There was a jet-black
feather stuck between two toes on his right paw. I bent over to pull it loose. “Did
you and that grackle get into it again?” I asked. Hercules had been having a war for
months with what seemed to be one bird that liked to dive-bomb his head when he was
in the backyard. I had nicknamed him Professor Moriarty because he was an arch-nemesis
if a cat ever had one. He and Herc had had a couple of run-ins, one of which had ended
with Hercules as the proud possessor of another large black wing feather. The bird
had disappeared for a while after that. I was guessing he was back.
I pointed to his paw. “Do I want to know what happened?”
He immediately put his left paw on top of his right and looked at me, blinking his
big green eyes.
“That’s fine with me,” I said. “Whatever happens in the backyard stays in the backyard.”
I turned to Owen. “And how was your day?” I asked, reaching over to scratch under
his chin. He gave me a blissful if slightly stoned-looking smile, and leaned in to
my hand.
After I’d gotten some cat love, I went upstairs, changed into my tai chi clothes and
came back down to get supper. I made a grocery list while I ate, making sure I put
sardines on the list so I could make the cats’ favorite stinky crackers on the weekend.
When the dishes were done, I realized I had enough time to walk down to tai chi class.
I put my shoes and a towel in my bag—after picking out a little clump of black fur—pulled
on a sweater and called good-bye to the boys. They had disappeared as soon as I’d
started the dishes.
Roma was coming up the sidewalk from the other direction as I got close to the artist’s
co-op store. She waited for me by the door. “Hi,” she said. “I heard about this morning.
Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “And, technically, it was Hercules who discovered Mike Glazer’s
body.” We went inside and started up the steps to the second-floor tai chi studio.
“Ruby told me she’s doing another painting of Hercules,” Roma said, running her hand
through her sleek, dark bob. “I hope it brings in as much as the last one. Cat People
needs the money.”
Cat People was a rescue group that worked with feral cats in this area. The fund-raiser
Ruby was donating the painting to was for them.
At the top of the stairs, Roma dropped onto the bench near the coat hooks to change
her shoes. I pulled off my sweater and draped it over a hook.
“How did Hercules end up over by the tents in the first place?” Roma asked, tucking
her sleek brown hair behind one ear. She slid to the right and I sat down beside her.
“I didn’t have the zipper on the cat carrier closed all the way.” I felt my cheeks
getting warm. “He hustled down the street, looked both ways at the curb and made a
beeline for the tent.”
“At least he knew to watch for cars,” she said with a smile.
“Roma, do you think he really could have smelled . . . something at that distance?”
I asked, swapping one running shoe for one of the purple canvas pull-ons I wore for
class.
“It’s possible. A cat’s sense of smell is vastly superior to ours.”
“I know,” I said. “I swear Owen can sniff out a catnip chicken all the way across
the backyard at Rebecca’s house.”
“And Owen and Hercules aren’t exactly typical cats either, Kathleen,” she said.
My stomach gave a little lurch. Did Roma know more about my cats’ abilities than she’d
let on? “What do you mean?” I asked, as she stood up to pull her sweatshirt over her
head.
“Well, they were feral, or at the very least, abandoned as young kittens.” Her voice
was muffled a little by the fabric. She pulled the shirt off the rest of the way and
shook her head. Her hair fell back into its shiny bob. Even with Rebecca’s expert
scissors styling my hair these days, it never quite behaved like that. “And they definitely
don’t have a
feather stuck between two toes on his right paw. I bent over to pull it loose. “Did
you and that grackle get into it again?” I asked. Hercules had been having a war for
months with what seemed to be one bird that liked to dive-bomb his head when he was
in the backyard. I had nicknamed him Professor Moriarty because he was an arch-nemesis
if a cat ever had one. He and Herc had had a couple of run-ins, one of which had ended
with Hercules as the proud possessor of another large black wing feather. The bird
had disappeared for a while after that. I was guessing he was back.
I pointed to his paw. “Do I want to know what happened?”
He immediately put his left paw on top of his right and looked at me, blinking his
big green eyes.
“That’s fine with me,” I said. “Whatever happens in the backyard stays in the backyard.”
I turned to Owen. “And how was your day?” I asked, reaching over to scratch under
his chin. He gave me a blissful if slightly stoned-looking smile, and leaned in to
my hand.
After I’d gotten some cat love, I went upstairs, changed into my tai chi clothes and
came back down to get supper. I made a grocery list while I ate, making sure I put
sardines on the list so I could make the cats’ favorite stinky crackers on the weekend.
When the dishes were done, I realized I had enough time to walk down to tai chi class.
I put my shoes and a towel in my bag—after picking out a little clump of black fur—pulled
on a sweater and called good-bye to the boys. They had disappeared as soon as I’d
started the dishes.
Roma was coming up the sidewalk from the other direction as I got close to the artist’s
co-op store. She waited for me by the door. “Hi,” she said. “I heard about this morning.
Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “And, technically, it was Hercules who discovered Mike Glazer’s
body.” We went inside and started up the steps to the second-floor tai chi studio.
“Ruby told me she’s doing another painting of Hercules,” Roma said, running her hand
through her sleek, dark bob. “I hope it brings in as much as the last one. Cat People
needs the money.”
Cat People was a rescue group that worked with feral cats in this area. The fund-raiser
Ruby was donating the painting to was for them.
At the top of the stairs, Roma dropped onto the bench near the coat hooks to change
her shoes. I pulled off my sweater and draped it over a hook.
“How did Hercules end up over by the tents in the first place?” Roma asked, tucking
her sleek brown hair behind one ear. She slid to the right and I sat down beside her.
“I didn’t have the zipper on the cat carrier closed all the way.” I felt my cheeks
getting warm. “He hustled down the street, looked both ways at the curb and made a
beeline for the tent.”
“At least he knew to watch for cars,” she said with a smile.
“Roma, do you think he really could have smelled . . . something at that distance?”
I asked, swapping one running shoe for one of the purple canvas pull-ons I wore for
class.
“It’s possible. A cat’s sense of smell is vastly superior to ours.”
“I know,” I said. “I swear Owen can sniff out a catnip chicken all the way across
the backyard at Rebecca’s house.”
“And Owen and Hercules aren’t exactly typical cats either, Kathleen,” she said.
My stomach gave a little lurch. Did Roma know more about my cats’ abilities than she’d
let on? “What do you mean?” I asked, as she stood up to pull her sweatshirt over her
head.
“Well, they were feral, or at the very least, abandoned as young kittens.” Her voice
was muffled a little by the fabric. She pulled the shirt off the rest of the way and
shook her head. Her hair fell back into its shiny bob. Even with Rebecca’s expert
scissors styling my hair these days, it never quite behaved like that. “And they definitely
don’t have a
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