Cat Playing Cupid Read online

  Willow rose as if to follow her, but then the pale calico, looking out warily at the big building, seemed to lose her nerve. Charlie couldn't fault her, the poor cat was about at the end of her strength. She'd fought two battles this long day, had run for her life from the first violent attack, then had escaped the warriors a second time and helped the wounded young tom to safety-despite her fear of the human world, she had entered the stable, surely terrified. She seemed, in fact, not only at the end of her strength but of her resolve. Charlie touched her gently.

  "Stay here, Willow. If Sage needs you, if he grows nervous again, I'll come and get you. You'll be safe here." Willow looked at her uncertainly.

  Charlie reached to the backseat for a soft lap robe to make a bed for her. "I'll be as quick as I can." She opened the windows enough so Willow could escape if she chose, enough so she wouldn't feel trapped. Willow nosed at Sage, and licked the young cat's ear. She gave Charlie another long look, almost of contentment, as if glad of the chance to rest, and settled down on the blanket. Charlie picked up the stretcher and locked the car doors.

  John Firetti met her at the front door of the clinic, his light brown hair ruffled, his bright blue eyes turning at once to Sage. Firetti's round face, which seemed perpetually sunburned, was filled with concern. Taking the makeshift stretcher, he led her through the empty waiting room and quickly past the door to the kennel, the large, airy central room that connected the two older buildings; this was a solarium-like structure with a high ceiling brightened by skylights. Its cement floor, which could be hosed down, was warmed by hot water pipes imbedded in the concrete. The dogs were barking so frantically that it was all Charlie could do to reassure Sage as they passed. The hospital itself and the cages for the cats were in smaller rooms, away from the noise.

  The examining room to which John Firetti led her was warmer than the rest of the building, a small, cozy cubicle with a metal table and two soft, vinyl-covered easy chairs where clients could sit to talk with the doctor. Firetti spent some time examining Sage, then took him back to be X-rayed, asking Charlie to help him.

  "Very likely he won't hold still, Charlie. He's terrified. I'm sorry about the noise." During the day, taped music played in the canine section and an attendant was there to soothe and quiet the patients. But this was after hours, and Firetti was alone. "Mary's off at our daughter's for the week. You'll have to hold him, try to calm him."

  "He'll hold still," Charlie said.

  "Did you say he's feral?" Firetti said uncertainly.

  "He's a stray. I don't know whether he's feral-but ever since I found him hurt, he's been so still. I suppose he's in shock?"

  Firetti didn't answer. At the X-ray table, Charlie put on a lead apron and lead gloves, and held Sage the way John Firetti showed her; under her gentle hands, even though they were encased in the thick gloves, Sage remained obediently quiet-but his little body was rigid as he stared up, terrified, at the X-ray machine. Firetti watched him with growing interest as he took the pictures, moving the injured cat into several positions. He had given Sage a shot to ease the pain, and soon, despite the cat's fear of the strange room and strange machinery, he began to relax.

  When Firetti was finished with the X-rays, he said, "This will be a long surgery, and I'll need to do more tests before we begin. Natalie is on her way in, to help me." Natalie had been his assistant for many years. He looked intently at Charlie. "I'll need blood."

  "Don't you keep a couple of kennel cats for that? The black cats I've seen in here?"

  "Their blood won't do."

  Charlie frowned. "You mean cats have blood types, like humans? I didn't…"

  Firetti was silent, watching her. "Cats do have blood types, Charlie. But what I need is not common cat blood."

  "What other kind is there? This cat isn't some exotic breed. What…?"

  "I think you know what I mean. I will need special blood. I'll need a transfusion from Joe Grey, or from Dulcie or Kit. Maybe from all three. Will you try to round up the cats while I set up for surgery?"

  "But…" Charlie stared at him feeling her own blood drain to her toes.

  "We're wasting time," Firetti said. "I hope they're not up in the hills hunting."

  She couldn't speak. She heard the outer door open, heard Natalie call out that she would be right in. Charlie didn't know what to say to Firetti.

  "I know about them," he said. "I've known about these amazing cats since I was a boy, since shortly after my father opened the clinic. I knew Dulcie's mother, I knew all about her-Genelle Yardley, with whom she lived, died keeping the cats' secret."

  Charlie looked at him for a long time. How could she tell Joe and Dulcie and Kit this? How could she tell the three cats that one more person shared their secret, even if John Firetti was their friend?

  But did she have to tell them?

  Couldn't she bring Willow in for the transfusion, and never mention this to Joe or Dulcie or Kit?

  But Willow was so exhausted. When Charlie thought how terrified she would be of the clinic, of the metal table, of a strange human handling her-of the needle plunging in-she knew she couldn't do that. Besides, such dishonesty showed only disrespect for the cats. Charlie wouldn't deceive them, that was not how she viewed friendship.

  Firetti was saying, "I've never told Wilma or Clyde that I know; I didn't tell the Greenlaws when they took Kit to live with them." He laughed. "It wasn't hard to know what the kit was, with her bright curiosity, the way she listened to every word. Of course I've never spoken of my knowledge to the cats themselves. They'll have to know now," he said quietly.

  "They'll understand," Charlie said, hoping she was right. Wondering how the three cats would react.

  She touched Sage lightly, nodded to John Firetti, and left the clinic, greeting Natalie on her way out, wondering for a moment if Natalie knew, too.

  Oh, but Firetti would have told her, if that was the case. Surely he would have.

  In the car she told Willow, "He's given him something for the pain, and to rest. He needs blood for transfusions so he can operate on the leg. As soon as I take you back, I'm going to fetch Joe and Dulcie and Kit." She was going to tell Willow that Firetti knew about them, but she couldn't. Willow was already upset, and to Willow, every human who knew their secret represented an additional threat, a worry the feral band must carry with them no matter how far they traveled or how well they hid themselves among the wild, unpopulated slashes of land between the spreading towns and cities.

  In the car, as they headed back up the hills, almost as if Willow had read her thoughts, the calico said, "There's been a human prowling among the ruins. We've seen him-or her?-only from a distance, someone dressed in black-black pants and a long black coat. Always the same figure, we think. But driving different colored cars. Coming up that far little gravel lane, from the houses below."

  "Not the larger dirt road?"

  "No, never. They drive the car into an old shed down at the end of the property, beyond the dying orchard, then come slipping through the ruins. Searching, always searching. Could they be looking for the book?" she said in a small, miserable voice.

  "Where do they search?"

  "Inside the house, and in the smaller buildings, too. Whenever we saw them, we stayed away, hid until they were gone. Then we went over their trail, but all we could smell was chemicals. Perfume or something like it, covering all other scents."

  They had reached the ranch; before Willow raced away into the hills, Charlie fetched from the house some leftover roast and a bowl of fresh water. Willow drank and ate quickly.

  "Must you go back alone? It's nearly dark."

  "Our wounded aren't far away, Charlie Harper. And I'll be careful. I can smell danger, I can climb, and leap. And I have these," she said, baring her formidable claws and giving Charlie a little cat smile-and she streaked away past the barn and into the dusky woods, her pale shape vanishing among the thickening shadows.

  Worrying because Willow was traveling alone, and puzzlin
g over the prowler at the ruins, Charlie headed down the hills again. Was someone looking for the book? Or maybe for that hidden grave? Pulling into Clyde's crowded driveway behind Max's truck, she quickly grabbed her cooler and made for the front door, praying she could find Joe, and maybe Kit and Dulcie, could get them out without argument, and without anyone noticing.

  Like the Firetti clinic, the Damen house had been remodeled from a small vacation cottage built during the early years of the last century, when Molena Point was a religion-based summer retreat. Only later had the artists and writers and musicians arrived, to change the persona of the small village from religious to more earthy pleasures. They, too, built cottages, enlarging the village, and now many of the old cottages housed restaurants and shops, or had been connected to become quaint motels. Designer Ryan Flannery had changed Clyde 's dumpy little cottage into a handsome dwelling.

  First she had transformed the weedy backyard into a beautiful private patio, then had added the second story to provide a new master suite and study, with a deck over the garage and carport. It was here that Charlie found Joe Grey sitting at the edge of the deck washing his paws, looking down at the street, checking out the arriving guests.

  "Why the frown?" Joe said softly, turning to look at her. "What's wrong?"

  "Why aren't you down in the middle of the party?" she whispered. "In the middle of the food?"

  Joe gave her a long, cool look. "Since when have I ever been, as you put it, in the middle of the party food? Don't you think-"

  "Joe," Charlie said softly, "I need you to come with me quickly, there's been an accident."

  Joe's yellow eyes widened with fear.

  "No, not Dulcie or Kit-it's a feral." She knelt on the deck, facing him, speaking quietly. " Willow came to me tonight, in the barn. She brought a young, wounded tomcat-there was a battle up at the ruins. Stone Eye attacked them, and Cotton and Coyote killed him."

  Joe looked surprised, then smiled with satisfaction. "Good for them! One less tyrant in the world."

  "I took the hurt cat to Dr. Firetti." But when she told him what Firetti knew, Joe Grey's yellow eyes narrowed warily, and his sleek body went rigid with apprehension.

  "He's always known," Charlie said. "He knew about Dulcie's mother." She reached to touch Joe's muscled gray shoulder. "He's never told anyone. Never! I believe him, Joe."

  She couldn't read Joe's expression; it was a mix of cold feline suspicion and yet a flash of confidence, too, as if he wanted to trust John Firetti, as if he knew, deep down, that he could trust him.

  "Firetti needs you, Joe. He needs blood for Sage's surgery-it has to be the blood of a talking cat, he told me your blood is different."

  Joe looked at Charlie for a long moment, and now his uncertainty had nothing to do with trusting what Firetti had said. Blood? His blood? His stomach had gone a bit queasy, and his paws began to sweat.

  Joe Grey had never in his life shrunk from a fight. He could whip any tomcat that challenged him, and could send most dogs running. But the drawing out of his lifeblood was another matter. He already felt violated. He envisioned Dr. Firetti shaving away his sleek gray fur to pale, naked skin, and sticking in a large and painful needle, and he didn't like the thought.

  Seeing the fear in Joe's eyes, Charlie hid her amusement. "Firetti may need blood from all three of you," she said diplomatically. "But I know you'll be the bravest. I guess we'd better fetch Dulcie and Kit, though." She was guessing that the lady cats, like most women, would feel less stricken at donating a few drops of blood, but she couldn't tell Joe that.

  "We're here" came a small voice from the roof above them. Looking up she saw two pairs of bright eyes fixed on her-green-eyed Dulcie, her dark tabby coat nearly invisible against the evening sky, and Kit's yellow eyes as round as twin moons, the tortoiseshell's darkly mottled fluff lost in the falling night.

  "He knows?" Dulcie hissed at her. "Firetti knows?"

  "Blood?" Kit said. "Our blood? Oh my…" But whether the tattercoat was frightened by the thought, or impressed with such an important mission, Charlie couldn't tell.

  "If he needs us now," Dulcie said sensibly, "let's get on with it." And Charlie watched the two lady cats leave the roof, backing down the pine tree, their claws scratching away loose bark, watched them drop to the ground and race to her red Blazer, where they melted into the bushes, waiting for her to open the door.

  Picking up Joe without ceremony, garnering an irritable growl, Charlie hurried down, taking the stairs two at a time, hoping she could get through the crowd without anyone stopping her-but from the living room, she heard Clyde's and Mike Flannery's voices.

  Most of the party was crowded into the back patio, and she could hear only a few voices from the kitchen. But there by the fireplace stood Clyde and his soon-to-be father-in-law in deep and serious conversation. She set Joe down, giving him a look that said he'd better follow her. And quickly she slipped into the living room, snatched up her cooler, which she'd left by the front door, and carried it into the kitchen.

  "Potato salad and shrimp dip," she told Ryan hastily, setting the carrier on an empty chair. "I forgot to shut the dogs in, I have to go back." And she was gone again out the front door, Joe at her heels, before anyone thought to ask questions.

  Holding open the door of her SUV, she pulled out the lap robe and pretended to fold it, hiding the cats as they leaped inside. Backing out of the drive, she hoped Ryan and Clyde were too tightly strung over the wedding to have paid attention to her hasty behavior. They didn't need this added worry just now.

  Well, but of course they were nervous, getting married was a big step. Clyde had been a bachelor for a long time, despite numerous involvements. And Ryan, having only last year broken away from an abusive marriage, was still gun-shy. But, They'll be good together, Charlie thought. They'll survive the wedding, get away by themselves, and that's all they need.

  What worried her, as she headed toward Ocean and the clinic, was the changes this marriage would bring to the Damen household. Joe and Clyde had lived together a long time, a bachelor household, the two of them bantering and confrontational, ribbing each other and supremely comfortable in their abrasive relationship. Now, what was in store for the two hardheaded males who were so entrenched in their rough ways? And Ryan…though Ryan had grown up in a household run by three strong-willed men and had learned early to hold her own, she'd never lived with a smart-talking tomcat who was as strong willed as any cop.

  Parking in front of the clinic, she and the cats headed for the door, the cats pressing close to her legs. Firetti let them in and urged them on through the empty waiting room to the surgery, where he lifted the three cats onto a table.

  "Natalie can't hear us," he said softly. "She stopped to tend to another patient; we had a couple of afternoon surgeries, and they're just recovering."

  There was a short argument among the cats over who would go first. "I will, of course," Joe said boldly, drawing himself up, his ears sharp, his muscled shoulders gleaming, all macho tomcat and not a sign of fear.

  Firetti nodded with approval. "You're bigger and stronger, Joe. And I'll take Kit's blood, too."

  Kit looked smug, and lashed her fluffy tail.

  "The blood of two cats should be sufficient, unless there are complications," Firetti said. "I'd like Dulcie to stay as a backup-like you to stay the night, Dulcie, to be here when Sage comes out of the anesthetic. He'll need another cat to talk to, he'll be confused, he-"

  "I'll stay!" Kit interrupted. Charlie put a hand on Kit's head to silence her.

  "He'll be disoriented," Firetti continued. "He may not remember where he is, or why. In that state, the fear of finding himself alone and confined among humans could be very hard on him, and he-"

  "I'll stay," Kit said again. "Sage and I are friends, we were kittens together, I can comfort him."

  Joe and Dulcie exchanged a look, a concerned parental kind of glance that amused but puzzled Charlie. And Dulcie said, "Kit, you don't want to miss the pa
rty."

  "I want to stay!" Kit hissed at her, showing formidable teeth.

  "Dulcie will stay!" Joe said angrily, and the two older cats glared at Kit until the tortoiseshell backed away from them, round-eyed with surprise. Charlie didn't see what all the fuss was about. She didn't see what difference it made-until she looked again at Kit.

  Even cowed by the older cats, the tortoiseshell's yellow eyes hardly left the sleeping patient. Kit watched Sage intently, and as Dr. Firetti prepared Joe to give blood, Kit crept nearer Sage, nosing at him and worrying, the tip of her fluffy tail twitching, her golden eyes filled with emotions that Charlie had never before seen in the young cat.

  So, Charlie thought, hiding a smile. So, is Cupid among us, then?

  But why would Joe and Dulcie be against Kit and Sage's friendship? The tortoiseshell was no longer a kitten, she was a grown cat now.

  All through their whispered exchange, Sage lay sleeping on the table, sedated and kept warm. And whatever the problem, in the end Kit and Joe gave the first blood, and Dulcie was left to stay the night.

  As the scent of alcohol filled the room, Charlie didn't like to watch John Firetti draw blood from Joe; the tomcat, despite his macho pretense, lay as rigid as if he were about to be field dressed. When Joe flinched, Charlie flinched. When the needle went in, she felt sharply its stinging bite-she was nearly as shaky and unnerved as she knew Joe was. The big, brawny tomcat suddenly seemed very small and frail-Joe seemed, himself, in need of tender protection.

  When Dr. Firetti finished taking blood from Joe and Kit, he called Natalie on the intercom to help with the surgery. Kit refused to go home, so he settled Charlie and the three cats comfortably in his adjoining office; he gave Joe and Kit chicken broth to lap, and tucked them up in a blanket to keep warm, and showed Charlie where he kept the coffeepot. As the friends waited during surgery, Kit's eyes never left the connecting door, and silently Charlie and the cats prayed for the young feral.