Cat Shining Bright

“Everyone knows cats are weird. Some cats steal their neighbor’s laundry and drag it home. Some cats . . . There was a clip on TV, some cat in England rides the train every day. Gets on in the morning, spends the day at the zoo, takes the train home again at suppertime. And James Herriot wrote about a cat that attended all the town meetings. Don’t you think Max and Dallas, if they do wonder, would do a little research? That they would look up that stuff on the web and understand that many cats do strange things, that some cats have weird interests like stealing clothes and shoes. Look at Dulcie. Stealing silk teddies from the neighbors. She started that when she was a kitten. There’s nothing strange for the cops to wonder about—or for you to get worked up about.”

“I’d say you’re the one who’s worked up.”

Joe sighed. In fact he worried a lot about what Max and the detectives thought. But right now it was really too early to argue. Night, beyond the kitchen window above the half curtain, was still as black as a rat hole.

“And,” Clyde said, “what about Buffin at the vet’s? When Kate and Charlie took Striker in to stitch up his paw and Buffin was so interested in the patients. What was that about?”

Joe just looked at him. Who had told Clyde about Buffin’s unusual concern over the hospitalized animals? Either Kate or Charlie. Couldn’t human females keep their mouths shut? The two were as bad as Kit, with her excited rambling.

Though the fact was, the buff kitten’s perceptive remarks had frightened Joe, as did Courtney’s inexplicable dreams or memories or whatever the hell they were. Couldn’t he and Dulcie have had normal kittens—except for the talking part? He wouldn’t want them to lose that talent, but did they have to add to the strangeness?

Royally irritated, Joe cleaned the rest of the cold lasagna from Clyde’s plate, turned tail, and went back up to his tower, to calm himself before he hit the station.

When he passed the love seat in Clyde’s study, Snowball looked up at him sleepily. She was so lonely with Rock away, on the fishing trip with Ryan’s dad. Joe gave her an ear lick, a nose rub, then curled up and snuggled with her for a little while before he jumped to the desk then to the rafter, pushed through his cat door, and burrowed down among his pillows.

His early-dawn nap didn’t last long. He was up again before the sun rose, ready to hit the rooftops, to slip into Max’s office before the chief arrived. Ready to scan any reports that might have come in, try to figure out the relationship between Barbara Conley and the car thieves.

 

The sun was barely up when Max Harper called Clyde, who had gone back to bed after Joe left. Answering, Clyde tried to shake off the dark dream that had harassed him. “Of course they can come,” he said sleepily. He didn’t bother to ask why. “They can stay as long as Wilma likes,” and he turned over and went back to sleep.

Wilma called twenty minutes later. She got Ryan, who was fully awake, dressed, and downstairs in the kitchen. Wilma told her about the break-in.

“That bastard,” Ryan said. “What does he want? Of course you’ll stay here.”

“Dulcie will make the kittens behave. Max says—”

“It’s a treat to have all of you. The kittens will be a blast. Have you had breakfast? Can I help you move?”

“In fact, you can pick me up. Max wants me to leave my car in the drive. So it won’t look like I have moved out. This is so . . . unnecessary. If anyone else told me to leave, I’d . . .” Wilma sighed. “Max is so stubborn.”

Ryan laughed. “That’s why he’s a good chief. You’re all packed?”

“What little I’m bringing. An overnight bag, and kitten food.”

“I’ll be right over. Clyde can get breakfast.”

While Wilma stood at the kitchen window waiting for Ryan’s king cab, Joe Grey, headed across the rooftops toward the station, had no notion that his family was moving in with the Damens’, that his home would be wild with his own mischievous kittens. He slipped into MPPD behind two arriving officers, shortly before Max got to work. Easing down the hall into Max’s office, he leaped to the desk where he could read quite handily the reports neatly arranged on the blotter, watching the door and listening for footsteps as he flipped each page with a practiced paw.

One stack was printouts regarding the car gang working up the coast in Cupertino. One stack was copies of Max’s officers’ reports about Molena Point’s break-ins and thefts. Joe was stretching out for a better look at Max’s handwritten notes on Barbara Conley’s rental when he heard the chief coming down the hall, talking with Detectives Garza and Davis. Immediately he slipped into the in-box, curled up, and closed his eyes in deep sleep.