She had no certain history such as the Greenlaws knew. No real, sure knowledge of the generations that had come before her. The stories she had adopted as her own, from the Celts and Egyptians, were tales she had taken from books. She could not be certain they were hers, not the same as if the mother she had never known had given them to her.

If you don't know the stories of your own past, Dulcie thought sadly, what can you cling to, when you feel alone? If you don't have a family history to tell you who you are, everything flies apart.

It was when the storytelling had ended and trays of sandwiches were brought out from the kitchen with pots of tea and coffee, and everyone was milling about, that the cats saw Cara Ray rise and move away through the crowd, through the kitchen, and out to the backyard. They followed her, winding between chair legs and under the kitchen table and swiftly out through the screen door.

Crouched beside the back porch, they watched Newlon come out, too, furtively looking about. He saw Cara Ray, a dark shadow standing by the far fence, and approached her through the weedy yard. Cara Ray turned away stiffly, not as if she were waiting for Newlon, but as if she didn't want him there. When he moved close to her, she pushed him aside so hard he lost his balance and half fell against the fence.

"Leave me alone, Newlon. Stay away from me."

"What did I do, Cara Ray? You were all sweetness, there in the parlor."

"Only in front of the others, so they wouldn't… Stay away, Newlon. And stay away from Lucinda. You didn't need to come here."

"Of course I needed to come. On the boat, you… Shamas is dead, Cara Ray. Now we can…"

"I told you, Newlon, leave me alone. I don't want to see you. Do you want me to go to the police?" she said, glancing toward the house. "Do you want me to tell them how Shamas died?"

"What would you tell them, Cara Ray?"

"You might be surprised."

The cats, crouched in a tangle of dead weeds, listened with interest but drew back when the back door opened again and Dirken stepped out, moving through the dark yard as if he knew exactly where Cara Ray would be standing.

"Go on, Newlon. Dirken won't like to find you here."

"But I… But Cara Ray…"

"Go on, Newlon." And, watching Newlon slip obediently away, Cara Ray smiled as lethally as a pit viper coiled to strike.

"I DON'T like to give you advice," Joe told Clyde from atop the back fence, "but dogs really don't respond very well to…"

Clyde looked up from the ragged lawn where he was trying to make Selig sit at heel. "Of course you like to give me advice. When have you ever been shy about laying your biased feline opinions on me?" Selig, in response to Clyde's command, lay on his back, waving his paws in the air.

"So do it your way," Joe said, amused.

Clyde turned his back, giving the pup his full attention. "Up-Sit," he told Selig.

Selig wriggled and whined.

Clyde jerked the lead. Selig flipped over onto his feet and danced in a circle around Clyde, leaping to slurp his tongue across Clyde's nose.

Silently Joe watched the little display of superior human intelligence.

Clyde turned to glower at him. "Shut up, Joe, and go away."

"I didn't say a word. But I can see that you're right. You don't need my advice. Anyone can tell you're doing wonders with that puppy. I'd say you have absolutely no peer as a dog trainer. In fact-"

"Can it, Joe. The truth is, he's just too young to train. He's still a baby. In a few months when he's older, he'll-"

"In a few months when he's older, if he keeps on playing with you and ignoring your commands, he'll be a hundred times harder to deal with."

Clyde sighed.

"For one thing, he'll be twice as heavy, twice as hard to lift when he pulls that stuff. What you ought to do, is-"

"You're going to hand out advice whether I want it or not. You can never keep your opinions-"

"You're losing him, Clyde. You're losing him before you have a good beginning. You can't train a puppy like this-you're going to make him untrainable."

"And how do you know so much? What makes a mangy tomcat an authority on dog training?"

"I'm an animal. I know how an animal's mind works. Cat or dog. You're not thinking like a puppy. You just-"

Clyde stepped closer to the fence, fixing Joe with an enraged stare. "You are an expert in every facet of life. You not only read the editorial page and treat me to your learned interpretations, you are now a dog-training expert. To say nothing of your unmitigated conceit in furnishing the law-enforcement officers of this community with your invaluable consultation."

"Can't you move on past that incident? You've been chewing on it for days." Joe glanced around at the neighbors' houses. All the windows were blank, the yards empty; but he kept his voice low. "What was I supposed to do? The guy's lying dead in his car, brake fluid dripping all over the place from a brake line that was cut as straight as if it had been sliced with a meat cleaver, and I'm supposed to walk away and say nothing?

"I hear a second car on the highway, hear it honk its horn just before the skid, and there are no other witnesses that I know of, and just because I'm a cat, I'm supposed to withhold that information from the law.

"Well, thank you very much, Clyde, but I don't think so. And as to the dog training, if you're so stiffnecked you can't accept a little friendly advice when it's offered in a kindly manner, then screw it. Go ahead and ruin a good dog!"

Selig, driven to madness by the lack of attention and his need to play, reared up against the fence, drawing his claws down the wood in long gouges-knowing that if he kept at Clyde long enough, Clyde's ridiculous attempt at lessons would end and they'd have a nice roughhouse, rolling in the grass. Leaping at Clyde, raking at his arm and cheek, Selig left four long red welts down the side of Clyde's face, narrowly missing Clyde's eye, all the time barking with excitement into Clyde's left ear. Joe imagined Clyde's eardrum throbbing and thickening from the onslaught of those powerful sound waves. Clyde whacked the pup across the nose with the folded leash, his face red with pain, anger, and embarrassment, and his cheek bleeding.

Joe said no word.

"All right," Clyde shouted, tossing the leash at the tomcat. "If you're so damned smart, you train him!" And he spun around and slammed into the house.

Joe stared down at the leash lying in the grass. Selig began happily to chew it, working the good leather into his back incisors and gnawing with relish, his brown eyes rolling up to Joe, filled with deep satisfaction.

Joe considered taking the leash away from the pup and settling him down to a lying position with a sharp command and a few claws.

But he'd only make Clyde more angry, and more out of control.

And what good, for Clyde, if he, Joe Grey, trained the pup? What would Clyde learn?

A cat had to balance his willingness to help humankind with the knowledge that people must learn to do things for themselves.

After all, Clyde had bought a highly recommended dog-training book, and had actually read it. He had registered for, and attended two sessions of the dog-training class that Charlie insisted on-though so far, nothing seemed to have sunk in.

All Clyde did was baby the pups, laugh when they acted silly, and get mad when they didn't mind him. The trouble with Clyde was, he was a pushover. He wanted the puppies to love him, he wanted to play with them and have fun.

If he'd just figure out how to make learning the best game of all, he could teach them anything. If he could make those babies love their obedience routines, he wouldn't have a problem.