The Ridge(31)

“You aren’t scared around them?” he said.

“Not a bit. Now, there are some who I wouldn’t want to be alone with in a cage, but that doesn’t mean they’re marauding threats. It just means they haven’t been socialized with humans as well as the others. They still can be sweet cats, and they still need a home, but you have to be a little more careful. Most of them, though? Sweet.”

She went over to the leopard cage and made a chirping noise with her tongue. Jafar, a huge spotted leopard, one of the most beautiful cats in the preserve, was in his cat house. Audrey had made the mistake of referring to it as a doghouse once—it seemed the universal name for such a structure—and David corrected her indignantly.

They’re cat houses, he’d said, and she’d remarked that it sounded like a whorehouse, and he’d laughed. There’d been a lot of laughs in those early days, as they acquired cats and built enclosures and dreams.

Jafar’s house was a long and low L-shaped structure, open at both ends, built out of plywood and filled with straw. He was one of the cats who could be distrustful of visitors, or annoyed by their presence, and so he spent a lot of time in the house, where he could retreat into the shadows and study the situation with golden eyes.

Now, when Audrey dropped to one knee and made the chirping sound, the leopard promptly left the house, trotted up to the fence, and leaned his big head against the chain link, pressing his fur against her face, cheek to cheek. She reached through and scratched his ears.

“This guy is my baby,” she said. Jafar was one of the few cats with whom she felt the same level of confidence that Wes demonstrated. “He was bought illegally by some guy in Ohio who kept him caged up in the back of a tattoo parlor. Then that guy was arrested for dealing meth—you would be amazed how many of our cats come from narcotics busts—and Jafar came here. He’s a little devious, likes to play tricks, but he’s a sweetheart.”

She stood and continued to walk, and Jafar gave an angry growl. The deputy, Shipley, turned uneasily to look back at him.

“He’s just upset because we’re moving on from him,” she said. “All he wants is attention.”

They made their way back toward Wes and the truck, stopping occasionally so Audrey could point out specific cats. She told him that the tigers tended to be far more playful than the lions, particularly in cold weather, and particularly in the snow. Nothing—nothing—pleased the tigers more than a snowstorm. During a good snowfall even the most lethargic of the tigers would turn playful, chasing the others and sliding through the snow. Kino would flip his water basin upside down, then climb on top and ride it like a sled, which made for the best video Audrey had ever captured at the preserve. She’d grown to pay religious attention to the snow forecasts in hopes of seeing the cats celebrate.

“Watch this,” she said, stopping by another cage. “Gabby! Hey, Gabrielle. Wake up.”

A tawny lioness rolled over, faced Audrey and the stranger, and yawned. Audrey whistled, said, “Gabby!” once more, and then clapped her hands three times.

Gabby rolled onto her back and clapped her own paws together, bringing a laugh from the deputy and coos of gratitude and adoration from Audrey.

“See? They’re peaceful,” she said.

“They weren’t last night,” Wes muttered, coming up to join them. Audrey frowned, wishing he wouldn’t say anything critical. “Last night they were anything but peaceful.”

At that point a tiger approached the cage, then swung his hindquarters around. Audrey grabbed the deputy’s arm and pulled him aside with her just as a stream of urine shot through the fence.

“Did he actually just try to piss on us?” the deputy said in amazement, checking his jacket.

“The bigger surprise is that he didn’t succeed,” Audrey said. “That’s Kino. He likes to mark me every time I pass by. He is, for some reason—or perhaps for that very reason—Wes’s favorite cat.”

Wes smiled and shrugged. Behind the fence, Kino had dropped onto his haunches and regarded them with a baleful stare, clearly disappointed with his marksmanship.

“Okay,” Audrey said, “let’s get Ira out of that truck. The man of mystery can check out his new digs.” She was feeling good, feeling energized despite the long days. They were almost done. Soon all of the cats would be here, and she could claim a long-fought victory.

They were now at the southwestern corner of the preserve. Through the trees, bare of leaves, the Marshall River showed, gray and swollen.

“You’re going to have a river view, Ira,” Audrey called to the cougar, standing beside the deputy at the gate to the enclosure as Wes backed up the truck.