Free Cat Shout for Joy by Shirley Rousseau Murphy Page A

hood trying to keep his angry claws from scratching Ryan’s red paint. He longed to dig them into Tekla. Ryan was beautiful and kind and Joe loved her; but Tekla’s harangues sent her home every night with a headache, in a cranky mood that cut through both Joe and Clyde, that cowed Rock and sent the little white cat to a far corner—­until Ryan got herself under control. Until she did her best to smile, and the household turned sunny once more. Now when Ryan glanced up at Joe, he laid his ears back and licked his whiskers, telling her, Screw the woman. I’m hungry, it’s suppertime! Dump Tekla and let’s move it! His tomcat scowl said it all.
    Ryan tried hard not to laugh. Tekla looked at her strangely, but at last she turned away and wheeled Sam to their van. Sliding open the side door, she pulled down the ramp and helped him in. Joe watched her fold the wheelchair and secure it beside him. Tekla might be small in stature, but she was strong; and she seemed to take adequate care of Sam—­adequate physical care, anyway, if you could discount her spirit-­bruising sarcasm. Their son, Arnold, was kinder to Sam than Tekla was. At least he acted kinder when he stopped by after school; he seemed far closer to his father than he was to Tekla.
    Though somehow even Arnold gave Joe the twitches. As nice as the kid could be to Sam, there was something hard inside him. Something about Arnold Bleak that mirrored, exactly, the deep-­down enmity of his mother.
    Joe watched the van pull away, watched Ben head up the street for his small coupe, patting his coat pocket as he always did to make sure his phone was there and the little spiral-­bound notebook that contained his building measurements and notes. Watching Ben, Joe edged from the hood of the king cab around through its open window and dropped to the front seat. ­At once Ryan joined him, slipping in through the driver’s door, leaving Billy to wait for Charlie, leaving Scotty to lock up.
    â€œHow do you stand her?” Joe said as she started the engine. “You could break the contract.”
    She looked at Joe, frustrated. “With Sam in a wheelchair, they need this remodel. At least he’ll have a convenient bath and bedroom. They have to be cramped in that little place they’re renting.” Her patience sounded kind and forgiving, but when again she glanced at Joe, angry tears filled her eyes. Ryan, who never cried. Who was usually high-­spirited and in charge of a situation. “If she could just be civil,” she said. “If she could just try . . .”
    On the seat Joe snuggled closer and laid a soft paw on her arm. “You know she does it on purpose, you know she likes hurting ­people. Don’t let that scum get to you with her power trip, you’re better than to listen to her.” Looking up, his eyes held Ryan’s. “She won’t take you down, you have more style, more everything. You can laugh at her.”
    Driving, Ryan smiled, and wiped at her tears. They were a block from home when she pulled over to the curb and gathered Joe up in her arms. Burying her face in his fur, she was silent for a long time, dampening his gray coat with her tears, needing a little time-­out, needing Joe as she tried to get herself under control.
    But suddenly she began to laugh. She laughed against Joe, she held him tighter, then held him away, laughing in his face, her teary green eyes bright with amusement. “You’re right, tomcat. I can growl at her just as good as you can,” and she hugged him harder. “If Sam can’t silence Tekla, if he won’t silence her, then maybe I will.” She stroked and hugged him. “Why not? I can unsheathe my claws just as well as you can.”

 
    7
    T ears still dampened Ryan’s cheeks as she pulled into the drive—­but she was still smiling, cuddling Joe close on her lap. Above them, bright reflections from