Cat Shining Bright

“I check on him every few years, out of curiosity. Or maybe a feeling of unease. Even at seven years old, that little boy . . . screaming that it was my fault his daddy went to prison even though the child hated Calvin. But then later he seemed to change his mind, and he was friendly enough. Now, for the past couple of weeks, he’s been hanging around watching me. Yes, I talked with Max, he’s checking to see if Rick is still in jail in Texas, or if there’s a warrant out for him.”

“Do you have a lock on your bedroom door?”

“That’s first on my list in the morning—and double bolts on the outer doors. It was the cats who heard him, they got frightened and woke me. For the rest of the night I’ll prop the dresser against the door. If he tries to get in, that will wake me.”

“And the bedroom windows?”

“I’ll turn the outside lights on. And balance some little bottles on the sill so if the window moves, they’ll fall.”

“You might be smart to move out for a couple of weeks.”

Wilma laughed, pushed back her long gray hair. “That’s exactly what Max will tell me, to move out.” Though what she meant to do was quite different.

“Or have someone stay with you,” Jimmie said diffidently. “Though I know you’ve handled a lot worse than this guy. But even though you’re well trained, it’s nice to have a backup.”

“I’ll be careful, Jimmie.”

Jimmie gave her a hug, and glanced with confidence at the weight of the gun in her robe pocket. “Take care,” he said softly. “There’ll be a patrol.” He turned, and was gone. Wilma locked the door behind him.

While Dulcie went to get the kittens, Wilma swept and vacuumed up every shard of glass on the floor and rug and in the window casing. She had vacuumed the rug three times, wiped down every surface with a damp cloth to catch the tiniest splinters, and put the vacuum away. She was in the bedroom straightening the covers when the kittens came slipping in through the window, silent and wide-eyed.

Pushing the dresser against the bedroom door, Wilma watched them settle among the covers, then she arranged the bottles along the sill. From the expressions on the kittens’ faces she could almost tell what each was thinking. Buffin wasn’t sure he liked this disturbance so much. Striker was still all hisses and fight, as if he had wanted to chase the man right along with Dulcie; Wilma suspected only Dulcie’s scolding, and his hurt foot, had stopped him.

But it was Courtney who looked amazed and excited, her ears sharp forward, her baby-blue eyes gleaming, one paw lifted, reaching out; her black and orange face wildly alight, she looked as if her head were swimming not just with this crime, tonight, but with remembered scenes, with visions exploding as if from dreams of a time long past.

Gently Wilma took the calico in her arms. “What are you remembering?”

Courtney, her black and orange blotches and three black bracelets bright in the lamplight, only looked at Wilma. At last she said, “Swords. Men on horseback with swords. I was on the roof—but a thatched roof. I was huddled down in the thatch and they didn’t see me.” She frowned up at Wilma. “That’s all I remember, a fuzzy dream, but I can smell the horses and the blood, I can smell the blood. They broke into the house, three men . . .” She closed her eyes. “Later, when they’d gone, when I came down from the roof . . . In the house the smell of fear and blood, two people dead, the old farm couple dead.”

“What did you do?” Wilma asked softly, only glancing at the silent boy kittens and Dulcie.

“I . . . The king’s soldiers came. I was there in the house, grieving over the old couple, mewing at them, grieving. The soldiers burst in and I didn’t know what they would do to me. They swung their swords and I ran between them, ran between their legs and kept running and . . . and . . .

“That’s all I remember,” she said softly. She looked up at Wilma, looked at Dulcie and her brothers. “Another life? Not just a dream?” she whispered. “Why do I remember? That man . . . That man, tonight, breaking in. That man, he lusted for something. That man made me remember.”

Wilma settled Courtney down under the covers, and slipped in beside her. The boy kittens and Dulcie, quiet and solemn, crawled in beside them.

Easing into sleep, her gun ready on the nightstand, Wilma knew Max would be there at first light. He would come to investigate the scene himself and he would tell her to move out, to take Dulcie and the kittens and go to stay at Clyde and Ryan’s house, and Max could be hard to deal with.