Margaret smiled, “Glad Frankie’s okay. And Bri and Bud?” she asked. “How are they?”

  “I’d hoped to talk to Bri this evening, but we might not get back in time. I don’t know. I guess what happens with their relationship is up to the universe and the two of them.”

  “I guess so.” When Margaret saw Savannah grin, she asked, “What?”

  “Oh, I was just thinking about Michael and Lily.” When Margaret seemed to be waiting for more, she explained, “He was taking her out to help him with the playhouse tonight. He made her a little tool belt for the tool set he bought her last Christmas, and they were going to start the framing.”

  “Really?” Margaret said. “He’ll be sawing wood with a three-year-old?”

  “No, he’d already cut the wood. They were going to nail some of it together, I guess. She was sure excited to be going to work with Daddy.”

  “Cute,” Margaret said chuckling. “I hope he gets pictures.”

  “Yeah, I asked Mom to go out and take a few.”

  Minutes later the two women and Rags arrived at the Teagues’ stables.

  “Hey,” Barney greeted when Savannah stepped out of the car with Rags. “Back to visit the cats?”

  “Yes, we rescued a couple today that had been burned, and Michael said it appears that the little female was nursing kittens.”

  “Oh yes,” he complained, “there seem to always be kittens out there. So you’re going to try catching them?”

  Savannah nodded. “Yes, we’d like to see how old they are, and decide whether we should reunite them with the mom or start feeding them ourselves.”

  Barney nodded toward Rags. “Won’t he scare them?”

  “I hope not. He has a way of attracting kittens, actually.”

  Barney took off his hat and wiped his brow. “Well, I’ll be. I guess there’s a lot I don’t know about cats. Sneaky and Simon have taught me a few new things since they decided to become house cats, but I can’t imagine either of them making friends with those cats out among the trees. They’re kind of snooty that way.” He laughed. “Heck, they aren’t even all that cool with each other. They’re pretty set in their ways.”

  Margaret nudged Savannah. “We’d better do our work before it gets dark.”

  “Yeah,” Savannah agreed.

  Barney started to walk away, but stopped and said, “We’re sure glad you’re doing this. I’ve been worried about those cats for a while. Didn’t know what to do with them.”

  “Sure,” Margaret said, smiling. “It’s what we do.”

  As the two women approached the area where the cats seemed to be living, Rags stopped and sniffed the air.

  “Yes, there are cats out here, boy,” Savannah said. “What we want are the kittens. We want you to help us find the kittens.”

  “Do you think he understood that?” Margaret asked, grinning.

  Savannah shrugged.

  Rags walked forward and Savannah followed. He continued to sniff the air. As they drew near to where they’d seen the cats earlier, three or four of them skittered away. Rags saw them too. He stopped and watched cautiously for a few moments, then strolled up to a log. Before Savannah could react, he disappeared on the other side of the log.

  Savannah chuckled. “If it weren’t for the leash, I wouldn’t know where in the heck he was.”

  “Yeah,” Margaret said, “it’s as if the ground swallowed him up.” She moved a spray of weeds aside to reveal a hole. “Looks like these cats have found themselves a burrow. That’s clever. I’m sure this helps to keep them safe out here.”

  “It must be deep,” Savannah said, watching the long leash disappear. “He stopped,” she announced. “I’d say he’s about five or six feet in. Gads, I hope he doesn’t run into a mean cat down there—one that wants to protect his territory.”

  “And his females,” Margaret added.

  Savannah winced. She tugged gently on the leash, but it appeared that Rags wasn’t ready to come out, so the women waited. Suddenly they saw the weeds at the burrow’s entrance flutter and a small, furry face emerged. “It’s a kitten,” Savannah whispered.

  Before they could put their hands on the kitten it darted into a nearby shrub, which was obviously already occupied, because they heard a lot of hissing and rustling before things quieted down.

  “That one’s probably ten weeks,” Margaret whispered. “Old enough to eat on its own.” She then said, “Oh, here comes another one. Same age and same litter, I’m guessing.”

  “Why didn’t you catch him?” Savannah hissed.

  “I figured if I made a move, he’d go back down under. We’ll have a better chance of catching them outside that burrow.” They watched as the black-and-white kitten ran in a different direction than the other kitten had gone, and dove into a shrub.

  Rags’s leash became slack in Savannah’s hands, and she whispered, “I think he’s coming out.” When he emerged they saw that he was carrying something.

  “What’s he got?” Margaret whispered.

  Savannah sighed. “Who knows?” She approached the cat and picked up what he had dropped, turned it over a couple of times, and said, “There must be a klepto like Rags down there. Looks like they stole someone’s passport.”

  “Passport?” Margaret repeated. “That’s odd. Whose is it?”

  “It’s been down there for a while. It’s hard to read. I think it says Gerald or Harold, maybe. It could be Darrell.” When Rags turned and headed back to the burrow, Savannah tried to stop him, but he entered the hole before she had a good grip on the leash and she had to let him go. She glanced at the passport, then stuffed it into her pocket, telling her aunt, “Maybe he’ll flush out more kittens.”

  “Look!” Margaret said, pointing. “Hey, did you see that cat run out of the tunnel?”

  “Yeah. He’s really skittish.” Savannah felt a tug against the leash she still held in her hand, then it went slack. She watched the burrow opening, hoping to see Rags emerge. He did, this time with something else in his mouth. “A kitten!” she exclaimed.

  Margaret rushed to where Rags had dropped the kitten and picked it up. After taking a quick look at the little thing, she cupped it in her hands and held it close to help maintain its body warmth. “I wonder if this is that burned cat’s kitten, or did he steal it from another mama cat?”

  Margaret looked off into the distance. “It could belong to that cat that came out of there a few minutes ago. If so, she’ll probably be hanging around and might even try to fight for her kittens.”

  Or the mom’s still down there,” Savannah suggested.

  Margaret shook her head. “I doubt that. No way would she let a male come in and carry her babies away.”

  “That’s true,” Savannah said. “And I don’t think Rags would take kittens from their mother.”

  “You wouldn’t think so,” Margaret agreed. She took a deep breath. “But how do we know for sure? We don’t have x-ray eyes to see if there’s a nursing mother down in that burrow, and Rags can’t talk.”

  Savannah thought for a minute. “Maybe we should dig into the tunnel.”

  “I thought of that, but we don’t know how deep it is, and do we really want to spoil these cats’ safe place?”

  “Okay,” Savannah said, “I have an idea—maybe two…”

  “Only two?” Margaret questioned. “My mind’s going bonkers in all directions.”

  Without acknowledging her, Savannah continued, “We can tell how far Rags is going by how much of the leash disappears. We can measure out that distance and dig there. I mean, like you said, we don’t want to disturb their safe place if we can help it.”

  “But which way is he going—left, down, is there a right angle in there? We may have to dig quite a large area to find out.”

  Savannah tightened her lips. “My other thought is that we’re going to trap all of these cats anyway, so we’ll need them out in the open.”

  “Yeah, but if we dig into their cave now, will they run off? We might miss our chance to save them if we act too soon.”

  “And we might lose a litter of kittens if we don’t act,” Savannah offered.

  In the meantime, Rags had gone back into the hole and returned almost immediately with another kitten.

  He dropped it gently at Margaret’s feet. “Oh my,” she said, slipping the first kitten into her jacket pocket and picking up the second one. She checked it over, snuggled with the little thing for a moment, then tucked it into the pocket with the first kitten. “Well, looks like he might bring us the whole litter. Maybe we won’t have to do any digging.”

  “But was that cat that ran out of there the mother? Are we taking someone else’s kittens?” Savannah wondered.

  “Did you bring your little binoculars?” Margaret asked. When Savannah pulled them from her tote bag and handed them to her aunt, she said, “Great, I’ll see if I can find out.” Margaret walked along the edge of the brush where she’d seen the cat heading. She used the glasses to scan the area, then sat down and waited. After a few minutes she returned and announced, “It’s a male. Not these kittens’ mother—a very intact male.”

  Savannah looked at the opening to the den. “So she’s either in there or these are our burn-victim’s kittens.” She smiled. “Rags is coming out again.”

  “That’s not a kitten,” Margaret said when Rags returned. She scolded, “Hey Rags, it’s starting to get dark. We don’t have time to read all that stuff you’re digging up.”

  He dropped something outside the hole, then dived back in again. This time he returned fairly quickly with another kitten, most likely from the same litter. Once he’d dropped it at Margaret’s feet, he revisited the piece of paper he’d carried out. He picked it up and took it to Savannah.

  “A letter,” Savannah said, examining it. “Maybe a love letter.”

  Margaret chuckled. “My goodness! Cats are getting more sophisticated these days. Do you suppose they have a desk down there with pencils and paper—maybe a typewriter? Is it handwritten or typed?”

  Savannah smirked playfully at her aunt. She looked at Rags, who sat at Margaret’s feet looking up at her. “No more kittens, Rags?” she asked.

  Margaret looked around. “Hey, take him out into that brush and see what he points out.”

  Savannah nodded. She tugged lightly on Rags’s leash and began walking slowly into the dense trees among the brush and tall weeds, watching Rags’s reaction.

  He simply walked along with her, sniffing the air. He stopped once where the older kittens were. Savannah could see them rolling around together and playing. They mewed softly. “Mama will be right back,” she purred to them. She looked around. “There’s sure a lot of trash out here.” She picked up a couple of pieces of paper and stuffed them into her pocket, and Margaret grabbed some and handed it to Savannah with a grin.

  As they walked, three adult cats leaped out of the brush and ran deeper into the stand of trees. “It looks like these are the only kittens without a mama,” Savannah said. “Shall we go see if the tortie recognizes them?”

  “Let’s do,” Margaret said. “If not, I guess Max and I’ll have to raise them.” She became giddy. “It’s been a long time since we’ve bottle-fed kittens.”

  “I’ll call Michael and see if he or Bud can meet us at the clinic.”

  ****

  “Yup,” Michael said, smiling down at the beautiful sight of a mother cat and her kittens being reunited. “Looks like they know each other, all right.”

  Savannah put her hand to her chest. “Oh, how sweet. She missed her babies.”

  “And they obviously missed her,” Margaret said. “They’re hungry little things.” She sighed. “I love a happy ending.”

  “It’s not a happy ending yet,” Michael reminded her. “We want to see the mama cat healthy again and all of them in safe homes.”

  “Amen,” Savannah said.

  Michael looked down at Rags, who watched from a distance. “Good job, boy.” He shook his head. “You say he went into a burrow to find the kittens?”

  Savannah nodded. “Yes, we just hope he got them all.”

  “Oh, hon, I’m pretty sure Rags wouldn’t leave any behind.”

  Savannah smiled at the cat, who quite eagerly watched as the scarred tortie took care of her babies. “You’d like some baby kitties of your own, wouldn’t you, Ragsie?”

  “Never mind,” Michael grumbled good-naturedly.

  Margaret motioned toward the pen. “How’s she doing?”

  “The tortie?” Michael asked. “She’ll be okay. She won’t be the prettiest cat on the block, but I think we’ll be able to save her eye. Once the kittens are weaned we’ll probably do surgery to help with her mobility. I’m surprised she has survived these past six weeks or so with her being so vulnerable.”

  “Maybe the other cats protected her,” Margaret suggested. When Michael looked at her, she said, “There was a male cat down in the den with these kittens. He may have had some sort of rapport with her.”

  “Might have been her son from last year’s litter,” Savannah offered, “or the father of the kittens, I guess.”

  “Could be,” Margaret agreed.

  Michael looked at Savannah. “Well, let’s get you home; you must be tired and hungry; you didn’t eat much of your dinner. Your mom saved you some peach cobbler.”

  “Oh,” Savannah said, “I haven’t even thought about food.”

  “A glass of wine, maybe,” Margaret suggested. She addressed Savannah as they walked out of the clinic. “What do you say we start trapping tomorrow? We can go early and leave some traps. I’ll bring clean bowls for the feeding station and water.”

  “Want me to pick up some food?”

  “No. We buy it by the truckload. We always have a surplus, which isn’t really a surplus because it gets used up.” Margaret faced Savannah. “But we aren’t going to feed them for a few days, remember, so they’ll go into the traps after the stinky food.”

  Savannah nodded. “Right. Okay, see you around eight?”

  “Eight thirty,” Margaret said. “I’ll pick you up.”

  ****

  Savannah arrived home that night just in time to kiss their children good night. She showed Lily a few photos she’d taken of the tortie and her kittens, and told her the story of how the kittens were lost and the mommy was hurt, but Daddy made the mama cat better and Rags found the kittens and now everyone’s happy.

  Michael chuckled after they’d tucked the children in for the night. “That would make a good children’s book. Better send that one to Rob.”

  “Yes, wouldn’t it? Good idea.”

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “To get some of that peach cobbler. I guess I did work up an appetite.”

  Michael joined her in the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. “What’s all that?” he asked when Savannah began pulling things from her jacket pockets.

  “Trash,” she said continuing to drop it onto the table. “Except for this; it’s someone’s passport.”

  Michael frowned. “Where’d you find a passport, for heaven’s sake?” “Out behind the Teagues’ place where the cats live. Rags brought some of this stuff out

  of the burrow where he found the kittens.”

  Michael picked up the passport. “Well, isn’t that odd? Nineteen ninety-four.”

  “What?” she asked, taking a bite of the cobbler.

  “The passport was issued in nineteen ninety-four. Looks like a man in his thirties. Let’s see,” he said, studying the document, “the name is Darrell or Gerald…maybe Ferrell. Is that a man’s name? Ferrell?”

  “Could be, I guess.”

  Michael continued to examine the passport. “I can’t make out the last name. I think it starts with a P.” He picked up another piece of paper. “Hey, his name’s Ferrell Peters. That’s the name on this envelope. I wonder who he is or was and why his trash was spread all over the Teagues’ property.”

  “It all belongs to the same guy?” Savannah asked. “Maybe he’s an employee at the Teagues.” She finished her dessert and rinsed her plate and silverware, then sat down and began looking at the documents with Michael. “This is a personal letter,” she said. She smiled. “A love letter from Vickie. She calls him her snuggle bug. How cute is that?”

  “Yeah,” he said, sitting back against his chair, “these things are getting a little personal. We’d better either toss them or see if we can get them back to Ferrell and Vickie. Let’s see,” he contemplated, “if he was in his thirties in the early nineties, he could be in his fifties or sixties now. Why don’t you look up the name and see if you can find him.”

  “Oh, hon, I think this is just trash.”

  “But how did it end up on the Teagues’ property?” he asked.

  “Maybe the trash truck drove past and the stuff blew out of it,” she reasoned.

  He looked at her suspiciously. “Drove past where the cats are, out near the field? How would that happen? There are no roads in that area.”

  “Maybe Barney rented one of those trash bins and the truck came onto the property to pick it up.” She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “What’s all that stuff?” Gladys asked when she walked into the room. “Are you doing your taxes?”

  “No,” Savannah said. “Hey, Mom, do you know someone named Ferrell Peters?”

  Gladys stared at Savannah. She frowned. “Yes, I did, why?”

  “Well, this stuff belongs to him.”

  Gladys gasped. She moved closer to the table and looked down at the documents. “That’s impossible.”

  “Huh?” Savannah said.

  “Ferrell’s been dead for years.” After thinking about it, she said, “Well, let me take that back. He disappeared some twenty years ago, not too long after he and Linda were married.” Gladys sat down. “I went to school with them. I actually had the biggest crush on Ferrell, but he only had eyes for Linda.” She grinned. “We were in sixth grade.”

  Savannah chuckled at her mother, then asked, “So who’s Vickie?”

  “Vickie?”