, cleaned furiously.

"Square in the center of the back. That's hard to reach,"Tucker commiserated.

"Finches are supposed to be mean."Pewter got off lightly with a sprinkle on her paw. She'd already cleaned it.

"Birds are birds," adisgusted Mrs. Murphy said, then further complained, "/ wish she'd turn off that country music. I hate that stuff."

"She's singing along, and even she doesn't much like it. Must be in a mood. Fat chance."Pewter so rarely heard popular music that she wasn't yet irritated by it.

"Guess you two still don't want to know where I went."

Exasperated, Mrs. Murphy narrowed her pupils. "We're dying to hear."

"You're sarcastic. I'm not talking to you when you're like that."

"I really want to know."Tucker had no stomach for a cat fight.

With great satisfaction, Pewter said, "Stealth bombers."

25

"That wasn't here before." Pewter indicated some sticky strips, old-time fly catchers, twirling from a few lower branches.

"Maybe you didn't notice."Tucker knew she shouldn't have said that the minute it popped out of her mouth.

"/ saw everything!" Pewter's pupils became slits for a second. "I'm not human. They can't see the nose on their faces."

Mrs. Murphy inhaled the odor of the abandoned Alverta peach grove that Harry was reviving. The tang of the tree bark, the lingering scent of tiny dots where blossoms had been, where the delicious fruit could ripen, all informed her. This small orchard, bursting with life, was inviting. Few folks remained who grew Alverta peaches. Harry understood the need for crop diversity. Agribusiness, however, was becoming monocrop farming, a dangerous development genetically.

"You're silent as the tomb,"Pewter sassed.

" I seethe stealth bombers." Mrs. Murphy noted the glassy-winged insects that looked like the famed combat jet.

"Some died on the sticky strips."Tucker marveled at how many little corpses there were.

"Along with every kind of fly in the county."Pewter loathed flies. They tried to deposit tiny white eggs in her tuna.

Mrs. Murphy asked the gray cat, "Footprints yesterday?"

"I don't think so."In truth, Pewter hadn't noticed.

"There are today."Tucker put her gifted nose down on the large treads left by work boots.

"Tire tracks?"Mrs. Murphy asked Pewter.

"No."

"Anyone could park behind the equipment sheds and walk up here. We wouldn't know. It's too far away."Mrs. Murphy sat staring up at the insects on the sticky strips, listening to the variety of insects flying. "What a strange bug."

A scarlet tanager chirped as he sat on a branch farther down the orchard row.

"Anything with six legs is strange."Pewter wasn't making the connection.

Tucker walked into the orchard, followed by Mrs. Murphy.

The orchard faced south, to soak up the warmth and light. A northern exposure would be too fierce at this latitude. A rise behind the small orchard protected the peaches from the north winds.

Peaches could grow in central Virginia, but the farmer had to protect the tree much more than apple trees.

Tucker reached the disturbed earth. Mrs. Murphy sat on the edge of the packed dirt.

Pewter, on her haunches, fretted, then joined Mrs. Murphy, asking, "What? What's noticeable?"

"This grave-size slight depression."The tiger paced the long side, seven feet, of the depression.

"That's what the bear said."Pewter recalled the unintended visit.

"/ half-believed her and half didn't." Tucker kept sniffing the earth. "Bears can be such fibbers."

"/ believed her. I didn't know how we could get Harry here, and then all that other stuff happened." Mrs. Murphy put her nose down, then asked Tucker, "Can you smell a body?"

"If it's above six feet, I can. Below I can't. So if there's a body in here, whoever buried it dug deep."

"We have to get Harry here."Mrs. Murphy started for home.

The animals trotted down the sloping pasture, crossed the rutted-dirt farm road, slipped under the old fencing, the locust posts holding firm.

Tucker started running. The cats followed her lead, over another pasture, then under more old fencing. They saw the Jones graveyard below to their right. Usually they'd linger there a moment, for it was so peaceful and often wild animals were there, as well, so they could chat. Not today.

Upon reaching Harry's Creek, Tucker Plunged in. She enjoyed a good swim. Mrs. Murphy followed, although she hated getting wet.

Pewter halted a moment, opened her mouth to complain, her deep pink tonguebright against her gray color. Her two friends reached the creek bank.

"Bother,"she mumbled to herself, jumping in, dog-paddling for all she was worth, her ears flat against her head held high.

Mrs. Murphy turned once on top of the creek bank. Satisfying herself that Pewter wouldn't drown, she kicked into high gear to catch up with Tucker, hustling toward home.

Corgis, fast, can turn on a dime, too. Mrs. Murphy flew alongside the determined canine.

A wet Pewter, sputtering with fury, lagged fifty yards behind. Beads of water sprayed off her fur, turning into tiny rainbows.

The two front-runners skidded into the barn not two minutes after crossing the creek a half mile away.

Harry had to be in the barn or house, because they didn't see or smell her outside.

Sure enough, Harry, on her hands and knees, was in the wash stall. The drain cover was removed, the trap sat on the floor, and she scrubbed down into the eight-inch-wide pipe with a long, thin stiff brush. The drain rarely clogged, because she repeated this procedure once a week, and because years ago when she rehabbed the barn she put in large pipes.

"Come with me!"Tucker barked.

Pewter brought up the rear.

"Pewter, you look like something the cat dragged in," Harry laughed.

"This isn't funny. Stop what you're doing and come with us."Pewter ignored Harry's jest.

"She's right, Mom. Just leave everything. You can put it back later."Mrs. Murphy leapt onto Harry's shoulders.

"Murphy." Harry felt creek droplets soak through her white T-shirt. Pawprints festooned the shoulders. "Oh, well." Harry reached back to pat her friend.

Mrs. Murphy licked her hand while Pewter continued to urge Harry to get up and go.

"Come on. Follow me,"Tucker pleaded.

Harry replaced the drain trap as Mrs. Murphy dug into the human's shoulders to hang on.

"Those claws hurt."

"You're lucky I don't really use them."

Pewter encouraged Tucker. "Try the running-away-and-coming-back routine. She usually pays attention to that"

Tucker barked loudly, dashed down the center aisle, returned, barked more. She repeated this until Harry gently placed Mrs. Murphy on the floor.

"All right."

"Let's go!"As Tucker hustled out the opened doors, light streamed in.

Harry grew up on this farm. Animals surrounded her. Given the limitations of her species, she knew as best she could that all three were worked up and needed her attention. It wasn't until she was halfway to the creek that she realized this was going to be a hike. But her friends, insistent, prodded her on. When she hesitated at the creek swollen with spring rains, Tucker boldly nipped at her heels.

"Tucker, I get the picture. And don't you dare tear up my new work boots, you hear me?"

"Come on. Come on. It's not that bad. We'll show you the best place," the mighty dog cajoled.

Although the ford was the best place, thebanks were steep. Tucker, without glancing back, catapulted off the bank.