Cat Breaking Free (24 page)

But she couldn't be angry. She could only shake her head and smile.

F
rom her wheelchair, Abuela stared defiantly up at
Luis, her angry scowl matching his own. “They're gone! What could we do? We could do nothing. The man broke in, came through the window bold as brass and started sawing at the lock. When Maria tried to get out the door to get help, he swore and tied us up. Where was Tommie? Why didn't he hear us!
He
didn't come to help! That man threatened to kill us, and no one to help us. All that, over your mangy stray cats!”

“You're lying, old woman!”

“Who then tied us up? We didn't tie each other. And what do you think that is?” Abuela pointed at the severed padlock that lay on the floor among a scatter of cat litter. “Pulled those cats out, stuffed them in a bag and hauled them out the window. Said if we yelled or tried to use the phone, he'd do us, whatever that means. What did he want with cats? Why would he break in here, for cats? What did
you
want with them? Even you don't know!”

Behind Abuela, Maria remained silent. She was very pale, rubbing her arms where the belts had bound her. Luis stared at his sister and at his grandmother, picked up the lock and studied the severed pieces. “Where's the saw, Maria? What did you do with the saw! Why would you do this thing! You threw a fortune out the window! I swear,
I
should kill you both.”

“I didn't cut the lock! Where would I get a saw! What did I do, cut the lock and then tie myself up?” Maria glared at Luis until she saw a spark of uncertainty. “Get out of here, Luis! Give us some peace! That was not a pleasant experience. There's not an ounce of sympathy in you.” Putting her arm around Estrella, she peered down into the old woman's face as if afraid her abuela would collapse from fear and shock. “Go away, Luis, and leave her alone. You've done enough harm.”

Luis turned away, muttering, and left them. Maria shut the bedroom door and leaned against it. She was amazed that she'd stood up to Luis.

It was the man who had come in the window and freed the cats, it was his boldness that had given her the strength to face Luis like that. Imagine, that man going to so much trouble to save a cage full of cats. Why would he do that? Maybe, Maria thought, there
was
something valuable about those cats. Or could it be, she wondered, that there really was such gentle goodness in the world that a man would risk his own safety to free the miserable beasts?

She could hear Luis and Tommie arguing out in the hall, then the front door slammed. She heard them tramping around the house through the bushes as the beams of their flashlights careened across the blinds. “Run, cats!” Maria whispered. “Run!”

At last they heard Luis's defeated swearing, heard his car doors slam, heard the car start and peel out into the street. As if they'd gone to search elsewhere. That made them both laugh, that Luis thought they could find terrified cats running scared out in the night.

But Abuela touched her rosary and closed her eyes, her lips moving. And Maria prayed, too, prayed for that good man. Then she crawled back into bed and lay imagining those cats racing free, far away from Luis. And she smiled.

 

“My tree house,” Kit said, scorching up the thick trunk of the oak tree ahead of the three ragged-looking escapees. “My house, where you can hide and rest.”

Willow and Coyote paused on the threshold, looking in at Kit, taking in the snug shelter. But Cotton pushed right in past them, bold and curious.

There were no cushions yet on the cedar floor, but the pile of dry oak leaves that had drifted into the corner of the cozy, square room provided a soft, warm bed. There was no ladder leading up the thick trunk of the oak to alert a human to the presence of the little house hidden high among the leaves. And though the cedar walls broke the wind, providing welcome warmth, there was nothing to confine them. The three open windows and open door offered easy escape in all directions.

Yawning, their stomachs full of kippers and smoked salmon, of imported cheeses, shrimp salad, and rare roast beef from the alley behind George Jolly's Deli, the three escapees curled up among the leaves in purring contentment. They were deep down into the
most welcome sleep when a lone car woke them, slowing on the street below and pulling to the curb.

“Clyde's car!” Kit hissed, peering out the door as Dulcie and Joe leaped out and looked immediately up into the tree. “Wake up,” she hissed. “Run!” This was not the time to be found though the three ferals so badly needed rest. Kit, herself, did not want to be found; but she didn't want to think about why she didn't. Clyde was getting out.

Swiftly she led the ferals out the window and into the next oak tree, and the next and the next until at last far away they scrambled down to a distant yard. And they ran.

Maybe Joe and Dulcie didn't hear us, Kit thought. When they go up in the tree house—which they would surely do—maybe they won't smell us. The ferals, coming through the village gardens, had rubbed against and rolled on every strongly scented bush they could find, to hide their own scent that was so strong and ugly after that stinking cage. So maybe Joe and Dulcie would discover only a windy miasma of garden smells that could easily have blown in from the surrounding yards, and no smell at all of cats.

Maybe.

But now they were safely away, hiding among the far houses, and Kit looked back to her treetop.

There was Dulcie looking out.

But with the tree house empty, surely they would leave soon. She thought she would make up to them later, for their useless search.

And it was there in her heart, what she meant to do. The thrill had been there all along, waiting inside her. The wild free days from her kittenhood. Forgetting
all the hunger and cold and pain of that time, she remembered only that unfettered running, traveling on and on across the empty hills running with the ferals. Those wild and giddy feelings filled her right up; and with her little entourage, Kit leaped away through the dark gardens mad with pleasure, heading for the far hills.

 

In the tree house, though Joe and Dulcie could smell the medley of scents the cats had collected on their fur, those aromas did not hide completely the sour stink of caged cats. They could smell, too, that Kit had led the cats here by way of Jolly's alley, could detect a faint but delectable melange of salmon and fine cheeses. Dulcie, looking down into the dark gardens, felt incredibly hurt. “Why did she leave? Why did she lead them away?” She looked at Joe, sad and worried.

“They'll be watching us,” Joe said.

“But why…?”

“Kit doesn't want to be found, Dulcie. Kit is having a lark.”

“But she knows we would worry.”

“Best thing we can do is leave her alone, let those cats get on with their escape and their own lives. Then,” he said, “Kit will come home.” He wished he believed that.

“Will she? She isn't…She won't…”

“The kit,” Joe said, “will do exactly what she wants to do. We can't change her. She's crazy with the excitement of the rescue, she feels big and powerful, invincible. These are her old clowder mates, Dulcie.” His yellow eyes burned. “We can't run her life. Let her be,
and she'll come home.” But he looked away and licked his paw, hoping he was right.

“If she doesn't…” Dulcie said miserably, “if she goes off with them…”

Joe just looked at her. “There is nothing we can do. The kit must decide this for herself.” And he turned away and left the tree house, backing swiftly down the oak with clinging claws and leaping into Clyde's car.

Reluctantly Dulcie followed, silent and worrying. What would they tell Lucinda, tell Pedric? That Kit had been there and gone again, that she didn't want to be found? What could they tell the old couple that would not break their hearts?

Dulcie knew that Joe was right. Kit had a powerful wild streak, a crazy headlong hunger for freedom, and they could only let her be.

But Kit had
chosen
to live with Lucinda and Pedric because she loved them. Now, would she at last return to them?

I'm worrying too soon. She isn't gone yet, not for good. She's only leading the ferals through the village, showing them the best way, how to avoid heavy traffic. If Joe and I try to force her back now, we would only bully her. We can't force her to be safe and loved, we can only trust in her judgment. And miserably Dulcie curled up on the cold seat of the car, ignoring Joe and Clyde. She remained lost and sad as Clyde carried her into Wilma's house and put her in Wilma's arms.

 

For a long time after Dulcie went to sleep beside Wilma, beneath the flowered quilt, Wilma lay in the warm glow from the bedroom fire, not reading the
book she held but seeing the ferals and Kit racing away through the chill wind.

“Something in Kit's eyes,” Dulcie had said. “When Clyde freed us and Kit went out that window, when she turned and looked back at me, something so wild—that look she gets…” And Dulcie had sighed, and hidden her face in the crook of Wilma's elbow. Then later, just before she slept, Dulcie had roused and looked up at her. “I would miss her so. I don't want her to go back.” And long after Dulcie did sleep, long after Wilma put her book on the night table and switched off the lamp and curled up around Dulcie, still she kept seeing Kit out there running in the night beside those untamed, joyous cats.

 

When Clyde and Dulcie and Joe had gone, the car gone, the street empty and the night silent again, Kit and the ferals returned to the tree house. There the ferals curled up once more, deep within the pile of oak leaves, and they slept. They needed to rest, needed to heal, before they made that last frenzied dash up into the open hills. For the first time in weeks they truly did rest; no crowding against each other and into a dirty sandbox, no shouting human voices to alarm them, no bars, no padlock. It was well past midnight when they left Kit's sanctuary, moving swiftly through the village shying away from the glow of shop windows, the fleeing cats no more than shadows. Above them behind reflecting glass golden light illuminated worlds of human artifacts, Gucci handbags, Western boots, red satin nighties and candied cactus, items of which these cats knew nothing. With the cats' shadows flashing across
pale walls like the ghosts of long-dead cougars, Kit led them on a circuitous route avoiding the brighter streets. Surely Luis and Tommie wouldn't come looking, but still she was nervous. She guided them up to the rooftops among the chimneys and penthouses, where they glanced into high windows and down through skylights into strange human worlds. They left the roofs at the little park that crossed over Highway One.

Racing up through tame residential gardens, they at last fled beneath fences into pastures where cattle slept. The full moon was setting when they bolted across Highway One and into the tall forests of grass that blew across Hellhag Hill.

Up through the windy grass racing and leaping, the ferals knew their way here; but still they followed Kit. They heard no threatening sounds, and no swift shadows paced them. Above them the sky grew darker as the moon set, and far below, the silver sea darkened. They were back in their own wild world, and still Kit ran with them. No one asked her why. Cotton, white as a ghost in the dark night, bolted ahead of the others wild for the far, empty reaches. Coyote waited for Willow; his long ears and encircled eyes, in the darkness, making him look indeed like a strange and uncatlike predator. It was Willow who kept glancing at Kit, wondering. Wondering if Kit meant to stay with them or go back. Willow thought that even Kit didn't know the answer. High on Hellhag Hill, the four cats paused.

Below them gleamed the endless sea with its drowned mountains. Kit said, “Does the sea run on to eternity? Humans don't think so. What
is
eternity?” But then she looked up at Hellhag Cave, looming black, high above them. If that was eternity, she didn't
want any part of it. Cotton and Coyote were staring as if they wanted to go in there, but Kit pushed quickly on. “I don't like it there, it's all elder there.” She made a flehmen face and they galloped away to a happier verge where they rolled on gentler turf and groomed themselves. There Kit curled up to rest against a boulder watching the others, her thoughts teeming with daydreams and uncertainties.

We could have our own clowder, we don't have to go back to Stone Eye. The four of us, off on our own. We don't need Stone Eye.

The night's siren song of freedom sang loud in her heart, running unfettered beneath the moon and wind turning her drunk with excitement. They would have their own clowder, beyond Stone Eye and beyond the world of humans.

But then she curled smaller against the boulder. I would never again see Lucinda and Pedric. I would never again be loved like they love me. Like Joe and Dulcie love me and all my human friends. Pressed tight against the boulder, steeped in a fugue of uncertainty, Kit did not know what she wanted.

A thin, dawn fog began to rise hiding the sea; lights appeared on the road far below, careening around the verge of the hill: two cars with spotlights blazing out of their windows to sweep the hill—the kind of spots a hunter would use to shine and confuse a deer, freeze it in its tracks before he shot it. The four cats closed their eyes and melted away up the hill where a stand of boulders offered shelter.

Kit thought of hiding in Hellhag Cave where they would never be found, slip deep into the earth where no human would ever see them. Yes, so deep they
might never get out again. Lucinda, who knew so well the world of Celtic myth, thought Hellhag Cave might lead to places where no sensible cat would want to go. The idea that Hellhag Cave's fissures might drop away forever had once thrilled Kit. Not anymore.

The two cars had pulled onto the shoulder. The headlights went out. The doors opened and five men emerged. As they crossed the road and began to run up the hill swinging their searching beams, the gusting sea wind carried the faint scent of Luis and of Tommie McCord.