Chapter 40.

The sirens stopped. Now the humans were shouting, and the dog barked harshly. Something crashed overhead. Footsteps thumped through the house.

Someone slammed into the door at the top of the cellar stairs.

“Ryan?” said a woman’s husky voice. Was the Cat dreaming again? It sounded like the coffee woman.

There was a click, and the door flew open. “Ryan!” called the woman. “Where are you?”

Peering through the foliage, the Cat watched a dog with a loose leash scramble down the stairs. The Cat made an effort to think. He knew that dog: large, light brown, bouncy. But the dog didn’t belong with the woman.

Leaping the last two steps, the dog paused. He turned his head this way and that, sniffing. He took a few steps in one direction—sniff-sniff-sniff—then another.

The woman paused, too, blinking at the tables of potted plants. “Ryan?” Shading her eyes from the tube lights, she turned slowly around to squint into the darker parts of the cellar.

The dog’s black nose pointed toward the plant tables, sniff-sniff-sniff. He snorted. Stepping up to the closest table, he shoved his head between the pots, and several tumbled to the floor. Whining, he put his front paws up on the table, poked his muzzle through the leafy screen, and nudged the Cat in the ribs. Pain shot through the Cat’s left shoulder. He tried to hiss.

The woman Danielle turned to someone coming down the stairs—the man Josh. “Nobody’s down here,” the woman said. She gasped and hit the side of her head. “Ryan’s hiding in the bedroom! He’s screwed.” She nodded upward. “The cops are already in the house.”

“Wait, look at Tucker,” said Josh. “What’s he up to?” He started toward the plant tables. Then a sequence of notes sounded, and both the humans pulled their little slabs from their pockets.

Danielle exclaimed, “Ryan! My god! Where have you been?”

The man slid his slab back into his pocket, muttering, “I’ve got to change my ring.” He picked up the dog’s trailing leash. “Let’s go, Tuck, before the cops notice you.”

“I knew you were there.” The woman’s voice grew angrier. “Uh-huh. I bet you were ‘busy’.”

The dog kept his front paws on the table. His black nose pointed to where the Cat crouched among the plants.

“Hmm, Tucker’s after something . . . maybe an unregistered cannabis farm?” Josh snorted. “We don’t need a drug-detection dog to see what’s on the table.”

The woman Danielle was still speaking into her little slab. “Stay. Right. There.” To Josh she said, “He’s in your car.”

The man was intent on the dog, who whined and nudged the Cat again, this time at the base of his tail.

That was too much to bear, even from a friendly dog. The Cat snarled. At least, he tried to snarl. The sound coming out of his dry throat was a squeak.

“What was that?” asked the man. “There’s something hiding in the plants—a mouse or something?”

Joining Josh at the table, the woman Danielle said, “Did you hear me? Ryan’s—” As Josh parted the foliage, her eyes looked into the Cat’s. “Oh my god.”

The Cat thought he must be dreaming again. He was in a garden. Or he was at the dump, hiding in the weeds. He was dreaming that the special woman, the one meant to be his patron, had come for him at last.

“Panda, poor kitty, is that you?” whispered the coffee woman. “He doesn’t look very good.” She brushed her fingertips over his head and neck, but then her hand paused. “This shoulder’s all swollen. And hot.”

Although it must be a dream, the Cat opened his mouth to utter a greeting, Rowr? Again, only a squeak came out.

“Poor thing, he’s dirty—cobwebs in his whiskers—” The woman Danielle turned on the man, and her soft voice became a snarl. “Josh. Did you give Panda to Jordan?”

The man Josh groaned. “Of course. All my fault.”

At the same time, heavy footsteps sounded through the ceiling, and a male voice called down the stairs, “Anyone in the cellar?”

The Cat willed himself to rise out of the plants, twine himself around the woman’s legs, slink into her lap. But he was so weary. Still crouching, he fixed his eyes on her and sent out waves of longing.

“Yeah, we’re rescuing cats!” Josh shouted back. “We’ll go out the bulkhead.” Dashing to the other end of the cellar, he wrenched at the bolt of the metal door. “Out of my way, Tucker. Danielle, come on.”

The woman leaned closer to the Cat, turning her head to one side. “Oh. He’s purring.” Her voice, soft again, rose to a higher register. “Come here, sweetheart, Panda kitty.” She lifted him tenderly out of the plants.

It hurt the Cat’s sore shoulder, but he let himself be gathered into her arms.

 

 

 

 

Love me, love my dog.

Latin saying