Cat Playing Cupid

3

MIKE FLANNERY'S retirement party, the night before the wedding, had been a casual cookout on Clyde Damen's patio to celebrate Mike's moving from San Francisco to the village. Most of Mike's family had long since removed to Molena Point from the city, Hanni to open her interior design studio, Dallas to sign on as a detective with Molena Point PD, Ryan to escape the husband she was divorcing and to start her own construction firm, and Scotty to work for her.

Mike, having retired the previous week as Chief U.S. Probation Officer for the Northern District of California, had enjoyed an impressive court ceremony before U.S. judge Donald Clymer and then a crowded and congratulatory office party complete with gag gifts, a thick scrapbook of office pictures from past parties and ceremonies, and deeply felt good wishes; Flannery had been a demanding but infinitely fair and well-loved chief. On the day of the ceremony and party, Mike's rented truck waited, ready to leave San Francisco, packed with the few belongings he meant to keep; the security deposit on his vacated apartment had been refunded, he had sold his aging car and had closed his bank accounts-not that he was in a hurry to depart the city. Not much of a hurry.

Early that evening, as the first partygoers assembled, up at the Harper ranch Charlie Harper, dressed in fresh jeans and a clean shirt, was ready to head down the hills to join the celebration; she had just put an insulated carrier full of potato salad in the back of her SUV, and had gone to feed the horses and dogs and put them up for the night when, from deep within the stable, a small voice spoke to her. She pause, startled. "Who's there?"

Earlier, opening the pasture gate, she'd moved the four horses into the barn, followed by the two gamboling half-Danes, the big, fawn-colored mutts had let her know that nothing was amiss in the stable by the way they frolicked around her, carefree and untroubled. But now, as she finished graining and started to fill the water buckets, Hestig gave a huff and Selig growled, staring toward the rear door that she'd left ajar for air circulation.

The Harper barn had two rows of stalls facing each other across a covered alley where she and Max groomed and saddled the horses or doctored them. A wide, sliding door opened at the front, and another similar door at the back. This was open only a few inches, and as Charlie paused, watching the dogs, the soft voice spoke again from the shadows.

"Charlie? Charlie Harper?" A voice barely discernible through Hestig's puzzled rumble.

Charlie took Hestig's collar, though the dog didn't lunge or bark. He only cocked his head, watching the dark corner.

There was no one standing there, nothing that she could see, and the chill she felt was not of fear but of anticipation.

The miracle of hearing that small, wild voice here in the barn made her shiver. Quietly she approached the back of the barn until, where the shadows were deepest, she made out a little white smudge crouched and watching her. She knelt some distance from the pale cat. " Willow?"

There was no answer.

" Willow? What's wrong? What brings you here?" She knew the lovely feral would never come among humans unless she badly needed help, unless there was terrible trouble for her or her wild band. Fearing that Willow would slip away again, Charlie didn't reach out to the bleached calico, she did nothing to alarm her-though Willow had no reason to fear her, the cat was feral, as wild and wary as a forest fox; none of Willow's band of speaking cats trusted humans, and Charlie had indeed been flattered when Willow accepted her.

"What is it?" she said again, softly. "What's happened?"

But then, watching the frightened calico, Charlie smelled the sharp, ironlike scent of fresh blood-and Willow stepped out from the shadows, watching Charlie with huge green eyes. Revealing what lay behind her. Showing Charlie the small, still form that lay amid scattered wisps of straw on the dark barn floor: a young cat, bloodied and limp.

Charlie wanted to reach out to him, but she remained still. "May I get a light?" she said softly. "I can't see as well as you. He's hurt bad, I need to see. Could I turn on the overhead lights? They're very bright."

"Turn them on," Willow said tremulously. "He's unconscious. Yes, he's hurt bad, Charlie Harper. It took three of us helping him, carrying and supporting him as he tried to hobble. He's used the last of his strength. The others ran as soon as we had him safe here-they wouldn't remain in a human place, and with the big dogs near."

Charlie rose, switched on the lights, and knelt again, catching her breath at the little cat's cruelly twisted and bloodied leg. He lay against the stable wall, so limp and small, a young white tom marked with vague, soft gray splotches like Stone Eye, the clowder leader, marked the same as many of the clowder cats-Stone Eye dominated the females, and most of the kittens were his.

Stone Eye's tyranny was why Willow and a small band of cats had left the clowder, going defiantly off on their own, making every effort to stay clear of him.

"Sage is my cousin," the pale calico said, nosing gently at the young tom's ear. "There was a terrible battle. Stone Eye attacked us; we had no choice," she said ashamedly, "but to run from his warriors."

At the sound of their voices the young, hurt cat had awakened. He was looking at Charlie rigid with fear.

"It's all right," Willow told him. "Charlie's a friend. It's all right, Sage.

"His leg is broken," she said sadly, "and I think the bone might be crushed. Stone Eye did that. I…Be still, Sage. Let Charlie look at you. She's a friend. Do as I say, and be still."

The young tom grew still, but remained wary in Charlie's presence. Gently she touched the angled leg, and felt sick. She could see the jagged bone sticking out beneath the blood-soaked fur. She looked at Willow, desolate. "I can't mend such a thing. I'll have to take him to a doctor-a friend. A man we can trust."

"Not a strange human," Willow said.

"I promise we can trust him."

"Can't you help him, can't you do this?"

"I'm not a doctor. I would ruin his leg. If I muddled this, he might never walk again-he might not live. This will take skilled hands. Even then…if the bone is crushed…" She didn't finish. Sage looked so weak, and surely he'd lost a lot of blood. He must be in terrible pain, and that was what sickened her the most.

Watching Charlie, Willow 's eyes were huge with distress. "Please, could you try?" She was so afraid, and didn't know what to do.

"Our veterinarian is a good man," Charlie said. "He needn't know what this young cat is. He treats Joe Grey and Dulcie and Kit, and he doesn't know about them. He's a kind man, Willow. He's honest and caring, and he's very skilled. Please, let me take him there? You could come with us, to calm and reassure him."

Willow dropped her ears; she bent her head to nudge Sage, then looked up at Charlie. "I will come, but I must return quickly and see to the others. Others are wounded, though not so bad as Sage. I must help with them, lick them clean, do what we can."

Did Willow, Charlie wondered, not expect Sage to live? So she was committing herself to those who would live? She wanted badly to ask more about what had happened, she knew that Stone Eye could be brutal. But there was no time to ask. Rising, she fetched clean towels from the tack room, and a large metal tray that she used to lay out doctoring supplies for the horses. She folded a towel on this, to pillow Sage's body. She gathered antiseptic, a bottle of water, and gauze and clean cloths to staunch the blood.

Kneeling again beside Sage, gently she lifted him onto the makeshift stretcher. "Lie still. Oh, please, Sage, lie still." And she began carefully to bathe the wound and try to staunch the bleeding before she moved him very far. His pain seemed to have eased; she didn't know whether that was good or bad. If the young cat was in shock, she knew they must hurry.

Willow crouched close to him, speaking softly. "Listen to me, Sage. We can trust Charlie Harper, we must trust her. We must go with her, and you must do as she tells you. She will take us where you will be safe and cared for, where someone with skill can mend your leg so you can walk again. Do you understand?"

Sage blinked and nudged weakly at Willow, as if meaning to say he would try. But he cut his eyes at Charlie, not daring to speak in her presence.

Charlie, pressing gently with gauze pads, got the blood stopped, for the moment. Looking deep into the young tom's eyes, she tried the same uncompromising tone that Willow used, and that seemed to comfort him. Perhaps such authority seemed secure to Sage, perhaps it translated into safety.

"We'll go in my car," she told him, "and that will be frightening for you. You will be safe, I promise. I'll do my best for you, and so will Dr. Firetti. He won't know what you are, Sage. You can be sure that I won't tell him. He'll be kind, he'll give you something to stop the hurt, and he'll mend your leg."

Charlie hoped she wasn't promising more than Firetti could deliver; she saw in Willow 's eyes the same question. They looked at each other for a long moment. What if the leg could not be mended? What if it must be amputated? Or what if Sage kept his leg, but would be forever lame, unable to hunt properly or to travel fast and far with their wild band, unable to keep up with the clowder?

"Dr. Firetti will do the best he can," she repeated. "No one, no one, could do better."

Carefully picking up the makeshift stretcher and heading for her car, she looked down at Willow trotting along beside her, looking warily at the car. Willow stood watching as Charlie tucked the tray safely down on the front seat of her SUV, laid a soft lap blanket gently over Sage, and fastened the seat belt around the tray, securing his rigid little body. He widened his eyes as the belt seemed to imprison him.

"You must lie still. The belt is to protect you, to keep you from falling. The car will seem fast and bumpy. I'll hold on to you, too."

Willow hopped up into the car, seeming to swallow her own fear of the great metal machine as she settled gently next to Sage. Charlie, moving around the SUV, swung in and laid a hand on Sage's shoulder; as she started the engine he went even more rigid, his eyes growing huge with fear.

"It's all right, Sage. That noise is just the engine. Please be still. Please, don't hurt yourself more. I promise I won't let you be harmed-and soon the hurt will ease."

But Willow said simply, "Be still, Sage. You must mind us! It won't be long." It was all Willow could say-she, too, was shivering with fear of the noisy vehicle as Charlie set out up the ranch lane, driving slowly. When they went over a bump in the gravel road, Sage whimpered with pain, and Charlie felt her stomach twist.

"Dr. Firetti will ease the hurt," she repeated. "He'll help you rest and heal."

Sage blinked up at her in a terrified yet slowly trusting way that made her heart hurt with tenderness. He was in such pain, yet he was doing as Willow and she told him, the terrified young cat was trusting her, and that innocent trust almost undid her.

Heading out on their long road to the highway, she punched in Dr. Firetti's number on her cell phone. One ring. Two. Firetti answered on the third ring as she turned onto the highway and down the hills toward the village. She thought her call had probably interrupted his dinner. Driving as smoothly as she could on the old, two-lane road, through the heavy dusk, she told Firetti that the cat was a stray she'd been feeding, that she'd been waiting for him to grow a bit tamer before she took him down to be vetted and have his shots.

She told Firetti the cat had been in a fight with another stray. She didn't know how else to handle the matter. She thought about the possibility of rabies, but she didn't think that likely; there was not much rabies in their area except for the occasional rabid skunk or bat-and certainly those two bands of speaking cats were far too wise to get near a rabid beast.

But Firetti wouldn't know that. Under the circumstances, the doctor would probably have to quarantine Sage, and that would complicate matters. Sage was not a cat to be kept in a cage, the speaking cats loved their freedom too well, were too intelligent to tolerate confinement; Willow had had experience with cages, and Charlie knew how stressed she had been.

Well, she'd deal with that problem when Firetti mentioned it.

"When you are healed," Willow told Sage, "Charlie will take you back to the ranch so you can come and find us, so you can rejoin the band on the far hills."

"Not back to Stone Eye's band?" Charlie whispered.

Willow looked up at Charlie, her green eyes flashing with challenge. For a moment their gazes held again, transcending their difference in species; it was a moment that seemed beyond time, where species were no longer separated, where each knew the other intimately; it was an exchange that thrilled Charlie.

"Stone Eye is dead," Willow told her.

Charlie looked at her, startled.

"Last night, Stone Eye's warriors slipped into the ruins, stealthy and swift. Stone Eye wasn't with them, not in the first wave. They attacked brutally. We fought them, but they were fifty or more, and we were only twelve. We couldn't stand against them, it would have been our end. When they killed two of our young strong cats, we ten slipped away and ran.

"Just north of your barn, they surrounded us again. We dove into a hollow tree that Cotton knew. We left our scent down inside it, for them to follow, and then we climbed. Sage…Sage was with Stone Eye's warriors."

Charlie looked down at Sage, shocked.

"Sage ran with Stone Eye," Willow said. "When our band broke away from him, Sage was young and he clung to the security of that tightly ordered life. I think that sometimes he wanted to be away from Stone Eye's brutal rule, but other times he was too afraid to leave. He would not come with those who escaped to join our free band. He wouldn't leave, despite Stone Eye's cruelty," she said sadly.

Charlie shivered, trying to imagine the young cat's indecision and fear.

"But last night," Willow said, "as they gathered around the tree to dig us out, with Stone Eye yowling orders, we leaped down on them, slashing and raking. In the dark, Cotton throttled Stone Eye before he could twist and grab him-and it was then, when Stone Eye screamed with pain, that Sage saw Stone Eye's weakness, and turned on him wildly.

"This so infuriated Stone Eye that he flipped over, threw Cotton off, grabbed Sage by the leg and shook and flung him.

"And then Coyote was there, fighting Stone Eye. I've never seen such a fight, Cotton and Coyote were crazy with rage at Stone Eye's brutality to young Sage, they killed him before his warriors could help him.

"When Stone Eye lay dead, Charlie Harper, the cats began to cheer. What a wild sound, that excited cheering breaking the still night. Now…" Willow 's green eyes burned at Charlie. "Now we are all free of him. Free of the slave master." And for the first time that evening, Willow smiled, her pale ears sharply erect, her eyes glowing. "The tyrant is dead, Charlie Harper. Now, Cotton and Coyote will rule, now we will all live free again, and there will be no tyranny."

But Charlie, slowing behind a creeping truck, only hoped they could keep their freedom. In the world of humans, it seemed to her, there was always another tyrant ready to destroy the meek and gentle, another dictator burning to enslave those weaker than himself.

Willow lifted a paw, watching her. "There is something more, Charlie Harper."

Charlie passed the truck, then pulled quickly back into the single lane. The evening traffic was growing heavy in both directions on the darkening two-lane.

"We had another death," Willow told her. "A week before we were attacked. An elderly member of our band. We buried her in the ruins." Willow 's small clowder had lived in the ruins of the old Pamillon Estate, among its fallen walls and crumbling cellars, ever since they'd left Stone Eye's domination.

"We dug deep to bury her, but we had to abandon the first grave we started. There was a human body there, we uncovered human bones. Old, earth-stained bones. A hand, an arm, part of a shoulder."

Charlie thought they had found one of the Pamillon family graves, that they had been digging in the old family cemetery.

"We covered them over again, and moved to the soft earth of the old rose garden," Willow said.

Charlie glanced at her. "But the rose garden is the cemetery. What…?"

Willow looked up at her. "Yes," she said softly. "We buried our dead one beside the graves of the Pamillon family, buried her at the back of the garden where the tall old bushes bloom best."

Charlie pulled over as a speeding driver passed, narrowly missing them. "But where was the human grave?" she said, cursing the hare-brained driver.

"It was in a little courtyard outside a bedchamber, a sheltered garden walled in on three sides by the house, and overgrown with bushes and vines. Through a glass door you can see into a chamber, see a toppled dresser and an old, carved bed with tattered hangings."

Willow flicked her tail. "The strangest thing, Charlie Harper, is that the human skeleton wears a bracelet. The corpse wears a bracelet that bears the picture of a cat. What do you think that could mean?"

"Anyone might wear such jewelry. Millions of humans are fond of cats."

"But that particular cat…There is another exactly like it, carved into the stone over the bedchamber door." Willow licked her pale calico shoulder. "Exactly the same cat. Rearing up, with his mouth open and his paw thrust out."

"Maybe the Pamillons kept cats," Charlie said. "Maybe other cats lived there at one time, ordinary cats but so dearly loved that they became a kind of symbol-the way people put bumper stickers of dogs on their cars." But she knew that was a weak explanation.

Beside her, Willow 's eyes glowed with unease. "There is more about cats," Willow said, "there is a book about cats hidden at one side of the grotto. A book about cats like us, a book about speaking cats. Could the people who lived there have known about us, Charlie Harper? Did someone in that house know about speaking cats?"

Charlie's pulse had gone cold. Every stranger who knew the cats' secret was a potential threat to Willow 's wild band, and to Joe and Dulcie and Kit.

They were nearly to their turn, the evening traffic now bumper to bumper; though she kept her distance, twice she had to brake abruptly, reaching to hold Sage and to try to calm him; he was very nervous, and he seemed almost panicked with pain. She was so anxious for him that she wanted to race ahead on the wrong side of the two-lane; the slow bumper-to-bumper traffic was maddening.

"Near the human grave," Willow said, "is a fissure where the walls have caved into an old cellar; several weeks ago Coyote chased a squirrel down there and found a small wooden box tucked among the stones.

"We pulled the box out with our claws. I don't know what made me fight so hard to free it and get it open. Coyote would have left it, but I had a terrible, urgent feeling that we needed to see inside.

"What clever hands humans have. It took three of us fighting that lid to unhook it. Inside was a piece of folded leather wrapped around something heavy. Inside that was an old book wrapped in frail cloth, a book with a leather cover and gold lettering. We dragged it out of the box and opened it, and in the starlight we read the first pages."

Charlie turned left on Ocean, headed for Firetti's clinic. Beside her, Sage lay limp and still, his head down on the seat in a way that turned her cold.

Willow put her face to his face. "He sleeps," she said softly. "He is breathing." She was quiet a moment, then, "Some of the tales were the same ancient stories our clowder used to tell before Stone Eye forbade them-he called them the lies of humans, stories about our ancient beginnings. We remembered them from when we were kittens, gathered, of an evening, in the big clowder circle.

"But there were other stories, written by a human who knew about cats of our kind, who had seen them and spoken with them, in another country. Those stories frightened us. We shoved the book back in the box and hid the box again, deep in the crevice. If any cat loyal to Stone Eye had found it, they would have clawed it to shreds."

"Why didn't you destroy it," Charlie said, "when such a record is so dangerous?"

"I don't know," Willow said worriedly. "In that book is our history, our story. It gives away our secret, and yet it is our treasure, too, so rich in our own history. How could we destroy it?

"I don't like that humans would have such a book," the calico said thoughtfully. "But maybe some humans felt as I do. Maybe they meant to keep our secret, hiding the book carefully. As if they could not bring themselves to tear or burn it? It is a precious thing, that book, those words that tell about us."

Charlie couldn't answer; the idea of the book both frightened and excited her, just as it did Willow. But right now…She pulled up to the clinic, praying for Sage, her hand on his limp little body.