Trotting single file along a twisted oak branch, the three cats crossed above Elliot Traynor's roof to the high clerestory windows that looked down into the living room. Within the house, no lights burned. The Traynor's black Lincoln was not in the drive where they usually parked. Peering down through the glass, the cats could see the stone fireplace and a pale leather couch and love seat, set on a richly patterned area rug. The handsomely designed room was now strewn with items of clothing as if Vivi had wandered through undressing as she went. Joe was pawing at the sliding panels trying to open one, when car lights swept the garden. As the Lincoln turned into the drive, the cats closed their eyes so not to catch the glow like a row of miniature spotlights mounted among the shingles.

Vivi got out of the driver's side carrying a large paper bag in both hands. The cats could smell enchiladas. Elliott followed her in though the back door, and light came on in the kitchen, reflecting across the drive and illuminating the flowering shrubs, burnishing their leaves like polished copper.

Soon the cats could hear water running in the kitchen, then a metallic clatter as if silverware was being taken from the drawer.

They imagined Elliott and Vivi sitting down to Styrofoam containers heaped with enchiladas and tamales. Maybe, when the cats saw them hurry out of Lupe's, they told the waiter that they'd changed their minds and that they wanted take-out, then had waited outside for their order like any ordinary villager, lurking beyond the patio wall where they wouldn't be seen.

When the clerestory windows wouldn't open, Dulcie dropped from the roof and headed for the back door to see if it might be ajar, though she didn't relish slipping into the house that close to Vivi. Trotting through the dark garden toward the back porch, she brushed through tall stands of daisies and overgrown clumps of daylilies and yellow-flowering euryops bushes, collecting their scents on her coat. Above her, up the stone walls of the cottage, the many-paned windows remained dark, there was only that light at the back, in the small bay window that extended out from the kitchen. The spicy smell of Mexican food filled her nostrils, so strong she could taste it. She heard Vivi giggle somewhere inside, that high, irritating laugh that set Dulcie's fur on edge. Elliott said something that Dulcie couldn't make out, and Vivi snapped angrily at him, her shout coming clearly enough.

"She was with two cops. Those guys were cops. That tall skinny one is the chief. What did you expect me to do?"

Elliott's muttered reply wasn't clear. It sounded like, "… other one… didn't see the… mumble mumble…"

"Well, she would remember!" Vivi said. "One wrong word in front of the law, one little wiggle… If you run into her, you be careful. You're way too casual about this."

Again his response was too low to be heard, sullen and angry. Why didn't he yell at her? He was way too casual about what? Had Vivi had an affair with Ryan's husband, the way Ryan thought? And Vivi didn't want to confront Ryan? But if Elliott knew about that, didn't he care? How strange humans were, Dulcie thought. Joe would have killed another tomcat who touched her.

He had wanted to kill that black tom, Azrael. Had tried to kill him. Though Dulcie hadn't really looked at another tomcat since she met Joe, there had been that one weak moment when Azrael came on to her, she remembered ashamedly. When the dark voodoo cat ignited a frightened purr-until she angrily rejected the philandering thief.

They were still snapping at each other as Vivi's high heels clicked across the room toward the back door. Dulcie backed into the bushes as the door opened and light spilled out. She could never get over the feeling that people would know she was eavesdropping; she always wanted to hide.

But how could anyone know? So Vivi saw a cat in the garden. What was she going to do, throw the garbage can at her?

Knowing Vivi, she might. Vivi dropped a bag of trash into the garbage can. She stood a few moments in the cool night as if trying to control her temper, then turned back inside, where Elliott had switched on the TV and the canned voices of a late newscast filled the kitchen.

Racing back through the quiet dark of the garden, Dulcie let the human sounds fade behind her, let the garden smells fill her nose, and the damp earth ooze cool beneath her paws. Brushing through the scented leaves of geranium and lavender, in the deepening evening chill, she raced up the oak tree again. From somewhere high above her came the scream of a screech owl crying his hunting call-hunting in the wind, diving among the pines and oaks. Catching arboreal mice? she thought, amused. Or snatching up tree-climbing crickets?

Feeling lonely suddenly, she fled to Joe. She and Joe were launched on their own kind of hunt, the game far larger and more dangerous than anything that little owl could trap. And, thinking of what they might find, she was suddenly afraid.

Storming up through the thick foliage of the oak tree, darkness seemed to crush in around her. Racing along the branch with clinging claws, she nudged Joe with her nose, sniffing in his scent, rubbing her face against his sleek, silken fur. But after a moment, she asked, "Where's the kit?"

Joe smiled and glanced above them. She followed his gaze to where the kit clung nearly at the top of the oak among the smallest branches, a dark lump, her long, fluffy tail hanging down like a pendulum, the tip of it twitching in that slow rhythm that indicated some prankish desire or some other, equally busy mental process.

"Vivi and Elliott were arguing," Dulcie told Joe. "Talking about Ryan. Vivi said, 'She would remember. And she was with two cops-those guys were cops.' Then, 'That tall skinny one is the chief. What did you expect me to do?'"

Joe listened, saying nothing.

"Elliott muttered something like,'… other one… didn't see…' That's all I could make out. She told him to be careful, that he was way too casual. Then she closed the door tight. And no windows are open."

Somewhere near, a barn owl hooted, deep and frightening, and the kit came backing down the tree fast, to snuggle between them. Joe peered in again through the high window. "Strange, what a bad feeling I have about this."

"So do I," she said. "Likely it's Vivi, she'd make anyone uneasy. Wilma calls her a name I won't repeat," she said, glancing at the kit.

"What name?" asked the kit.

No one answered her. Joe worked at the window again, clawing and pulling, then backed down the tree to the garden and went to circle the house, a gray streak in the darkness leaping up at each window, scrabbling and pawing. Dulcie followed him down to try the vents in the foundation. She was clawing at a grid when suddenly from above, lights poured down on them. They fled into the bushes, hunching down in the leaves, looking up through the little twiggy branches at the one window, halfway along the house, that shone brightly.

No figure moved against the glass, no one looked out. They could see beyond the curtains a tall chest of drawers with a small mirror standing on top, light reflecting from it.

Lights blazed on in a second room, at the front where the draperies were drawn, then a smaller window in between burned brightly. They heard water running, but then at last the bathroom light went out and the back bedroom darkened except for the glow of a TV.

In the illuminated front room, a shadow moved behind the draperies, thrown tall by the lamp, and then sat down. In a few minutes they heard the soft click, click of computer keys.

"So Vivi's gone to bed to watch TV," Dulcie said. "And Elliott's at work on the book."