As Clyde walked Chichi down the dark drive, Joe leaped to the front seat and reared up, looking out the window. He heard Chichi's key turn the lock, and her soft "I'll just check my room…" Heard her door squeak open. Dulcie hopped over the back of the seat and stretched out beside him, her dark tabby stripes tiger-rich in the gleam of the moon. "I'm bummed, after that cage."

"We were in there only a few hours." But Joe felt much the same, wrung out with the stress of being locked up. He couldn't half imagine how the others had felt. He'd never before been in a cage, except at the vet's, and he could open those cages if he wanted. Besides, Dr. Firetti treated him royally. Well, he guessed his cat carrier was a sort of cage, but of course he knew how to open that.

Dulcie's pink tongue tipped out, licking nervously at her front paws. "The padlock and those heavy bars, the awful crowding. And the stink." Her emerald eyes were round with stress. "I was really scared. I never felt like that before."

Joe lay down and put his head against her. "I knew we'd get out. If not Clyde or Wilma or Charlie, if not Kit, then we'd find some way."

"I wasn't so sure. Thank God for Kit." But she looked at him mournfully. "Where is she? I couldn't stand it if she never came back."

Joe licked her ear. "She'll come back." He only wished he believed that. "Kit likes her luxuries too well. She won't get filet mignon and Alaskan salmon and imported cheeses up on those wild hills. Or silk pillows and cashmere blankets. Anyway, she loves Lucinda and Pedric far too much to leave them, or to hurt them."

"But she…" Dulcie sighed, and shivered, and was silent.

"She's just having a lark. She'll be home. I never dreamed Chichi would help us."

"You really think she'll come home, that she won't stay with that wild band?"

Joe listened to the hush of Clyde's step coming back up the drive and crossing the street. "She'd be crazy to do that. All the time she was a kitten, running with them, she longed for someone to love her." He nuzzled Dulcie's shoulder. "Kit might go off for a while. But it won't last."

Clyde slipped into the car and started the engine. "What won't last?"

"Kit wouldn't stay with them."

Clyde glanced at him. "Maybe she's already home with Lucinda and Pedric."

"Maybe," Dulcie said hopefully. "Tucked up warm, with a tummy full of goodies. Maybe she just showed the ferals the best way out of the village, where to cross, to avoid the traffic…" Trying to convince herself, she rolled over on her back, watching the treetops swing by upside down as Clyde headed across Ocean for Wilma's. She could smell home, smell the scents of her neighborhood, before ever Clyde slowed the car.

Wilma Getz's low, stone house stood so close to the hill that it had no backyard, just a narrow walkway before the hill rose steeply up. Wilma had made up for this lack by turning her deep front yard into a lush English garden with rock paths, great tangles of flowers and ferns beneath the sprawling oaks. A rich floral gallery that thrived under Wilma's care.

Both the front and back doors faced the street, the back door at the south end near the garage, the front door near the north end of the low Norman structure. Clyde killed the engine and sat staring at the dark house. "Where is she?" He turned to look at Dulcie. "Out searching for you? And she's just out of the hospital."

"She can go out if she wants," Dulcie said, standing with her paws on the window. "The light's on in the back, in the bedroom-the reflection against the hill. She's tucked up in bed, reading, that's all. She knows I'm all right."

"You damn near weren't all right!" Clyde snapped. He glared at the thin glow of light washing up the hill behind the house brightening the tall grass, and glanced at his watch. "It's only seven."

"She just got out of the hospital," Dulcie hissed. "At sixty-some years old, she can go to bed early and read if she wants."

Clyde opened the driver's door. As he stepped out, the cats leaped out over their own side of the open car and headed for Dulcie's cat door. The air smelled of woodsmoke: a fire would be dancing in the little red stove in Wilma's bedroom. Home! Dulcie thought. Wilma would be reading Bailey White's magical stories. Dulcie, able to think of nothing but snuggling down with her housemate beneath the flowered quilt, bolted away through her plastic door far ahead of Joe.

Before Clyde could ring the doorbell, Dulcie heard Wilma at the front door. She must have swung out of bed the minute she heard his car. Oh, Dulcie thought as she raced across the laundry, she must surely have been worrying. Looking through to the living room, she watched Wilma shut the door behind Clyde, and the two of them head for the kitchen. How lovely to be home, with Wilma all cozy in her red plaid robe, barefoot, her long gray-white hair hanging loose down her back.

In the kitchen, Wilma said not a word to Dulcie or to Joe. She and Clyde exchanged a long look, then stood watching as the cats fought the refrigerator door open. No one helped them.

Wilma had been worried all evening, and was feeling grumpy. She didn't know why she'd been so uneasy, since the cats were often gone for long periods. Somehow, today had been different. Dulcie could at least have called.

That thought made her want to giggle. Though it was perfectly true, the tabby cat could have called and saved her endless worry.

As to opening the refrigerator, already the cats were dragging out Dulcie's plastic dishes from the bottom shelf, which belonged exclusively to her. Hauling the covered bowls onto the kitchen rug, flipping off the lids with practiced claws, they devoted their full attention to the sliced roast chicken, the homemade custard, and cold beef Stroganoff that Wilma had left for them. They heard Wilma ask Clyde if he wanted coffee or a drink, glanced up to see Clyde open the lower cabinet where Wilma kept her meager supply of bourbon and brandy, retrieve the bourbon, and fetch two glasses. But everything tasted so good they could think of little else but their supper. They hardly paid attention until Wilma sat down at the table, saying to Clyde, "You look as angry as I feel. What have they done this time?"

Dulcie and Joe stopped eating and glared up at her.

"I swear you two have taken twenty years off my life," Wilma told them. "The idiot who said that living with a cat lowered your blood pressure didn't have a clue."

Dulcie's tail switched with annoyance. Clyde poured a double bourbon and water for himself and a light one for Wilma. "Tonight," he said, "I guess we shouldn't hassle them." He sat down opposite Wilma. Wilma's eyes filled with uneasy questions.

"So what happened?" she asked tensely. "And where's Kit? Is Kit all right?"

"It was Kit who saved the day," Clyde said. "But…"

"What happened? Lucinda's so worried. It's as if…" She looked down at the two cats. "Lucinda and I have been edgy all evening, for no real reason."

Joe and Dulcie looked at each other. Clyde waited for them to answer.

"Where's the kit?" Wilma demanded.

Dulcie looked up at her quietly, her green eyes round.

"What?" Wilma said.

"She's all right," Dulcie said around a mouthful of Stroganoff. She leaped into a chair, looking up at Wilma. Wilma put out a hand but didn't touch her; she sat tense and waiting.

Dulcie tried to begin at the beginning but had trouble deciding where the beginning was. She didn't want to tell Wilma all of it. Though Wilma had experienced plenty of danger, herself, before she retired from the federal probation system, when danger threatened Dulcie or any of the three cats, that was another matter. She told Wilma how they found the caged cats, but left out that they had tossed Abuela's house while the crooks slept. Immediately, Wilma saw there were omissions.