Cat In An Indigo Mood

Chapter 15

Break-in

A simultaneous scratching at one of the French doors leading to the patio and at the front door opposite found Temple clutching her TV remote control like a weapon. Eight o'clock on a Saturday evening. Who would come calling so stealthily?

She'd just muted the sound during a commercial, or she wouldn't have heard either modest noise. Was this a concerted social call, or what?

While she debated which unknown to confront first, the scratchers, again acting in eerie concert, decided to bypass her entirely.

The locked front dour cracked open like a Christmas walnut, while, simultaneously, the patio door split to admit a slim-jim shadow of night.

Home invasion! Temple thought, wondering what Asian gang she had antagonized lately.

But through both her invaders wore ninja-black and moved on soundless feet, neither was remotely Asian, or gang-like, since they came forward alone.

Temple stood, torn between two primal urges: the succulently steaming take-out pizza box advancing from the front door in Max Kinsella's custody . . . or the disturbingly limp object dangling from Midnight Louie's mouth.

Apparently both her beaux had resolved to treat her to a surprise snack.

"Smells terrific," she told Max. "Put in on the kitchen counter.

I'll be right there. And Louie--" She turned to the cat. "Put that down tight where you stand, it does not smell delicious."

"What has that alley cat dragged in now?" Max was coming over, sounding both proprietary and annoyed.

"I'm afraid to look," Temple admitted. "Cats will sometimes bring you their dead prey as a present."

Max shot her a look. "Lucky for you I'm not a cat." He bent to inspect Louie's offering, but the cat minced backward.

"Come on, kitty, give up the goods. How'd he get up here anyway?"

"He climbs, somehow, then comes in through the bathroom window, which l leave open a bit. I can't understand why he came by the patio, or how he got that French door open."

"Those doors are jokes," Max said, going down on hands and knees to capture the cat.

"Louie doesn't like to be crowded."

"So l see." By now Louie was hacked up against the French door, watching Max crawl toward him.

Temple could have sworn his whiskers raked back at a smug angle.

"That's it," Max cajoled. "Give up the nice bit of . . . yuck."

Temple squinched her eyes shut. "What is it? Animal, right? Dead?"

"Dead, all right. Soggily so." Max rose and approached, his hands cupping the trophy.

"How can you handle it?" she demanded.

"I've handled worse." The dome of his top hand lifted to reveal a limp oleander blossom wilting on his palm.

"A dead flower? Why on earth would Louie drag that in? It looks like it's been off the stern for days."

"Then you don't want me to put it in a vase."

"No way." Temple shook her head at the cat, who was fastidiously grooming his face.

"It was a nice gesture," Max said from the kitchen.

"You approve of something Louie's done?" She followed him in, lured by the aroma of Roma tomatoes.

"Absolutely." Max turned from the cupboard, one of her recycled florist's vases in his hands, filled with velvet-petaled pansies.

"I'm not going to ask how you did that."

"Good. The pizza's getting cold."

They occupied themselves pulling out the plates, knives, forks, and paper napkins that hot pizza required, but never managed to transfer the whole mess to the round card-cum-dining-table near the French doors. Instead, they leaned against the counter and gnawed away on the hot slices right out of the box.

"What brings you over here, really?" Temple asked.

Max shrugged between bites.

"Another message from the Synth?"

He shook his head.

"Nothing's happened ?"

"Nothing, except it's Saturday night, and I'm glad you're home alone."

"Not exactly alone."

His dark eyebrows lifted as if awaiting a confession.

"The cat."

"Oh, him."

"That's no way to write off a cat. Next time he'll visit you with something ickier in his mouth."

"Oleander is poisonous," Max mused, staring at the neon clock on the kitchen wall.

"And he must have had that flower in his mouth for a long time!"

"Don't worry. The leaves are toxic, not the flowers. Wonder where he got it."

"Las Vegas is crawling with oleanders."

"But not in bloom right now."

Temple frowned. "Let me see that flower again."

Max produced it from behind his back.

"It's wet now, from Louie's mouth, but it looks desiccated. He must have picked it up somewhere."

"And mistook it for prey?"

"I'm glad he did. I don't want any door-to-door lizard-delivery service! Speaking of doors, why did you come scratching on mine?"

"Used to be ours."

Max was leaning his elbows on the white countertop. Grinning up at her in the impish manner that always caught her off guard.

"Well, technically, it still is."

"So I thought it was time we spent a Saturday night at home, like we used to."

"You mean, just doing nothing?"

He nodded. "Just doing nothing."

"The couch-potato number? TV, pizza, and--?"

He nodded, glancing around. "Place doesn't look any different, except for the feline delivery boy."

"Max. Did you think I'd have . . . company?"

He paused before answering. "I think you have company now."

"Really! Are you jealous? Worried that--"

"Don't put question marks into words, Temple. That just makes them bigger. I wanted to see you, that's all. On home ground." Max straightened and looked beyond her into the living room.

"My home ground too."

He was right, Temple knew. He'd been gone so long he had ceased to seem at home in the place they had bought together less than two years earlier.

"And you're not alone anymore." He nodded at the black silhouette still washing its face and watching them from the living room. "My animal instincts were right. I do have to reclaim my territory, after all."