Рита Браун - Pawing Through The Past

"Bull! The government rents the building. As long as they don't own it we can do what we want." Pewter had learned that fact from Miranda, though she had neglected to confirm that the renter could do as they pleased. But then the federal government did whatever they wanted, pretending to have the welfare of citizens at heart. The fact that Americans believed this astonished the gray cat, who felt all governments were no better than self-serving thieves. Cats are by instinct and inclination anarchists.

"Pewter, if we appear on television, all it takes is one officious jerk to make life difficult," Murphy, calmer now, advised her.

"I'll fight! I'll fight all the way to the Supreme Court!" Pewter crowed.

"Animals don't have political rights or legal ones, either." Tucker sat under the table. "Humans think only of themselves."

"Be glad of it." Mrs. Murphy watched from the divider. "If humans decided to create laws for animals, where would it end? Would chickens have rights? Would we be allowed to hunt? Would the humans we live with have to buy hunting licenses for us? If we killed a bird would we go to jail? Remember, we're dealing with a species that denies its animal nature and wants to deny ours."

"Hadn't thought of that," Pewter mumbled, then threw back her head and sang out. "To hell with the Supreme Court! To hell with all human laws. Let's go back to the fang and the claw!"

"Someone has." Murphy jumped down as the TV camera swung her way.

Bitsy Valenzuela opened the door, saw the commotion and closed it. A few others did the same until the television people left.

"Damn, that makes me mad!" Harry cursed, her voice actu-ally huskier than the day before. Her throat hurt more, too.

"They hop around like grasshoppers." Mrs. Hogendobber walked to the front window to watch the van back out into traffic. The sky was overcast. "'But if any man hates his neighbor, and lies in wait for him, and attacks him, and wounds him mortally so that he dies, and the man flees into one of these cities, then the elders of his city shall send and fetch him from there, and hand him over to the avenger of blood, so that he may die.'" She quoted Deuteronomy, chapter nineteen, verses eleven and twelve.

"What made you think of that?"

"I don't know exactly." Miranda flipped up the hinged part of the divider and walked into the mailroom. "There's a pall of violence over the land, a miasma over America. We must be the most violent nation among the civilized nations of the earth."

"I think that depends on how you define civilized. You mean industrialized, I think."

"I suppose I do." Mrs. Hogendobber put her arm around Harry. "You could have been killed, child. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Tears welled up in their eyes and they hugged.

"The strange thing was, Mrs. H., that I wasn't scared until I got home. I was glad to have Fair there and Tracy, too."

"Tracy is very fond of you. He's . . ." She didn't finish her sentence. Bitsy slipped back in now that the television crew had left.

"Hi."

"Hi, Bitsy." Miranda greeted her.

"Just came for my mail."

Chris pushed open the door, said hello to everyone, then exhaled sharply. "It's like a circus out there. Do you think there'd be this many reporters if someone in town had won the Nobel Prize?"

"No. Goodness isn't as interesting as evil, it would seem," Harry said.

"Still under the weather?" Chris came up to the counter, followed by Bitsy.

"Laryngitis. Can't shake it."

"There's a dark red mark on your neck," Chris observed. "Girl, you'd better go to the doctor. That doesn't look like laryngitis to me. Come on, I'll run you over."

"No, no," Harry politely refused.

"If there's color on your neck, Harry, this could be something quite serious. You're being awfully nonchalant."

"Chris, don't tell me the seven warning signs of cancer," Harry rasped, then laughed.

"It's not funny!" Chris was deadly serious.

Miranda stepped up to the counter. "I'll take her at lunch. You're quite right to be concerned. Harry is bullheaded-and I'm being restrained in my description."

The animals watched as Chris and Bitsy left, each getting into separate cars.

"Do you think those present can keep from telling what really happened to Mom Saturday night?" Tucker worried.

"They'd better. Mom is in enough trouble as it is." Pewter sat by the animal door. She couldn't make up her mind whether to stay inside, where it was cozy, or whether to take a little walk. She was feeling antsy.

"But that's the deal. The killer will come into this post office. He'll know that Mom doesn't have laryngitis. If she pretends that is her problem, it could rattle his cage. I flat-out don't like it and I don't care what the humans say-this person will strike like a cobra. They think because there's a human with her at all times, that she's safe. Remember, this killer gets close to his victims. They aren't threatened. Then-pow!" Tucker was deeply worried. How could two cats and one dog save Harry?

Murphy, listening intently, hummed "The Old Gray Mare" under her breath.

53

Coop, alone in her squad car, rolled by the post office at five in the afternoon. She knocked, then came through the back door.

"More black clouds piling up by the mountains. The storm will blow the leaves off the trees by sundown." She bent down to scratch Tucker's ears. "I hate that. The color has been spectacular. One of the prettiest falls I remember."

"Storm's not here yet." Harry tossed debris into a dark green garbage bag with yellow drawstrings. She looked at the bag. "Silly, but I hate going out to that dumpster."

"Not so silly. Where's Miranda?"

"Next door. She ran over to get half-and-half for her coffee." Diet or no diet, Miranda would not give up her half-and-half.

"Weird."

"What?"

"It's so quiet. This is the last place I would expect it to be quiet."

"Wasn't this morning. Half the town dragged themselves in before ten o'clock but the media attention finally irritated them. What's so unusual is, there's no fear unless it's one of my classmates. Oh, people are upset, outraged, full of ideas, but not afraid."

"Are you?"

"Yes," Harry replied without hesitation. "I'd be a fool not to be. I scan each face that comes through that door and wonder, 'Is he the one?' I scan each face and wonder which one is scanning mine." She sighed. "At least we haven't gotten any more stupid mailings. That seems to be the signal."

"Any unusual conversations, I mean, did anyone call attention to your voice?"

"Every single person who came in. Chris Sharpton wanted to take me to Larry Johnson to have him examine my throat. She was the only one who wanted to get a medical opinion. Big Mim suggested a hot toddy after taking echinacea. Little Mim said pills, shots, nothing works. It has to run through my system. Most comments were of that nature. Although, I must say that I was impressed with BoomBoom. She hasn't spilled the beans-'course, I guess she has a lot on her mind."