“Pewter,
have you found anything on that side?”
“Deer
tracks. Big deer tracks.”
“Keep
looking,” Mrs. Murphy requested.
“I
hate it when you’re bossy.” Nonetheless, Pewter moved down the dirt road
heading west.
“Barry
was such a nice man.” Tucker mournfully looked at the square-jawed face,
wide-open eyes staring at heaven.
Mrs.
Murphy circled the body. “Tucker, I’m climbing up that sycamore. If I look
down maybe I’ll see something.”
Her
claws, razor sharp, dug into the thin surface of the tree, strips of darker
outer bark peeling, exposing the whitish underbark. The odor of fresh water, of
the tufted titmouse above her, all informed her. She scanned around for broken
limbs, bent bushes, anything indicating Barry—or other humans or large animals—had
traveled to this spot avoiding the dirt road.
“Pewter?”
“Big
fat nothing.” The gray kitty noted that her hind paws were wet. She was
getting little clods of dirt stuck between her toes. This bothered her more
than Barry did. After all, he was dead. Nothing she could do for him. But the
hardening brown earth between her toes, that was discomfiting.
“Well,
come on back. We’ll wait for Mom.” Mrs. Murphy dropped her hind legs over
the limb where she was sitting. Her hind paws reached for the trunk, the claws
dug in, and she released her grip, swinging her front paws to the trunk. She
backed down.
Tucker
touched noses with Pewter, who had recrossed the creek more successfully this
time.
Mrs.
Murphy came up and sat beside them.
“Hope
his face doesn’t change colors while we’re waiting for the humans. I hate that.
They get all mottled.” Pewter wrinkled her nose.
“I
wouldn’t worry.” Tucker sighed.
In
the distance they heard sirens.
“Bet
they won’t know what to make of this, either,” Tucker said.
“It’s
peculiar.” Mrs. Murphy turned her head in the direction of the sirens.
“Weird
and creepy.” Pewter pronounced judgment as she picked at her hind toes, and
she was right.