Кроха - Dedication

The shelter project was part of CatFriends, their volunteer rescue group. The refuge was a special dream of Kate’s, to care for abandoned cats. Kate had lived in the village before she left her philandering husband. It was here in Molena Point that she discovered her own strange relationship to the speaking cats. She had, while investigating that connection, found her way down the hidden tunnels beneath San Francisco’s streets into the Netherworld, where Kit and Pan now traveled. Though Kit and Pan’s route had taken them, not from the city’s tunnels, but from here in the village beneath the estate itself, down a cavern discovered by the band of speaking, feral cats who made their home among the Pamillon ruins.

Kate, at the moment, was living in Lucinda and Pedric’s downstairs apartment looking after their house and garden while they were away—watching for Kit and Pan’s return, just as she waited eagerly for Lucinda and Pedric to arrive home again, safe.

“She was working on two more drawings,” Scotty offered. “She said she’d drop them by later.” Again Scotty had that off-center look that made Joe and Ryan glance at each other.

“She wants to add two more outdoor group rooms,” Scotty said, opening up the folded plans. “For the ferals that want to see outdoors, cats who get upset being shut inside.” The plan was, the ferals would be neutered, given their shots, and turned loose again into the colonies where they had been trapped. That way, the whole colony was healthier, the cats wouldn’t reproduce but could live happy, productive lives hunting the rats and mice and destructive ground squirrels that bedeviled the village cottages. CatFriends’ volunteers were currently feeding three such colonies, supplementing their rodent diet and seeing to it that they had plenty of fresh water.

The rescue group’s plan for the shelter had begun at the time the economy faltered so badly that many homes and cottages were foreclosed and families moved hastily away, searching for new jobs, cruelly abandoning their pets to fend for themselves or find new owners. Members of CatFriends had patiently trapped the lost, frightened animals and found temporary foster homes for them until the shelter could be built. There would be roomy cages and two big group rooms for the cats who got along well together. Rescued dogs went to the SPCA, which had larger facilities for them.

A lot of thought had gone into CatFriends’ shelter. Their group meetings included Charlie Harper, Ryan’s glamorous sister Hanni Coon, Ryan and Kate, and five other members. Joe and Dulcie had sat in on a few gatherings at the Damens’—had sat in, finding it hard not to offer their own opinions. How could humans design a cat shelter without consulting an expert? Sometimes they even wanted to argue with Kate.

Joe had been amused when Scotty started attending the meetings. Scott Flannery was not a cat person and was not inclined to women’s groups. But then Ryan’s shy, quiet carpenter Ben Stonewell had joined. Ben was interested in the rescue operation. Scotty was more interested in Kate; he would come to the meetings with Ben but leave with her, “for a walk on the beach,” he would say, or, “a nightcap in the village.”

Scotty was Ryan’s father’s brother. Detective Dallas Garza was her mother’s brother. The two men had moved in with Mike Flannery after the children’s mother died, when the three girls were very young. Together the men had raised them, adjusting work schedules to be sure someone was at home for them, teaching them not only to cook but to do household repairs, to carpenter, to carefully handle and care for a firearm, and to help train Dallas’s bird dogs. Dallas and Ryan’s beautiful sister Hanni were good hunting partners.

But it was Scotty who stirred Ryan’s interest in construction, teaching her the more intricate use of carpentry tools and the basics of strong construction, years before she went on to art school to study design.

Now, at the sink tossing salad, Ryan turned at a knock on the front door, and went to let Ben in. The young carpenter hadn’t used the intercom; he was wary of that simple device, though he was comfortable enough with the high-powered carpentry equipment.

The thin, pale young man entered the kitchen shyly. He looked freshly scrubbed; he wore his brown hair shoulder length, but it was clean and neat. He always seemed pleased by the big family kitchen, the homey room with its flowered overstuffed chair and bookshelf at the far end, by the resident animals looking up smiling at him, by the warm sense of family. He was more outgoing with the two cats and the big Weimaraner than with humans. At the sight of Ben, Rock left the braided throw rug and came to lean against the young carpenter’s knee. Ben had changed from his work clothes to tan slacks, a brown polo shirt open at the collar, and loafers. Ryan pulled out a chair for him and fetched him a beer. He looked up at Clyde. “Smells good,” he said. “Real good,” and he grinned more openly. “Can I help?”

Clyde shook his head. “All under control.” The rescued pasta draining in the colander seemed none the worse for boiling over—there was enough spaghetti for a small army. The Damens always made extra. Leftovers went in the freezer for a handy future meal. That is, what leftovers Joe Grey didn’t get into during a midnight foray. Joe had learned, when he was very young, to open the refrigerator, though he was not as agile as Dulcie. The Damens’ refrigerator, as well as Wilma’s and the Greenlaws’, had emergency interior handles; these were Clyde’s invention, built at the automotive shop by one of his mechanics.

Scotty set the salad on the table, and Clyde dished up the spaghetti. Joe leaped off the table to the end of the kitchen counter where Clyde had set Joe’s own plate. He could never understand why Clyde thought he deserved a smaller plate than everyone else. Though he was amused by its pattern of fat cats. Ryan said it might encourage Joe to watch his waistline. In fact, looking at those prancing, greedy kitties only made him eat faster.

They were all seated, Ryan serving the salad, when Scotty said, “Kate told me . . . she saw another assault this evening.”

Everyone paused, Clyde’s beer mug half raised.

“When I got to the apartment she was just home from the PD, from filing the report. She was still mad, upset that she hadn’t caught the guy. She said he ran like hell, and Kate’s pretty fast herself.”

Clyde said, “She got a look at him?”

“Not much, just his back. He slid into an alley. She wasn’t that far behind, but when she got there he was gone, not a trace.”

Scotty sprinkled cheese on his spaghetti. “Slim guy, Kate said. Thin and small. Dressed in black, black cap with earflaps. Could have been a kid, or not. She was coming out of the drugstore when she saw him half a block away, saw him knock a woman down. When he saw Kate he spun away and ran. She grabbed her phone, got a blurred picture of his back, just a smear of the dark figure careening around the corner. She called 911, then chased him. When she lost him she turned back to help the woman. Officer Brennan was already there, and the medics.

“Kate said the woman didn’t seem hurt too bad. While they were taking care of her, Kate went on into the station, gave her statement to Detective Davis, and they copied the photo from her cell phone.

“They’ll enhance the picture,” Scotty continued, “but I doubt they’ll get much. The woman told Brennan she was all right, she didn’t want to go to the hospital. She went into the station with him, gave her own statement, and he took her home.” Scotty laid a copy of the photograph on the table.

Joe, leaping to the table pretending to sniff at Ryan’s spaghetti, got a good look at the picture, but it didn’t offer much, just a dark, blurred figure running, very like the hooded figure who ran when Joe shouted from the roof of the PD.