You Can Run... by Carlene Thompson Page B

him.” As Simon led them into the library, Diana smiled at Clarice. “How was your night?”
    “I slept, although I was certain I couldn’t. You do look tired, though, Diana. Hospital beds are so uncomfortable,” Clarice went on. “I felt guilty sleeping in that lovely bedroom, thinking of you and Willow spending the night in a hospital room.”
    Willow piped up eagerly. “Where’s Romeo and Christabel?”
    Simon looked at Willow. “You know Romeo and Christabel run every time someone comes to the door. As soon as they hear your voice, they’ll be back in two minutes flat.”
    “Maybe they forgot me,” Willow mourned. “I haven’t seen ’em for ages and ages.”
    “It’s really only been eight days since you saw them,” Simon corrected gently. “They certainly aren’t going to forget their favorite little girl in eight days.”
    As if on cue, the two cats entered the library. Christabel, Diana’s cat, pranced in with her long black-and-white fur freshly brushed and fluffy, her gigantic tail held high, and made her way straight to Willow. Romeo, as usual, trailed right behind her. He was gray, three times Christabel’s size, and possessed only three legs, a fact that slowed him down only slightly. He followed Christabel to Willow, who immediately dropped to the floor and pulled both cats onto her lap.
    “I’ve missed you so much!” she exclaimed rapturously, hugging the felines. Christabel uttered a soft, sweet trill. Romeo followed suit by emitting his usual greeting that sounded remarkably like a duck’s unusually loud quack. Clarice, who had obviously not heard the cat’s robust, bizarre vocals, looked at him in shock.
    “See, Clarice, I told you he quacks!” Willow giggled.
    “Yes, you did, but I believed . . . Well, I thought—”
    “You thought she was exaggerating.” Simon laughed, delighted. “I was stunned the first time I heard his dulcet tones, too. I thought he’d just eaten a very large duck.”
    “Romeo wouldn’t hurt a duck!” Willow defended the cat passionately. “Romeo loves ducks.”
    “Actually, I don’t think he knows any ducks.” Simon looked at Clarice. “Several years ago Diana was here one weekend when he turned up. In his past, his hind leg had been professionally amputated and the wound neatly healed—someone had once taken good care of him. That day, though, his fur was tangled and he obviously hadn’t eaten much for a while. He was flea-ridden, starving, and meowing—or rather, quacking—his head off.
    “Diana rushed outside and had him in the kitchen, gobbling everything she put in front of him, before I knew what was happening,” Simon continued. “She was marriedthen and her husband claimed to be allergic to cats, so she couldn’t keep him. I placed an ad in the newspaper and attached a few fliers to trees, but no one claimed him. A week later, I called Diana to tell her the cat had a permanent home with me.
She
named him Romeo.”
    “That’s because I knew you would give him an impossible-to-pronounce name of some Egyptian pharaoh,” Diana said defensively.
    “So I would have, but considering that he’s fallen head over paws in love with Christabel, I think you chose the perfect name for him.”
    Nan walked into the room carrying a tray with coffee, apple juice, and pastries. Her flat stare locked onto the cats.
    “What’s the matter, Nan?” Simon asked pleasantly. Diana stifled a smile. Simon knew Nan couldn’t stand the cats.
    Nan jerked her head at Romeo. “That gray one gets fur all over the rugs the way he drags himself around.”
    “Then it’s a good thing we have an excellent vacuum cleaner,” Simon returned equably, reaching for the coffeemaker’s glass carafe, not the elegant silver coffee pot that he preferred when coffee was being served. “I don’t see any sugar here, Nan. I already told you Mrs. Hanson takes sugar in her coffee. Also, you brought only one blueberry Danish.”
    “That’s because you ate all the