Cat Breaking Free

18

Joe could see little more than Clyde's back, and their two pairs of feet on the porch-Clyde's old, dirty jogging shoes, and Chichi's little high-heeled sandals. She had taken time to change? He wondered what else she had put on, to vamp Clyde. Those shoes had to be cold and uncomfortable, had to hurt like hell if she walked a block in them. Her feet were very close to Clyde's- until, suddenly, Clyde backed away and turned as if to slip inside. Chichi laughed softly and moved against him again. Joe stared up indignantly as she tenderly stroked Clyde's cheek, petting him in a way that sickened the tomcat.

"Just to use your phone, Clyde? What's the matter? Just to report my phone out of order… What do you have in there that your neighbor can't see? I'll just be a minute, and I…"

"Don't you have a cell phone? Go on down to the corner and use the pay phone." Clyde went silent as Ryan's truck pulled up.

Slipping up to the windowsill where he could see better, Joe was glad he had a front seat for this one. Chichi glanced at the big red king cab, scowling. Ryan's lumber rack was stacked with big beams and two-by-fours, ready to build the end walls and place the rafters for the Harpers' new guest room. As Ryan swung out of the truck, Chichi snuggled. Clyde backed off like he'd been burned. Joe could see Dillon and Lori in the back seat staring out, wide-eyed. He watched Ryan hold the door for Rock to leap out. The big dog always rode in the cab, never in the truck bed. Ryan said it was barbaric to subject a dog to the dangers of riding in an open truck where he could easily be thrown out in case of a wreck, and cruel to leave him in a truck for hours tied up in the beating hot sun.

Ryan came up the walk, barely hiding a grin at Clyde's predicament and at Chichi's low-cut pink sweater, her big boobs half out, and her tight black pants riding up her crotch. Under Ryan's amused glance, Chichi looked uncertain and unsure of herself. Ryan was swinging a heavy paper bag bearing the hardware store logo, and her toolbox. She pushed past Chichi, giving her a cool, green-eyed look-over, and headed through the house as if she lived there, making for the upstairs bath. Joe rumbled with purrs. He was not only getting his own personal, cat-friendly water faucet, he was witnessing an entertaining moment of defeat for Chichi Barbi that made his day. The woman looked mad enough to chew off the old faucet for Ryan-or chew Ryan's hand off. As Ryan disappeared upstairs, Clyde fended off Chichi with frustrated finality, and closed the door in her face.

Watching her stalk away, Joe could hear Ryan upstairs unscrewing the faucet. From the bottom of the stairs, Clyde shouted, "Need to turn off the water?"

"Turned it off under the basin. I'll be just a few minutes." Ryan had installed the two upstairs basins, so Joe guessed she knew how to cut off the water. He had dropped off the sill and was heading for the kitchen when there was another knock on the door. Clyde stared at the closed door in disbelief.

Joe gave him a look that said, Don't open it. Clyde looked at him and shrugged. And the minute he foolishly cracked the door open. Chichi pushed inside.

"I never heard of a woman plumber," she said. "She's been around here before-you must have a lot of plumbing problems."

"If you want to report your phone out of order, go in the kitchen. Make it quick, I have to get to work."

"You're leaving a plumber in the house alone? Aren't you…"

Clyde just looked at her. "Where is your cell phone?"

"The battery…" she said, helplessly gesturing with upturned hands. Scowling, Clyde led her into the kitchen. Following them, Joe watched Chichi slip a scrap of paper from her pocket and punch in a number, then enter a series of numbers as a tape gave her instructions. Joe hated those taped replies. Though he seldom had reason to call a number that employed that particular form of dehumanization. Your highly skilled, undercover snitch didn't waste time on taped messages. Most of Joe's calls were directly to Molena Point PD, clandestine, short, and conducted directly between himself and the law, usually the chief.

When Chichi had reported her out-of-order number she moved to the kitchen sink, draping her hand on Clyde's shoulder, and at the same time taking in every detail of the kitchen. Joe swallowed back a growl. She'd love to be left alone to snoop. The tomcat said a prayer of thanks that he'd carried the little can of her purloined bills upstairs, out of sight. "Could I have a drink of water?"

Patiently, Clyde poured Chichi a glass of tap water, pushed it at her, and stared pointedly in the direction of the front door. Joe listened to a series of small metallic clicks from above, then a short rumble as water surged back through the pipes. He was eager to try the new faucet. As Clyde took Chichi's arm and headed her out toward the front door, Ryan came down the stairs.

At the foot of the stairs, the two women looked at each other like lady cats sparring for territory. Joe waited for the fur to fly, but Clyde shoved Chichi on through the living room and out the door, and locked it behind her. He leaned with his back against the door, trying to collect his temper. Ryan looked at him for a long moment, the corner of her mouth twitching.

"Come on," Clyde said stiffly. "It's not funny. Come have a cup of coffee, help me calm my temper."

Ryan chucked him under the chin. "Your temper? Or your libido? I can't stay for coffee, the girls are in the truck and I'm late, Scotty's waiting." And she was gone before Clyde could point out, with sarcasm, that Ryan was the boss, that she made her own hours.

Clyde didn’t see Ryan again for three days, during which time he grew increasingly irritable. "You think she's mad? Because of Chichi, because Chichi was here?"

Joe just looked at him. They were in the kitchen having breakfast, waffles and fried ham, with kippers on the side for Joe.

"She didn't give me a chance to explain." Clyde looked across at Joe. "If she's jealous, you think she's seeing that guy who came up to the ranch? This Roman something?" That was two days after Ryan installed the faucet. That night, Clyde paced the house for an hour, before Joe got him to settle down. "If she's not jealous, why hasn't she called?"

Joe had licked a smear of Brie off his paw, a late-night snack, as Clyde waited, fidgeting, for the phone to ring. "So call her," the tomcat had said impatiently. "What's the big deal?" But maybe he shouldn't have laid it on so thick, shouldn't have repeated everything that Dulcie had told him about how handsome this Roman Slayter was and how stubbornly Slayter had pressed Ryan to go out with him. And maybe he shouldn't have ribbed Clyde so much about Chichi.

"Doesn't Ryan know I can't stand the woman?"

"Call her!"

Instead of calling, Clyde poured himself a double whiskey, and kept pacing. "What's with you," Joe said. "Call her! There was a time when men did all the calling!" Clyde was so damn stubborn. And then two nights later as Clyde was passing Binnie's Italian on his way home from work, he saw Ryan going into the cozy restaurant with a tall, handsome fashion plate who had to be Roman Slayter.

Clyde got home mad as hornets-and found Rock in the back patio, complete with his bed, a rubber bone and a bowl of kibble. And a cryptic message on the phone from Ryan, saying she was leaving the dog there for a little while, that she wouldn't be late, that it was all very strange and she would explain when she came to get Rock.

"I'll just bet she'll explain! She goes out with this guy like it's a big secret, can't tell me where she's going or who with, just brings Rock over here like I'm some kind of paid babysitting service!"

Joe tried to talk to him. "Maybe she had a reason for not telling you, maybe she was in a hurry and didn't want to take time to explain. Why don't you…"

"Why don't I what}" Clyde didn't pet Rock, didn't let him in the house. He shut the door in Rock's face, and fastened the cover over the big dog door, leaving the Rock alone in the patio, looking hurt indeed. When Joe peered down at him through the kitchen window, Rock looked up at him, devastated. Never before had Clyde shut him out. His yellow eyes were incredibly sad, his ears down, his short tail tucked under in misery.

That wasn't like Clyde, to be mean to a dog. Clyde loved Rock. Incensed at Clyde's unfair attitude, Joe waited until Clyde had settled down in the living room with a book, then slipped out to the kitchen, slid the cover of the dog door open a few inches, and went out to snuggle down with Rock on his big, cedar-stuffed bed. Sighing, Rock laid his head over Joe, badly needing sympathy. It wasn't Rock's fault that Ryan had gone out with someone else when Clyde didn't call her, Joe thought indignantly. Nor was it Rock's fault that Clyde had let Chichi make an ass of him in front of Ryan.