Cat Cross Their Graves Read Online Free
Author: Shirley Rousseau Murphy
ran out of cans to open sheâd have to go out in the dark and steal food from the back of restaurants like the homeless did.
Well, she guessed she was homeless now, too.
Or in a kind of prison.
Except, Mama would say, This isnât a prison, youâre here by your own choosing, Lori. You can leave when you want, no one is making you stay here.
But where would she go?
Mama wouldnât tell her to go back to Pa; Mama hadnât stayed, had she? But Mama wasnât here to tell her where to go, where to hide.
Well, she was done with the welfare people and the foster homes. The other kids said the homes were out for blood, took in kids just to make money. The more kids the foster homes got, the more money they made. Didnât matter to them if you had to sleep on the floor, ten to a room, what did they care? Sheâd heard plenty from the older kids. She wondered where those sirens were going, wondered what those cops were like, out in the night with their sticks and guns, wondered what theyâd do with a runaway child.
Call child welfare? Call Pa? No, she wasnât going to the cops. She curled up shivering on the thin mat, pulled the blanket tighter, and snuggled into the old, stained pillow. As hard as she hugged herself she couldnât get warm and she couldnât go back to sleep.
Â
Joe Grey and Dulcie crouched out of the way among a tangle of ferns as officersâ feet raced past them, the copsâ hard black shoes thundering on the brick walk. Within the lacy foliage, Dulcieâs dark tabby stripes rendered her nearly invisible. Joe Greyâs pewter coat was the color of the shadows; his white markings among the lacy fronds might be mistaken for bits of blown paper. Both catsâ eyes burned with interestâthough there was an unusual unease between them. They were not snuggled close. They sat apart, and they had not, as was usual, raced onto the patio together. Joe had been hunting. Dulcie had been home in bed with Wilma as her housemate read aloud. Neither cat was in the best mood. As the officers crowded around the stairs to the garage, Joe glanced at Dulcie, stiff and wary.
For nearly two weeks, they had hardly spoken. Joe didnât know what was wrong with Dulcie, and he certainly wasnât asking. If she didnât want to talk, that was her problem. When, among the village rooftops or gardens, he happened on her by accident, he remained as aloof as she. Tonight, racing onto the innâs patio from different directions, they had eyed each other like strangers, Dulcieâs stance defensive, Joe swallowing back a hiss.
Yet now as officers moved down the stairwell toward an objective the cats couldnât see, both slipped quickly through the garden to look, glancing shyly at each other. Beyond them across the patio two uniforms guarded the innâs front gate, and two more strung the traditional yellow tape against the gawking crowd that had gathered even on this rainy night.Dulcie glanced at Joe. Padding closer, she gently touched her nose to his. âWhereâs Kit?â she said softly. âIs she down here in the middle already?â
Joe glanced, scowling, up at Kitâs third-floor window. The lights were on but Kit was not in sight. The side window was open and he could see a rip in the screen. He turned to study the shadows around the stairwell, but he saw no gleam of yellow eyes. Dulcie, rearing up, scanned the windows, too. âThe screenâs torn. Maybe Lucinda tried to keep her in.â
Fat chance, Joe thought.
When Dulcie nuzzled him, he didnât respond. She gave him a sideways look. She could imagine Kit leaping down the roof to the balcony, down againâat the sirensâ call, she thought, amused. She slipped closer to Joe, who had shifted away, and this time he didnât move. He was watching Ryan and Clyde, who had come in before the tape was strung, and watching Lucinda and Pedric hurrying down the stairs from
Well, she guessed she was homeless now, too.
Or in a kind of prison.
Except, Mama would say, This isnât a prison, youâre here by your own choosing, Lori. You can leave when you want, no one is making you stay here.
But where would she go?
Mama wouldnât tell her to go back to Pa; Mama hadnât stayed, had she? But Mama wasnât here to tell her where to go, where to hide.
Well, she was done with the welfare people and the foster homes. The other kids said the homes were out for blood, took in kids just to make money. The more kids the foster homes got, the more money they made. Didnât matter to them if you had to sleep on the floor, ten to a room, what did they care? Sheâd heard plenty from the older kids. She wondered where those sirens were going, wondered what those cops were like, out in the night with their sticks and guns, wondered what theyâd do with a runaway child.
Call child welfare? Call Pa? No, she wasnât going to the cops. She curled up shivering on the thin mat, pulled the blanket tighter, and snuggled into the old, stained pillow. As hard as she hugged herself she couldnât get warm and she couldnât go back to sleep.
Â
Joe Grey and Dulcie crouched out of the way among a tangle of ferns as officersâ feet raced past them, the copsâ hard black shoes thundering on the brick walk. Within the lacy foliage, Dulcieâs dark tabby stripes rendered her nearly invisible. Joe Greyâs pewter coat was the color of the shadows; his white markings among the lacy fronds might be mistaken for bits of blown paper. Both catsâ eyes burned with interestâthough there was an unusual unease between them. They were not snuggled close. They sat apart, and they had not, as was usual, raced onto the patio together. Joe had been hunting. Dulcie had been home in bed with Wilma as her housemate read aloud. Neither cat was in the best mood. As the officers crowded around the stairs to the garage, Joe glanced at Dulcie, stiff and wary.
For nearly two weeks, they had hardly spoken. Joe didnât know what was wrong with Dulcie, and he certainly wasnât asking. If she didnât want to talk, that was her problem. When, among the village rooftops or gardens, he happened on her by accident, he remained as aloof as she. Tonight, racing onto the innâs patio from different directions, they had eyed each other like strangers, Dulcieâs stance defensive, Joe swallowing back a hiss.
Yet now as officers moved down the stairwell toward an objective the cats couldnât see, both slipped quickly through the garden to look, glancing shyly at each other. Beyond them across the patio two uniforms guarded the innâs front gate, and two more strung the traditional yellow tape against the gawking crowd that had gathered even on this rainy night.Dulcie glanced at Joe. Padding closer, she gently touched her nose to his. âWhereâs Kit?â she said softly. âIs she down here in the middle already?â
Joe glanced, scowling, up at Kitâs third-floor window. The lights were on but Kit was not in sight. The side window was open and he could see a rip in the screen. He turned to study the shadows around the stairwell, but he saw no gleam of yellow eyes. Dulcie, rearing up, scanned the windows, too. âThe screenâs torn. Maybe Lucinda tried to keep her in.â
Fat chance, Joe thought.
When Dulcie nuzzled him, he didnât respond. She gave him a sideways look. She could imagine Kit leaping down the roof to the balcony, down againâat the sirensâ call, she thought, amused. She slipped closer to Joe, who had shifted away, and this time he didnât move. He was watching Ryan and Clyde, who had come in before the tape was strung, and watching Lucinda and Pedric hurrying down the stairs from
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