Cat Trick

“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 typical house cat’s digestive system,” she added with an eyebrows-raised, sideways glance.

I felt myself relax. Roma didn’t know that Owen could disappear like a rabbit from a magician’s hat or that Hercules hadn’t just walked into Burtis’s tent; he’d walked through it.

“By the way, what was the last treat you gave Hercules?” Roma asked, still eyeing me.

“One of those stinky sardine crackers I make,” I said. “And Ruby gave him a few organic fish-shaped treats this morning, which she said you okayed.”

“Good,” she said, putting her sweatshirt over one of the coat hooks.

We walked into the studio space. Maggie was standing in the center of the room with Ruby and fifteen-year-old Taylor King. Ruby was showing them something on her cell phone. Taylor was the newest student in the class. The teenager smiled when she saw Roma.

The Kings had bought an old horse for their daughter, and Roma had spent a lot of time nursing Horton back to health. Now Taylor was interested in becoming a veterinarian.

“Hi,” Ruby said, holding up the phone. “Want to see which photo I finally decided on?”

“Yes,” I said, leaning in for a look.

“Me too,” Roma added.

Hercules was looking directly at the camera in the photograph. He was standing on Roma’s worktable with his head turned just a bit to the left with what I recognized as his “serious” expression on his black-and-white face.

“That’s perfect,” Roma said, smiling at Ruby. “I can’t wait to see the finished painting.”

“I like it,” I agreed.

“I love your cat,” Taylor said shyly. “Ruby said he came from Wisteria Hill.”

I nodded. “That’s right. So did his brother, Owen.”

“Do they like people?” she asked.

Roma rolled her eyes. “They think they are people,” she said.

Both Maggie and Ruby laughed. “Roma’s right,” I said with a smile. “They do sometimes act like they think they’re people. They just don’t like to be touched for the most part, by anyone other than me. But, yes, both Hercules and Owen like people.” I elbowed Maggie. “Especially Owen. He loves Maggie.”

Mags wrinkled her nose at me. “Which just goes to prove how smart that cat is.”

Everyone laughed at that.

I turned to Roma. “Maybe Taylor could help feed the cats out at Wisteria Hill sometime.”

The teenager’s eyes lit up. “Could I?” she asked.

“That’s a good idea,” Roma said. “We can always use another volunteer.” She pointed to Ruby’s cell phone. “Do you still have a picture of Lucy?” Lucy was the matriarch of the feral cats that lived on the Wisteria Hill estate.

“I think so,” Ruby said, bending her red and blue pigtailed head over the screen. “Let me see if I can find it.”

Maggie narrowed her gaze at me. “Excuse us a second, please,” she said. “I need Kathleen for just a minute and then we’re going to get started.” She caught my arm and all but dragged me over to the small table where she kept a kettle and a selection of herbal teas. “You didn’t tell me you were the one who found Mike’s body,” she said, frowning and propping one hand on her hip.

“It didn’t seem like the kind of thing to share in a phone message,” I said, “and, technically, Hercules found the body.” I smiled at her. “I’m fine, Mags.”

She pulled her free hand through her short blond curls. “You know I didn’t like Mike, but this is awful.”