But Betsy continued wiping, down her back, on her side, down her front paws. “Oh, Sophie, Sophie,” she crooned, wiping gently under the animal’s chin. “Poor baby, poor suffering baby.” She let the dirty edge of towel slip out of her hand and just used her fingers to stroke. The staring eyes began to close, the head to sink. Tears began gathering in Betsy’s eyes; the cat was dying right here in front of her. She could hear Shelly speaking urgently on the phone. Should she stop her?

Her fingers paused.

“Awww, is she dead?” asked Jill.

“No,” said Betsy, and burst into tears.

“She’s dead, she’s dead!” Irene cawed from the living room. “I’m going home, she’s dead!” An instant later the door to the apartment slammed.

“I’m so sorry,” said Jill, stooping to put a hand on Betsy’s knee.

“No, no,” said Betsy, through her sobs. “She’s not dead, she’s purring!”

Jill rose and put two fingers against Sophie’s throat. “I’ll be dipped,” she said. “She is purring.”

“It’s just a damn cat,” said Mickels. “It’ll cost you plenty no matter what happens.”

“Shut up, Joe!” said Jill. “Shelly, what’s taking so long in there?”

“Hang on, hang on!” said Shelly. “Yes, I know where you are. About five minutes, I guess. Thanks, doctor.” She came over to the table. “He’ll meet us at his clinic out on Oak.”

Jill carefully picked up Sophie, towel and all, and put her into Betsy’s arms. “You’re the miracle worker, she didn’t purr for me. Let me get my car.”

“Mine’s out front,” said Shelly, “and I know the way.”

“Fine.”

Shelly drove a big Dodge Caravan with doors that opened when she pushed a device in her pocket. “Slick,” approved Jill. “Let’s go.”

Sophie purred faintly all the way to the vet’s office, and continued purring on the examination table. The vet complained, half-amused, that he could not hear her lung sounds very well. She even purred through the pitiful cry she emitted when he tried to work her knee joint. He opened her mouth and said she seemed shocky. But, he also said, she did not seem in imminent danger of dying. She stopped purring only when he administered the anesthetic in order to set her broken hind leg.

Out in the waiting room, Betsy said, “What do you think, she was back there all that while? Why didn’t she cry when we were out looking for her?”

“Hurt animals often hole up,” said Shelly. “It’s instinct for a hurt animal to hide from predators.”

“Like we were going to eat her for dinner,” snorted Jill. She added, “I wonder how she got hurt. Hit by a car, maybe?”