Cat Laughing Last

17

The two cats watched Fern's Toyota pull up in front of Binnie's Italian. Vivi and Elliott were still sitting in their black Lincoln, snapping at each other. When Fern parked in front of them Vivi got out and hurried into the restaurant with her, slamming the glass door nearly in Elliott's face. Catching the door, he swung in behind them and eased it closed.

On the warm concrete beneath the newspaper rack, Joe and Dulcie crouched looking up through the restaurant window where Vivi and Fern and Elliott were settling into a booth. Vivi glanced out blankly to where the cats were idly washing their paws, the cats of less interest to her than the metal newsstand. Dulcie loved spying on someone when she was in plain sight. Through the thin glass they could hear every word.

The waitress on duty was Binnie's niece, a slight, shy Italian girl who didn't look old enough to have a work permit. Certainly she was too young to serve liquor. When Vivi ordered a bottle of Chablis, Binnie himself hurried out with it, uncorking the bottle across his white-aproned, ample belly, his jowled face rosy from the kitchen. Binnie did enjoy going through the little tasting ritual. Elliott handled Binnie's ceremony with abject boredom.

Binnie poured in silence, smiled hesitantly at Vivi, and when his smile was not returned, he retreated quietly to his kitchen.

"Here's to it," Vivi said, lifting her glass. "So far, very smooth. Even Ladler wasn't much of a problem."

"It's a wonderful part," Fern gushed. "I'll do well by it, you'll see." She patted Elliott's hand. "I'm going to be great in this part; it's going to make my career." Fern was, apparently, not the brightest young woman. The cats sat through interminable small talk, licking their whiskers when the pizza was served. Vivi and Elliott ate in silence, letting Fern ramble, a tedious monologue that left Joe and Dulcie yawning. They were ready to cut out and go hunt rats when Clyde and Ryan Flannery came around the corner, walking arm in arm, softly laughing.

Clyde didn't see the cats slip deeper under the newsstand, he was totally involved with Ryan. "So that's the rest of the shop. That's what we do, master mechanics to Molena Point's wheels."

"All those beautiful Mercedeses, Jags, and BMWs parked in your garage, to say nothing of that silver Rolls. It's a great shop, Clyde. I'm awed by the state-of-the-art electronic equipment-a far cry from my cordless drill and electric saw." As the couple passed the window, Vivi's eyes widened. She nudged Elliott so sharply he spilled his wine.

"You really find that stuff interesting?" Clyde said, holding the door for Ryan. Before he could close it, the cats slipped through behind him. He scowled down at them, surprised and annoyed, but said nothing.

"If I hadn't ended up as a building contractor," Ryan said, "I might be a mechanic. I seriously thought about it at one time."

Elliott had risen and was heading toward the men's room, behind a partition that also led to the kitchen. Ryan looked after him, glanced at Vivi, and turned away, moving beside Clyde to a table in the far corner. Clyde looked toward the kitchen, waving to Binnie, and they slid into the booth. "You'd like being a mechanic? Working with a bunch of guys? They can get pretty rank."

"I do work with a bunch of guys," she said, laughing. "They're okay if you set some ground rules. But, I don't know, there's something restful about putting things together, about figuring out the little mechanical glitches, solving the problems and making them right. Makes me feel safe, somehow, in a chaotic world. Does that make any sense?"

"Quite a lot of sense."

Under the table, the cats settled down next to Clyde's shoes, looking around his pant cuffs to where the Traynors sat. The carpet smelled clean and was of good quality, not like some restaurants where the rug stank of ancient French fries. Elliot had not returned. At the Traynor table, Vivi was pale and agitated, gulping her wine. Fern only looked perplexed, her round face and short golden hair catching light from a stained glass corner fixture. Binnie had recently redecorated, abandoning the simple red checkered tablecloth and candle-in-a-bottle motif, with which the village had long been familiar, for bright abstract murals covering the walls and tabletops, splashes of primary color illuminated by the colored glass fixtures. The effect was cozy and inviting. But then, any place that smelled as rich with tomato sauce and garlic and herbs as Binnie's had to be inviting. As the cats watched Vivi nervously wolf her dinner, Ryan bent down to look under the table.

"Hi, cats. You having pizza?" They smiled at her and purred, and Dulcie rose to rub against her extended hand. She scratched Dulcie's ear, looking pleased with the greeting. Her face was flushed from the chill outdoor air, her dark hair tangled in a mass of short, unruly curls. In a moment she sat up again. "They're charming, Clyde. As responsive as any dogs."

"I suppose they can be charming," Clyde said. "When it suits them."

"But pizza, and Mexican food? Doesn't that stuff upset them? What does the vet say?" She was wearing faded jeans, and brown leather sandals that smelled of saddle soap. Her ankles were nicely tanned. Joe sniffed at her toes until Dulcie hissed at him, laying back her ears. "You don't need to smell her feet!"

Clyde said, "The food doesn't bother them; they seem to have cast-iron stomachs." He looked under. "What do you want on your pizza? Cheese, hamburger, and anchovy?"

Joe Grey purred, thinking, Heavy on the anchovies and plenty of mozzarella.

"Where's the third cat?" Ryan asked. "The little dark one? Doesn't she belong to Wilma Getz? Wilma worked with my dad, years ago before she retired, in the San Francisco probation office. The dark cat-what's that color called?"

"Tortoiseshell," Clyde said. "She's been hanging around the theater lately. She likes to prowl the rafters."

Ryan laughed. "Theatrical aspirations? But when the cats are out on the village streets at night, don't you worry about them?"

"They're careful about traffic. And all three are pretty resourceful."

"My family has never had cats, only dogs. I had no idea cats would-well, these two follow you, don't they? And they mind you."

"Sometimes," Clyde said. "If they're in a cooperative mood."

"When my sisters and I were young, and we came down to the village for weekends, we always brought the dogs. Dallas was raising pointers then. We'd each get to bring our favorite pup, we ran them on the beach, took them in the outdoor cafes. It was great fun, everyone made a fuss over them-we were very popular. I've always loved the village. I'm going to love calling it home. San Francisco, under the right circumstances, is wonderful, but I think my nesting place is here."

"And you liked Charlie's apartment-the duplex?"

"It's perfect. One big room, and I love the high ceiling. Charlie says we can put in a wood-burning stove if I like. And that wonderful garage, that's the space I really need. She told me she bought the place for a song."

"In village numbers, yes. It was pretty run down. Will you need furniture?"

"I don't need much. Right now, I just want the necessities."

"Which are?"

"Drafting table. Bed. Breakfast table and a couple of chairs. Desk for my computer."

"Your taste may be too simple for the Iselman estate sale, but it wouldn't hurt to look."

"Which is when?"

"Saturday morning. You go around seven, take a number, go back at ten to be called. They let people in a few at a time."

"Want to come?"

"Sure. We'll get our numbers, go have breakfast, and walk the beach."

The cats looked at each other, amused. Clyde never did waste time. When the pizza was served, they could hear Clyde cutting their share into bite-sized pieces, could hear him blowing on it to cool before he set it on the floor. Across the restaurant, Vivi and Fern were still alone; Elliott had not returned. Vivi was paying the bill. In a moment she rose, said something to Fern, dropped a tip on the table, and was gone, leaving Fern to finish her dinner alone.

"She sure didn't want any part of me," Ryan said softly. "Elliott can't still be in the men's room."

"I think that slamming kitchen door might have been Elliott leaving," Clyde said.

"Maybe Vivi and my womanizing husband did get together last fall. But why would Elliott avoid me? I can understand Vivi staying away-though at this point, I couldn't care less. But why Elliott? He and I are the wronged parties."

From beneath the table, the cats watched through the far window as Vivi hurried around the corner to her car. They heard her gun the engine and the Lincoln roared away, apparently leaving Elliott to walk home.

The cats looked at each other with amusement. What a tangle humans could devise. No group of cats ever made such a muddle of their personal affairs. Vivi and Elliott's behavior not only entertained Joe and Dulcie but left them puzzled and unsettled. As if they'd followed a rabbit scent that led nowhere; that ended abruptly with no rabbit hole, and no rabbit.

They would be far more concerned, however, when the night ended; when dawn broke and they confronted a dead body, a bloody scene of battle, and one very distraught tortoiseshell kit.