Cat Shining Bright

“Courtney,” Dulcie says, licking the calico and looking up at Joe. “You can hardly see her markings, but she will grow into them.” She licks the boys. “What kind of lives will these three make, our three tiny mites?” Powerfully the moment holds them, holds the little family in the hands of gentle grace.

1

Those first weeks were idyllic, Dulcie caring for the kittens, washing and nursing them, Joe Grey with them more often than not, galloping over the rooftops between his house and Dulcie’s. If he swung by Molena Point PD for a moment to read police reports as he lay casually on the chief’s desk, if he worried about the car-theft ring that was working closer and closer down the coast toward Molena Point—already the cops had readied extra forces—if Joe knew in his wily cat soul that it wouldn’t be long before the thieves hit their village, he kept his concerns to himself. Dulcie didn’t need to fret over a possible new crime wave, all she and the kittens needed was their cozy, safe home, quiet and secure. Wilma kept the TV and radio off, and the newspaper out of sight; nothing of the outer world intruded to disturb the little family’s tranquillity, only soft music on the CD player, or a little easy jazz, or Wilma would read to Dulcie, something bright and happy.

Two weeks after the kittens were born their eyes were open and their tiny ears unfurled. Another week and they could see and hear very well and were toddling about their pen. Courtney’s colors were clear now, the bright orange and black markings along her back, her white sides and belly, her little white face with orange ears and a circle of pale orange and darker freckles around her muzzle, the three perfect black bracelets circling her right front leg. Now, when the kittens heard Joe Grey come in through the cat door, they squealed with delight. When Joe jumped into the cat pen that Wilma had set up in the kitchen, the babies climbed all over him, pummeling and mauling him, rolling under the tomcat’s gentle paws. The biggest question in both parents’ minds, the same question that nudged those few humans who knew that Joe Grey and Dulcie could speak, was when would the kittens say their first words?

Would they speak? Would they be speaking cats like their parents and like tortoiseshell Kit and red tabby Pan? Or would Joe and Dulcie’s babies grow up without knowing the human language, without the humanlike talents of their parents? Everyone was filled with anxious hope, with nervous waiting. Wilma’s niece, Charlie, came often to visit, the kittens climbing from her lap to her shoulder to tangle wildly in her long red hair and to pat with curiosity at the celestial scattering of freckles that spilled across her cheeks, making her laugh. Charlie, as Police Chief Max Harper’s wife, knew all the details of the coastal auto thefts. She said nothing in front of Dulcie, though she might exchange a glance with Joe Grey. Charlie talked to the kittens of other things, naming items in the kitchen, asking questions, hoping to draw out a word or two. But the babies only meowed.

June rolled away, and still no kitten said a word. Soon it was July and then August. The kittens at three months old were all claws and teeth, loud and demanding yowls, boundless energy, leaping from chair to table, climbing draperies; but not a word did they say. A cat tree stood by Wilma’s desk looking out at the garden, another at the dining room window, a third in the bedroom, their carpeted shelves and climbing posts already shredded by sharp claws where calico Courtney and her buff-colored brothers leaped, flew, battled one another, wildly fierce and happy. And still, Courtney and Buffin and Striker said no word.

Every night Wilma read to them, the book open on her lap with the kittens crowded around. Dulcie read to them, and often fluffy, tortoiseshell Kit came to visit and read to them, too; always the kittens’ blue eyes followed the words on the page; though they wanted to wrestle and play with Kit, as well, for she was much like a kitten herself. “Will you ever speak to me?” Kit asked them, her yellow eyes wide. “When we read to you—fairy tales or the old myths—I know you understand. Speak the words, Courtney. Say them back to me.”