“She’s on her way.” Clara made sure to answer her oldest sister first and address her unspoken concern. “I’m sure she’ll feed us as soon as she gets in.”
“Humph,” Harriet snorted, pulling her tail around her toes. She wasn’t satisfied, Clara knew. She was, however, a little self-conscious about being so single-minded. “You think that’s all I care about.”
“Well?” Laurel pushed Harriet aside. “Did she meet anyone cute?”
The image of the brown-eyed stranger flitted through Clara’s mind, and Laurel purred in response. “He was just someone on the street,” Clara snapped.
The little calico wanted nothing so much as to bathe. The dust from the used car lot had gotten beneath her fur. Even her whiskers felt gritty. More than that, a good tongue bath would soothe the lingering concerns that had ruffled her fur. Still, Laurel would not be kept waiting.
“You were right about Gaia,” she said. “That girl is trouble.” Quickly, she told them about the visit to the shop. The fact that Gaia seemed lackadaisical, at best, about her job didn’t seem to concern Laurel much. If anything, that seemed quite reasonable to a cat. When Clara got to the storeowner’s accusations, however, both her sisters’ ears pricked up.
“She…collects men?” Laurel interrupted before Clara could get up to the strange interaction with Elizabeth, and the calico flicked her own tail in annoyance. The sealpoint sister had long wanted Becca to be more romantically adventurous, but Clara didn’t think this was the way to do it.
“Other women’s men,” cautioned the calico.
“Oh, that’s not good.” Laurel’s ears lay flat, and she turned toward Harriet.
“What?” Harriet turned toward the front door. “You told me that you wanted to let Becca do this by herself, and now…”
“Harriet, what did you do…?” But it was too late. Even before Clara could finish her thought, her sisters had raced ahead to stand at attention at the door. A moment later, they could hear the familiar footsteps slowly ascending the stairs and then the key in the lock.
“Hi, kitties.” Becca’s good cheer sounded intact, even if her voice was tired. “How nice of you to meet me like this.”
“You!” Harriet mewed plaintively. “Where were you?”
“I bet you want your dinner, don’t you?”
Laurel’s eyes closed in satisfaction. Not that she’d have had to work that hard to suggest the idea to their generous human.
“I’ll get right to it, as soon as I get my coat and hat off.”
“Thank you!” Clara twined around Becca’s legs, grateful to finally be able to express herself physically. Her person seemed to appreciate the contact, even as she almost tripped, laughing, over the plump cat. It was Harriet who put a stop to the fooling around.
“Stop that!” she hissed, cuffing her baby sister on the ear.
Hunger, Clara figured, and accepted the rebuke quietly. But even though her oldest sister made quick work of her can, Clara couldn’t help but wonder at her comparative lack of enthusiasm. For a change, it was Laurel who looked over, licking her chops, to see if Clara was going to leave anything behind. Harriet had already raced ahead to the living room.
“What’s with Harriet?” Clara asked. “Is she feeling all right?”
“Why don’t you go see?” Laurel eyed the crumbs in Clara’s dish, and after a moment’s hesitation, Clara backed off. Harriet might be a pain, but she was her sister. She trotted into the living room after her.
“Maddy? I’m home.” Becca spoke to her phone in much the tone of voice she used with her cats. “Sorry, I should have called you five minutes ago but I had to feed the kitties.”
A smile down at Clara warmed the little calico.
“No, I think I’m in for the night. It’s been a big day, but thank you.” Even as she spoke, Becca shed her shoes and settled on the sofa. “I haven’t had a chance to even look at my own work today. You know.” She reached to rub her foot, and Clara made a mental note to knead it later. “Those documents about my family.”
She was taking up a position near her person’s ankle as Maddy rambled on. Something about a party, Clara gathered. A man—or men—that Maddy wanted Becca to meet, and for a moment she found herself remembering the kind-faced stranger in the square.
“I think I’m just not ready yet.” Becca could have been talking to Clara, and so the calico bent to her task, kneading the stockinged foot. “I do not want a knight in shining armor, Maddy.” The foot withdrew. “I just…well, for tonight, I’m happy with my cats. Have a blast, Maddy. Tell me all about it tomorrow.”
With that, Clara got back to her work, albeit gentler than before. Becca opened her laptop and soon the machine was purring in her lap, as Laurel stretched her tawny length across the sofa’s back. Within minutes Harriet had joined them on the sofa and was lounging on her pillow, one paw flicking its golden tassels. Another perfect evening, as far as the calico was concerned.
But even as Clara focused on Becca’s foot, she picked up that something was off. It couldn’t be her kneading. She was very careful not to use any claw at all. Nor was it the laptop. Although Becca often reacted strangely to the images she’d summoned, tonight she was actually humming as she read, and Laurel, in an ostentatious show of self-restraint, wasn’t even trying to bat at its warm and enticing surface. No, it was Harriet. Although to all outward appearances, her oldest sister was as relaxed as usual, her impressive bulk spread out across the pillow, the oldest of the three cats was holding herself back.
She was not only tense, Clara realized, she was concentrating—on the edge of a small baggie peeking out from beneath the coffee table.
“You returned it?” Clara chirped softly. Harriet didn’t usually admit to mistakes. “How wise of you.”
The compliment earned a snort. “I had to dig it out of the litter.” Harriet’s head reared back in disgust. “But you were right. Becca seems to think this is important.”
“Shall I?” Clara didn’t want to interfere if Harriet had a plan.
“Go ahead!”
Clara jumped to the floor and with a well-aimed tap sent the plastic baggie spinning on the pivot of the lumpy root inside. Sure enough, a moment later, Becca was on her knees beside the sofa.
“Well, I’ll be…” She grabbed the baggie and examined its odoriferous contents. “I could’ve sworn I looked under here.”
Clara, who was licking her paw, didn’t comment. That musty smell carried even through the baggie.
“How do you feel?” Laurel peeked over the edge of the sofa, blue eyes wide.
“A little dirty,” Clara admitted, even as she dug in between her toes.
“No dizziness? Shortness of breath?”
Clara paused, mouth open. “You don’t think that the poison…”
The feline equivalent of a shrug. “Harriet’s got more mass, shall we say…”
“Hey!” A white mitt slapped Laurel’s chocolate ear. “Watch it!”
“Sorry.” Laurel’s face retreated, but Clara could imagine her sister’s head ducked in submission. Harriet’s largesse only extended so far.
“I think we’re fine,” the calico called up. “Only the smell lingers.”