Cat Shout for Joy by Shirley Rousseau Murphy Read Free Book Online

ground.
    â€œIt will all fit together,” he said confidently. “All of a sudden. So simple we’ll wonder that we didn’t see it right at first.”
    He glanced down again at the ­couple in the patio, then leaped from the wall to the roof and they galloped away across the shingles toward Ocean Avenue, heading for Misto’s cottage.
    In order to cross that wide, divided street, they backed down a bougainvillea vine and entered the crosswalk close on the heels of three tourists, young Asian girls leading a fluffy brown dog. The little mutt looked around at the cats, put his nose in the air, and hurried along in disdain. The traffic halted obediently for human pedestrians, whereas drivers might not see a cat or a small dog. On the far curb Joe and Dulcie fled past the little group and up a honeysuckle vine to the roof of a furniture boutique. Only then did the dog start to bark, at the nervy cats.
    But now Dulcie, trotting up and down the steep tiles, began to lag behind again. The last up-­and-­down climbs had been tiring. Joe Grey glanced back at her, his ears flattened in a frown.
    She knew she needed to explain. She needed to tell him soon, before he started asking questions. But again unease kept her silent. How would he respond to the thought of kittens?
    Joe was not an ordinary street cat to ignore, or even kill, his own young. To Joe Grey, with his wider human view of the world, new babies would be a responsibility. A burden that he might not welcome, this tough tomcat who was all about danger. Whose life bristled with spying on criminals and passing information to the cops. Would he want this tender miracle? Would he want his own affairs disrupted, his own stealthy contribution to police work shoved aside while he sat with helpless babies or taught them to hunt—­instead of Joe himself off hunting human scum?
    But she had to tell him. She prayed he would be glad . The kittens needed their father; they needed Joe’s down-­to-­earth view of life, his level-headed and sensible teaching—­just as they needed Dulcie’s touch of whimsy, her bit of poetry, even her love of bright silks and cashmere. Their kittens needed both parents, they needed the contrast of two kinds of learning.
    Well , she thought. Whatever he says, here goes.
    She paused on the roof tiles, looking at Joe. The look in her eyes stopped him, made him turn back. “What?” he said. Suddenly worry shone in the tomcat’s yellow eyes. “What’s wrong?”
    â€œKittens,” she said. “There will be kittens.”
    Joe looked at her blankly. “What kittens? Rescue kittens? The village has plenty of those, Ryan and Charlie have been trapping abandoned kittens—­”
    â€œ Our kittens,” she said. “ Your kittens.”
    Joe stared at her. He looked uncertain, he began to feel shaky. His expression turned to panic. He hissed, his ears flat, his paw lifted . . .
    But then his whiskers came up, his ears pricked up, his eyes widened. “Kittens?” he said. “Our kittens ? ” He let out a yowl.
    â€œ Kittens! Oh my God.”
    He backed away from her, amazed. He leaped away, raced away across the shingled peaks, twice around a brick chimney and back again, a gray dervish streaking . . . He spun twice around Dulcie, his ears and whiskers wild. Around her again and halted, skidding nose to nose with her.
    â€œKittens?’’
    He nuzzled her and washed her face. He stood back and looked her over. “You don’t look like you’re carrying kittens.” He frowned. “Well, maybe you’ve put on an ounce or two but . . . Are you sure?”
    â€œI’m sure,” she said, flicking her whiskers, lashing her tabby tail. “Dr. Firetti says there are kittens.”
    Joe couldn’t stop smiling. Strange that he hadn’t noticed a different scent about her. But she always smelled of the