Cat Breaking Free (23 page)

C
lyde was headed home when something bounded
at him out of the night, hitting him in the chest like a bullet; and Kit was clinging to his sweater, blathering in his face trying to tell him something about Joe and Dulcie. In a cage? What cage?

“Slow down, Kit. Take it slow.” He undid her claws and pulled her off, and cradled her in his arms. “Shhhh, Kit! Don't talk out here, wait until we're inside.” He double-timed home, and they were hardly through the door when she blurted it all out, talking nonstop, in a panic.

“In a cage, Joe and Dulcie, and no one knows where but Luis and Chichi. Chichi must know where, she saw them there! Hurry, Clyde! You have to make her take us there. Oh, hurry! Locked in a cage and Luis lost the key and maybe someone
took
the key so you'll have to take a saw or some kind of cutters. Oh hurry before Chichi leaves because she has to take us there she's the only one who knows except Luis. But Luis…” She
stared in the direction of Chichi's house praying that Luis would go away and Chichi wouldn't, so Clyde could make her help them. Rearing up in his arms she stared nose-to-nose at Clyde.

He was deathly white, as if she'd scared him bad, landing smack on him out of the night and then telling him about the cage. “Locked in a cage, Clyde, and Chichi can take us, you have to make her take us before she goes away again, oh, hurry!”

Clyde unhooked her claws again, held her close, and swung out the door, heading for Chichi's house. “You are not to talk, Kit! Not a word!”

“I won't talk but Luis is in there and he's mean, he's drunk and mean.”

He set her down on the drive. “Go get in my car, Kit. Right now. In the back.” He jogged around the corner of the house, heading for Chichi's door.

Of course Kit didn't go to his car, she followed him, scorching up into the lemon tree again, expecting to hear Luis shouting. But there was nothing. Not a sound at all, not of fighting, not anything. Dead silence. Were they gone?

But then a door slammed, and Luis came charging out along the side of the house and up the drive to the street, then up the street to a dark blue sedan. As he ground the car to a start and spun away with tires squealing, Clyde headed up the steps for Chichi's door.

 

Abuela's house was dark. The old woman's bedroom was dark except for the thin wavering light of the TV bouncing and receding as Maria and Abuela watched a
movie. They were tucked up in their beds, laughing out loud.

“What are they watching?” Dulcie whispered. She was surprised she could think about anything else but being crammed into the stinking cage maybe never to get out again. But Maria and Abuela were having such a good time.

“
Secondhand Lions,
” Joe whispered. Both women seemed comforted, watching those two old men in their rocking chairs on their front porch laughing as they blasted away at traveling salesmen with their shotguns. Maybe, Joe thought, Maria and Abuela would like to do the same to Luis. A thin drift of pale light filtered in through the window, too, from the full moon. In the locked cage beside Joe and Dulcie, the three ferals slept or seemed to sleep, tangled miserably together, tabby head on white flank, calico nose under Coyote's front paw in the kibble dish.

Maria had done nothing to try to find the key. Joe had hoped that, once Luis left, she would go out to the backyard and look for it, where Abuela had thrown it. He guessed she was too afraid of Luis to do that.

He didn't know how long the five of them would last, crowded in there, before they'd all get sick or start to fight, seriously harm one another in their panic to be free. The crowding and stink, combined with the flashing light and noise from the TV, had Joe himself ready to claw anything within reach. He was trying to lie down without waking Cotton when a looming shadow darkened the moonlit window: a man's shadow, a broad-shouldered figure with a lump on his shoulder. Joe went rigid with disbelief and then with excitement.

A man looking in, a man with a cat on his shoulder, its fat, fluffy tail switching. And on the night breeze that filtered in through the four-inch crack at the bottom of the window Joe could smell Clyde. That familiar miasma of automotive shop gas-oil-grease-metal-paint-primer and the sweet smell of industrial hand-cleaner; all this mixed with Clyde's aftershave and with Kit's own scent. Rearing up against the bars, it was all he could do not to shout and cheer.

He waited for Clyde to open the window wider, then remembered that it was fixed closed at four inches. As Clyde leaned into the glass, looking in, examining the molding, Kit's dark little face came clear beside his, her round yellow eyes taking in the scene.

But out of the dark behind them, Chichi appeared, and Joe knew that all was lost.

Pushing Clyde aside, Chichi bent down, looking through the open part of the window. “Maria? Maria! It's me.” Beside her, Clyde produced a small electric screwdriver. The music from the movie was loud, and the women were laughing. No one heard her.

Clyde pushed a bigger hole in the screen where Joe had made a small one. He unlatched it and removed it and leaned it against the house. Reaching in, he found the screws that held the window in position, and began to remove them. In less than a minute he slid the glass up.

Joe was pretty sure Luis had gone out, but he didn't know where Tommie was. The men had left Abuela's bedroom door ajar, and a person could see down the hall. There was no light on from the living room or bedroom or kitchen. Either Tommie had gone out, too, or
had gone to bed early. Kit leaped in and pressed against the cage, licking Dulcie through the bars. Clyde climbed into the room, and then Chichi. What could Clyde have done, to make Chichi bring him here? How had he known where they were? Joe had no idea what had happened, but from Kit's smug look he could see she'd had a paw in the matter. Maria had seen them, she watched, wide-eyed.

Kit licked and licked Dulcie's ear, and she stared at the three feral cats. The cats looked back at her, their eyes merry with recognition. Their looks seemed to say, See how she's grown. Look how beautiful she's become, that skinny little waif. Joe watched Chichi shake Maria gently by the shoulders.

“Where's the key, Maria? What did he do with the key?”

“You can't, Chichi. Luis will be…He'll kill me. He would beat Abuela. He thinks she took the key. If you…”

Chichi shook her harder. “You have rope? Cord? Your belts…the belt on your robe, on Abuela's robe. Take them off. Get belts, all you can find.” She looked at Clyde. “Forget the key. Use that saw. Get busy…”

Clyde got to work with the hacksaw, jamming the padlock at an angle to hold it steady. The saw's rasping was incredibly loud even over the sounds from the TV. Joe pressed against Dulcie tight between the captive cats, watching Chichi tie up Maria and Abuela with a bright collection of belts, binding them to the curved bars of their antique iron beds like a scene in some Western melodrama. Abuela was grinning ear to ear, as
if the cats' impending escape filled her with wicked delight, now that she and Maria would not be blamed for it. Chichi, tying knots, glanced nervously at the bedroom door watching for Luis or Tommie to come barging through. The minute she had the two women secure, she headed for the window and safety.

“I'll be in your car!” she hissed, and she was through the window and gone. Clyde calmly removed the lock and opened the cage door. Coyote and Cotton squeezed through both at once, their tails lashing. Coyote's ears were erect and eager as he sniffed the fresh outdoor air. Cotton pushed past him and they leaped to the sill. Both toms turned to look at Clyde, a silent moment of thanks, then they were gone, racing away through the moonlight. Willow followed more slowly, pausing on the sill for a long moment, looking back at Joe and Dulcie and Clyde, a deep and loving look. Then she exploded away behind the others.

When the captives were gone, Joe and Dulcie came out from the cage, licked Kit to thank her, and rubbed against Clyde's hand. But as Clyde scooped them up in his arms and reached for the kit, prepared to climb back out the window, Kit drew away.

Racing ahead of them, she stopped in the bushes and lifted a paw, but backed away when Clyde stooped to reach for her. “I heard something, I have to tell…”

“Come on,” Clyde said. “We're out of here, you can tell us later.”

“Now!” Kit said with an imperative yowl that startled them all. “Right now! That man…Slayter, that handsome obnoxious man? He's part of this gang, with Luis, it's a big gang.
They
broke in the jewelry store.
He's part of it and he's staying in the Gardenview Inn and Chichi wants to get in there and search for something, I don't know what. She…”

A sound from the house, a hush of muffled footsteps in the bedroom, made Clyde snatch at her again. He missed and she leaped away and Clyde could only follow, clutching Joe and Dulcie. When they heard the bedroom door bang open Clyde ran, Joe and Dulcie clinging to him with all forty claws. But Kit was gone, racing away through the night.

“Kit, come back!” Dulcie hissed. “Kit, wait…” They heard her leaping away through the bushes, following the wild ones.

Shocked, Clyde clutched Joe and Dulcie closer as he rounded the house, heading fast for the car. No one said what they were all thinking—that Kit might stay with the feral band. Might race away with them into the hills to take up that old life once more. Swinging into the car, Clyde still watched the bushes, but Joe and Dulcie knew she was gone. Kit's wild streak had taken her, Kit's longings that could never be tamed.

They were all three strung with nerves as Clyde dropped the two cats in the back of the roadster and slid in beside Chichi and headed home. They were all three hearing Kit's words…
Slayter…staying in the Gardenview…Chichi wants to search…

Chichi, all scowls and fidgets, watched warily for Luis's car, as if it would appear at any instant racing after them or waiting on some dark side street. Joe considered her with interest.

She did not look like a vamp now, but like a lost soul. She sat hunched and miserable, perhaps imagin
ing what Luis would do to her when he found the cats gone, certain that she was responsible. All her lipstick had worn off, and her pale hair hung limp and lifeless. She seemed not to care. There wasn't, at this moment, much pizzazz left to Chichi, and Joe liked her better this way.

But then the next minute she whipped out a comb and lipstick and got to work fixing herself up in the dark. She seemed to be skilled in such matters. Fishing out a little vial of perfume, she had soon restored the old Chichi. She watched Clyde with speculation.

In the back seat, Dulcie peered out, longing for a glimpse of Kit and feeling cold inside and lost and frightened. She was far more upset than she wanted to let on. Oh, Kit, she thought, you
won't
go with them, not forever. Not back to the clowder. You won't go for good, you won't do that, you can't.

But when she looked at Joe, his whiskers drooped and his yellow eyes were filled with misery, and she could smell fear on him. Fear that Kit
had
gone for good with the ferals, that the little tattercoat had let her hunger for crazy new adventures magic her away—that the unfettered wildness of her kittenhood had filled her right up again so she could think of nothing else.

Clyde's yellow convertible, having no power steering or power brakes, took his full attention—or he let Chichi think it did as he negotiated the dark, narrow, hilly streets down into the village. Three times Chichi asked him how he knew Luis had his cat, when he hadn't known anything about Luis.

“Damn, that was lucky,” Clyde said. “I was just coming home from walking the streets shouting for
Joe—he'll usually come when I call him. I was getting mad
and
worried. I guess you think it's foolish, to be that fond of a cat, but I've had him a long time. I'd about given up, and was going in the house when I passed that guy leaving your place.” Clyde looked across at her. “I heard him
muttering.
Talking to himself about cats. Something about a cage, a key. Muttering about cats in a damned cage.”

Joe, crouched in the back seat with Dulcie, glanced at her with amusement. Clyde wasn't the greatest liar. Still, it wasn't bad. He watched Chichi sidle closer to Clyde, looking up at him engagingly.

Ignoring her advances, Clyde parked across the street from her place, didn't pull into his own drive. He glanced at her. “You know how cat lovers are. The guy looked…I just had this feeling he was talking about
my
cat! That he was some nutcase, had caught my cat here in the yard, and put him in a cage.” He left the engine running, glancing at Chichi. “This time, my hunch was right. Thanks, Chichi. I really owe you.” He swung out to open her door. “You want me to walk you back? That driveway's dark.”

Chichi looked at him with speculation. “You want a cup of coffee? Or a drink?”

Clyde shook his head. “I need to run Dulcie home, her owner's worried, too. She called me twice.”

“Could you walk me in, though? It is dark back there. If Luis—if he's come back…” She shivered. “If he got home and saw the empty cage…” She did look frightened. Joe wished he knew what she was thinking, wished he could read her thoughts.

He'd been startled at how tender she was with Abuela, as if she really cared for the old woman. Strange, he
thought as he watched Clyde walking Chichi down the drive. He hoped Clyde wouldn't go in, wouldn't succumb to this out-of-character side of Chichi Barbi, and to the charms that would likely follow.

A
s Clyde walked Chichi down the dark drive, Joe
leaped to the front seat and reared up, looking out the window. He heard Chichi's key turn the lock, and her soft “I'll just check my room…” Heard her door squeak open. Dulcie hopped over the back of the seat and stretched out beside him, her dark tabby stripes tiger-rich in the gleam of the moon. “I'm bummed, after that cage.”

“We were in there only a few hours.” But Joe felt much the same, wrung out with the stress of being locked up. He couldn't half imagine how the others had felt. He'd never before been in a cage, except at the vet's, and he could open those cages if he wanted. Besides, Dr. Firetti treated him royally. Well, he guessed his cat carrier was a sort of cage, but of course he knew how to open that.

Dulcie's pink tongue tipped out, licking nervously at her front paws. “The padlock and those heavy bars, the awful crowding. And the stink.” Her emerald eyes were
round with stress. “I was really scared. I never felt like that before.”

Joe lay down and put his head against her. “I knew we'd get out. If not Clyde or Wilma or Charlie, if not Kit, then we'd find some way.”

“I wasn't so sure. Thank God for Kit.” But she looked at him mournfully. “Where is she? I couldn't stand it if she never came back.”

Joe licked her ear. “She'll come back.” He only wished he believed that. “Kit likes her luxuries too well. She won't get filet mignon and Alaskan salmon and imported cheeses up on those wild hills. Or silk pillows and cashmere blankets. Anyway, she loves Lucinda and Pedric far too much to leave them, or to hurt them.”

“But she…” Dulcie sighed, and shivered, and was silent.

“She's just having a lark. She'll be home. I never dreamed Chichi would help us.”

“You really think she'll come home, that she won't stay with that wild band?”

Joe listened to the hush of Clyde's step coming back up the drive and crossing the street. “She'd be crazy to do that. All the time she was a kitten, running with them, she longed for someone to love her.” He nuzzled Dulcie's shoulder. “Kit might go off for a while. But it won't last.”

Clyde slipped into the car and started the engine. “What won't last?”

“Kit wouldn't stay with them.”

Clyde glanced at him. “Maybe she's already home with Lucinda and Pedric.”

“Maybe,” Dulcie said hopefully. “Tucked up warm, with a tummy full of goodies. Maybe she just showed the ferals the best way out of the village, where to cross, to avoid the traffic…” Trying to convince herself, she rolled over on her back, watching the treetops swing by upside down as Clyde headed across Ocean for Wilma's. She could smell home, smell the scents of her neighborhood, before Clyde ever slowed the car.

Wilma Getz's low, stone house stood so close to the hill that it had no backyard, just a narrow walkway before the hill rose steeply up. Wilma had made up for this lack by turning her deep front yard into a lush English garden with rock paths, great tangles of flowers and ferns beneath the sprawling oaks. A rich floral gallery that thrived under Wilma's care.

Both the front and back doors faced the street, the back door at the south end near the garage, the front door near the north end of the low Norman structure. Clyde killed the engine and sat staring at the dark house. “Where is she?” He turned to look at Dulcie. “Out searching for you? And she's just out of the hospital.”

“She can go out if she wants,” Dulcie said, standing with her paws on the window. “The light's on in the back, in the bedroom—the reflection against the hill. She's tucked up in bed, reading, that's all. She knows I'm all right.”

“You damn near weren't all right!” Clyde snapped. He glared at the thin glow of light washing up the hill behind the house brightening the tall grass, and glanced at his watch. “It's only seven.”

“She just got out of the hospital,” Dulcie hissed. “At
sixty-some years old, she can go to bed early and read if she wants.”

Clyde opened the driver's door. As he stepped out, the cats leaped out over their own side of the open car and headed for Dulcie's cat door. The air smelled of woodsmoke: a fire would be dancing in the little red stove in Wilma's bedroom.
Home!
Dulcie thought. Wilma would be reading Bailey White's magical stories. Dulcie, able to think of nothing but snuggling down with her housemate beneath the flowered quilt, bolted away through her plastic door far ahead of Joe.

Before Clyde could ring the doorbell, Dulcie heard Wilma at the front door. She must have swung out of bed the minute she heard his car. Oh, Dulcie thought as she raced across the laundry, she
must
surely have been worrying. Looking through to the living room, she watched Wilma shut the door behind Clyde, and the two of them head for the kitchen. How lovely to be home, with Wilma all cozy in her red plaid robe, barefoot, her long gray-white hair hanging loose down her back.

In the kitchen, Wilma said not a word to Dulcie or to Joe. She and Clyde exchanged a long look, then stood watching as the cats fought the refrigerator door open. No one helped them.

Wilma had been worried all evening, and was feeling grumpy. She didn't know why she'd been so uneasy, since the cats were often gone for long periods. Somehow, today had been different. Dulcie could at least have called.

That thought made her want to giggle. Though it was perfectly true, the tabby cat could have called and saved her endless worry.

As to opening the refrigerator, already the cats were
dragging out Dulcie's plastic dishes from the bottom shelf, which belonged exclusively to her. Hauling the covered bowls onto the kitchen rug, flipping off the lids with practiced claws, they devoted their full attention to the sliced roast chicken, the homemade custard, and cold beef Stroganoff that Wilma had left for them. They heard Wilma ask Clyde if he wanted coffee or a drink, glanced up to see Clyde open the lower cabinet where Wilma kept her meager supply of bourbon and brandy, retrieve the bourbon, and fetch two glasses. But everything tasted so good they could think of little else but their supper. They hardly paid attention until Wilma sat down at the table, saying to Clyde, “You look as angry as I feel. What have they done this time?”

Dulcie and Joe stopped eating and glared up at her.

“I swear you two have taken twenty years off my life,” Wilma told them. “The idiot who said that living with a cat lowered your blood pressure didn't have a clue.”

Dulcie's tail switched with annoyance. Clyde poured a double bourbon and water for himself and a light one for Wilma. “Tonight,” he said, “I guess we shouldn't hassle them.” He sat down opposite Wilma. Wilma's eyes filled with uneasy questions.

“So what happened?” she asked tensely. “And where's Kit? Is Kit all right?”

“It was Kit who saved the day,” Clyde said. “But…”

“What happened? Lucinda's so worried. It's as if…” She looked down at the two cats. “Lucinda and I have been edgy all evening, for no real reason.”

Joe and Dulcie looked at each other. Clyde waited for them to answer.

“Where's the kit?”
Wilma demanded.

Dulcie looked up at her quietly, her green eyes round.

“What?” Wilma said.

“She's all right,” Dulcie said around a mouthful of Stroganoff. She leaped into a chair, looking up at Wilma. Wilma put out a hand but didn't touch her; she sat tense and waiting.

Dulcie tried to begin at the beginning but had trouble deciding where the beginning was. She didn't want to tell Wilma all of it. Though Wilma had experienced plenty of danger, herself, before she retired from the federal probation system, when danger threatened Dulcie or any of the three cats, that was another matter. She told Wilma how they found the caged cats, but left out that they had tossed Abuela's house while the crooks slept. Immediately, Wilma saw there were omissions.

“What's the rest of it, Dulcie? You're leaving things out.”

Dulcie sighed. It was no good living with an ex-parole officer; Wilma saw everything. She told her housemate about their search, but did not make much of it. Then told how Clyde and Chichi and Kit had gone in through Abuela's window and Clyde had cut the padlock and freed three captive cats. But Wilma sensed another lie of omission, and made her tell the rest, how she and Joe were locked in the cage, too. Then Clyde told how Kit had discovered where they were and brought him to rescue them. When they'd finished, Wilma poured herself another drink, stronger this time.

Sipping her bourbon, Wilma absently bound back her long hair into its usual ponytail and tied it with a piece of string from a kitchen drawer. “And they meant
to
sell
those poor cats? They
knew
what they were, and meant to sell them! And to sell you!”

“We think it was more than that, too,” Dulcie said. “The captives heard the men talking. Luis seemed to think they would tell someone about their robberies, and about some murder.”

Wilma swirled the ice in her drink. “Could it be Dufio's murder? Oh, did Luis kill his own brother?”

Joe said, “Maybe Luis was afraid Dallas or Harper would trap Dufio into telling their plans, or into naming the gang members. Dufio wasn't famous for his quick wit.” Joe licked up the last of the custard, and leaped into the fourth chair, rubbing his face against the edge of the table, smearing custard. Dulcie gave him a chiding look.

Joe licked his paw and cleaned his whiskers. “Luis and Tommie talked about ‘the others.' Men apparently staying in half a dozen places around the village, rented rooms, the cheaper motels. Later, Kit heard it, too. From Chichi and Roman Slayter. Kit says Slayter is part of the gang.”

“And Chichi, too.” Wilma said. “Doing their surveillance.”

Dulcie said, “If Chichi hadn't helped Clyde find us, we'd still be locked up. She didn't have to do that. And she was kind to Abuela.” Hunching down in her chair, the little tabby sighed. “Even if Kit did see Chichi spying, and heard them talking about the burglaries…Chichi did help us.”

“Chichi had a close friend in L.A.,” Joe said. “Frank something. I guess he was part of the L.A. gang. He was killed during that bank job Harper was talking
about.” The tomcat scowled. “It's frustrating when all you can do is listen, and can't
ask
Harper or Dallas what you want to know. Sometimes…”

Clyde set down his drink. “If you two start asking questions! If you…”

Joe smiled. He loved steaming Clyde, he could always get a rise, even when Clyde knew he was only goading him.

Clyde poured himself another drink. Wilma shook her head. “No more, I won't sleep.” She looked at the cats and thought about what they had told her and wondered if she'd sleep anyway. She wondered how much more they hadn't told her. Though Joe and Dulcie were seldom as secretive as her parolees, she was too often aware that the two cats did not share everything, that too often they kept their own counsel.

Or, she thought generously, maybe they just wanted to clarify unanswered questions before they shared their information.

She was certain that, first thing in the morning, the cats would show up in Harper's office, to try to fill in the facts. She imagined them crouching high in Max's bookcase, listening or reading over Max's shoulder. She said, “Where
is
the kit? You haven't told me, and I need to call Lucinda.”

But immediately she saw the dismay on all three faces.

“She didn't…She didn't come back from that house with you,” she said slowly. She looked intently at Dulcie. “She…she went away with the ferals? Oh, she didn't go off with the ferals, with the wild ones?”

“They wouldn't run far,” Dulcie said. “Not tonight.
Those three were exhausted. They wouldn't take off into the cold night and the dangers of the hills without rest and food and fresh water. Kit wouldn't let them do that, they can't be far away. They were weak with stress, from being in that cage.” She put a soft paw on Wilma's hand. “She's just gone along for a little while, to take care of them, find them a safe place to rest. And maybe,” she said, smiling, “maybe to Jolly's Deli?”

Wilma said, “Would she take them home to Lucinda? To her own safe haven, to eat and rest before they run again?” And before Dulcie could answer, Wilma picked up the phone.

Lucinda answered out of breath, as if she'd been hurrying. Wilma punched the speaker button as Lucinda was saying, “…out on the veranda calling Kit. I swear, that cat…Is she there, Wilma? Have you seen her? Have Joe and Dulcie…?”

Immediately Wilma was sorry she'd called. What was she going to say? But now her foot was in it.

It took her a while to fill Lucinda in. Lucinda took it better than Wilma thought she might. The older woman was silent only a second. “The tree house,” Lucinda said. “Our new house is empty, there's no one around. It would be safe there. Kit loves that tree house, she…”

Before Lucinda had finished, Clyde and the cats were out the door. “I'll call you,” Clyde shouted back at Wilma; and they piled in the car and took off up the hills.

Wilma, alone in the house and strung with nerves, considered making herself another drink. Instead, she got a piece of cheesecake from the freezer and fixed herself a cup of cocoa. Sitting at the kitchen table wait
ing for Clyde's call, she could only think how incredible life was. Since Dulcie and Joe discovered their latent talents, and Kit appeared out of the wild, life was more amazing than she had ever dreamed.

She thought, amused, that one way or another, those three cats with their keen intelligence and insatiable hunger for criminal investigation would destroy the last of her sanity. Drive them all mad, either with the stress of keeping their secret, or with worry and fear for them.