Read Online Cat Breaking Free by Shirley Rousseau Murphy - Free Book Online
Authors: Shirley Rousseau Murphy
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Clyde. âI would be perfectly happy to share the existing house line with you. But I guess you donât want to share. Did you know,â he said, flipping to his feet and fixing Clyde with a steady gaze, âthat there is already a manufacturer making cell phones for dogs, to be attached to their collars? So why not cats? I donât see whyâ¦â
âJoe, itâs lies like that that really set me off.â
âNot a lie at all. The honest truth, I swear. Itâs a company called PetsCell. I donât know any more about it than that; Dulcie found a mention on the Web, an old newspaper article. If you would justâ¦Iâll get you a copy, you can read it for yourself. If you would just stretch your mind a little, Clyde, not let yourself become so hidebound. That really isnâtâ¦â
Clyde had only glared at him. And no phone had been forthcoming, house phone or cellular. But even so, his tower was an elegant retreat, rising as it did atop the slanted shake roof of the new second floor. His private aerie that could be entered from the rooftops or from Clydeâs office below. Ryan, in her innocence, had designed the layout so that Clyde could easily step up on the moveable library ladder in his study, reach through the ceiling cat door, and open or close thetower windows. She had no notion that Joe could do that himself. Now, as he pawed at his cushions, preparing to nap, the faint sound of a TV sent him back over the roof, to peer down at the house next door.
Chichi must have hurried right home after her pushy performance at Lupeâs Playa. The light of the TV danced across the living room shades, picking out her shadow sharp as a lounging cameo. Maybe sheâd felt logy from her big supper, headed home to curl up before the tube. He couldnât say much for her taste, he thought, listening to the canned laughter of a sleazy sitcom, a series that he particularly hated.
It all came down to taste. Some humans had it, some didnât. Deciding against a nap, and wondering if Clyde had checked on Rube, he slipped down through his cat door onto the ceiling beam, and dropped to Clydeâs desk.
Around him, the house sounded empty; and it felt empty. Maybe Clyde and Ryan were walking the beach, giving Rock a run. Galloping down the stairs, suddenly worried about the aging retriever, he found Rube in bed, lying quietly among his blankets in the laundry, on the bottom mattress of the two-tiered bunk. He could smell Clydeâs scent, and Ryanâs, on Rubeâs ears and face, as if theyâd given the old dog a good petting before going out again. When Joe spoke, Rube opened a tired eye, sighed, licked Joeâs nose, then went back to sleep. Above Rube, on the top bunk, the two older cats were curled together, softly snoring. But the young white cat lay curled against Rube, with her paws around his foreleg. She, in particular, loved Rube, and Joe knew she was hurting for him.
Easing onto the bunk beside the two animals, and speaking softly to the old retriever, Joe tried to reassure him. He was thus occupied, snuggled against Rube, listening to the Labâs rough breathing, when he heard Rock bark, and heard Ryan open the patio gate. Clyde and Ryan came in the back door joking and laughing; they grew quiet as they turned into the laundry, the way a person would enter the hospital room of a very sick patient. Outside the kitchen door, Rock whined and sniffed, but the big dog didnât bark now, he knew better.
Clyde started to speak, then caught himself. Joe could see on his face the clear question: How is he? Clyde blinked at his near blunder, looked embarrassed, and knelt beside Ryan, to stroke Rube. As the two talked to the old dog, the white cat looked up at them, purring. Ryan laid her ear to Rubeâs chest, her dark hair blending with the Labâs black coat; then she smelled Rubeâs breath in a very personal manner. Ryan had grown up with
âJoe, itâs lies like that that really set me off.â
âNot a lie at all. The honest truth, I swear. Itâs a company called PetsCell. I donât know any more about it than that; Dulcie found a mention on the Web, an old newspaper article. If you would justâ¦Iâll get you a copy, you can read it for yourself. If you would just stretch your mind a little, Clyde, not let yourself become so hidebound. That really isnâtâ¦â
Clyde had only glared at him. And no phone had been forthcoming, house phone or cellular. But even so, his tower was an elegant retreat, rising as it did atop the slanted shake roof of the new second floor. His private aerie that could be entered from the rooftops or from Clydeâs office below. Ryan, in her innocence, had designed the layout so that Clyde could easily step up on the moveable library ladder in his study, reach through the ceiling cat door, and open or close thetower windows. She had no notion that Joe could do that himself. Now, as he pawed at his cushions, preparing to nap, the faint sound of a TV sent him back over the roof, to peer down at the house next door.
Chichi must have hurried right home after her pushy performance at Lupeâs Playa. The light of the TV danced across the living room shades, picking out her shadow sharp as a lounging cameo. Maybe sheâd felt logy from her big supper, headed home to curl up before the tube. He couldnât say much for her taste, he thought, listening to the canned laughter of a sleazy sitcom, a series that he particularly hated.
It all came down to taste. Some humans had it, some didnât. Deciding against a nap, and wondering if Clyde had checked on Rube, he slipped down through his cat door onto the ceiling beam, and dropped to Clydeâs desk.
Around him, the house sounded empty; and it felt empty. Maybe Clyde and Ryan were walking the beach, giving Rock a run. Galloping down the stairs, suddenly worried about the aging retriever, he found Rube in bed, lying quietly among his blankets in the laundry, on the bottom mattress of the two-tiered bunk. He could smell Clydeâs scent, and Ryanâs, on Rubeâs ears and face, as if theyâd given the old dog a good petting before going out again. When Joe spoke, Rube opened a tired eye, sighed, licked Joeâs nose, then went back to sleep. Above Rube, on the top bunk, the two older cats were curled together, softly snoring. But the young white cat lay curled against Rube, with her paws around his foreleg. She, in particular, loved Rube, and Joe knew she was hurting for him.
Easing onto the bunk beside the two animals, and speaking softly to the old retriever, Joe tried to reassure him. He was thus occupied, snuggled against Rube, listening to the Labâs rough breathing, when he heard Rock bark, and heard Ryan open the patio gate. Clyde and Ryan came in the back door joking and laughing; they grew quiet as they turned into the laundry, the way a person would enter the hospital room of a very sick patient. Outside the kitchen door, Rock whined and sniffed, but the big dog didnât bark now, he knew better.
Clyde started to speak, then caught himself. Joe could see on his face the clear question: How is he? Clyde blinked at his near blunder, looked embarrassed, and knelt beside Ryan, to stroke Rube. As the two talked to the old dog, the white cat looked up at them, purring. Ryan laid her ear to Rubeâs chest, her dark hair blending with the Labâs black coat; then she smelled Rubeâs breath in a very personal manner. Ryan had grown up with
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