Cat on the Edge by Shirley Rousseau Murphy

Author:Shirley Rousseau Murphy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

13

Joe watched Dulcie remove every trace of fur from their freshly killed squirrel before she touched the rich, dark meat. He had watched her do this at each meal, remove feathers, claws, beaks; he had never seen a cat so fastidious. The squirrel was big and fat and it had fought hard, leaving a long bloody gash down Dulcie’s leg. They had caught it by working together, by driving it away from all available trees.

He was impressed by Dulcie’s bold hunting style. She was quick and fearless, and she could catch a bird on the wing, leaping to snatch it from the wind. He had seen her outrun a big rabbit, too, and bring it down screaming though the animal outweighed her. The rabbit had raked her badly. It hurt him to see her beautiful tabby coat torn and bloodied, hurt him to know how those gashes stung and throbbed. He had licked her wounds at intervals all night to ease the pain, and to prevent fever. She was so beautiful, so delicate. And so puzzling.

At first light yesterday morning he had watched her steal a child’s blue sweater from a deserted porch. Waking, he had watched amazed as she dragged the sweater deep into the bushes.

Following her, he found her in a little clearing arranging the sweater, kneading and patting it. She was so engrossed she didn’t hear as he brushed softly in through the foliage. When she had shaped the sweater to her liking she curled up on it and rolled onto her back, her head ducked down, her paws limply curled above her belly. Her purrs rumbled.

But when she glanced up and saw him she looked startled and embarrassed. And when he asked her what was so great about the sweater and why she had taken it, she clutched the blue wool with her claws and stared at him, hurt. He felt ashamed. Her need was a private thing, a preoccupation he should not have spied on and really didn’t understand.

“It’s so soft,” she said, by way of explanation. “So soft and pretty, and it’s the very color of a robin’s egg. Can’t you imagine wearing it, all soft wool against your bare skin?”

“I don’t have bare skin,” he said uneasily. What was this? What was she dreaming? What did she imagine?

“Don’t you ever wonder, Joe, what that would be like? To be a human person?”

She had to be kidding. “No way. I may talk like a human and sometimes think like a human, but I’m a cat. I’m a fine and well-adjusted tomcat.”

“But wouldn’t you…?”

“No. I wouldn’t. I can just imagine it. Repairing the roof, mowing the lawn. Having to deal with car registration and income taxes. With traffic tickets and lawsuits and fixing the leaky plumbing.” He shook his head. “No way would I be a human.”

“But think about concerts and nice restaurants and beautiful clothes and jewelry. About being…I don’t know. Driving a nice car, running up to San Francisco for the weekend.” She stared at him, hurt.

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