“Actually, I have.” Lucy paused, and all three children stared at her, the two girls pink from the hot bath and Toby in his striped pajamas. “Patches got run over,” she said slowly, watching their faces carefully for a reaction. “I don’t think she even knew what happened. She was a happy cat, right up to the moment she died,” Lucy reassured them as she wrapped Sara in a towel and began to dry her. Noticing the tears welling up in Elizabeth’s eyes, she said softly, “I’m sure she’s in cat heaven right now.”

“Patches was the best cat we ever had,” Toby asserted. “She used to sleep with me.”

“And she’d ride in the doll carriage,” added Elizabeth. “Sometimes she’d let me dress her up.”

“But then she’d scratch and run away,” remembered Sara, ever the realist. “See my scratches.” She pointed to two red lines on her forearm.

“She didn’t scratch because she was bad,” Elizabeth said, defending her pet.

“It’s just the way cats are,” added Toby. “I didn’t mind the scratches. I loved Patches.”

“Well, we all loved her and we’ll miss her,” said Lucy, folding the towels and hanging them up. “Maybe Santa will bring a new kitten.”

After she had finally gotten the children tucked in bed and read them the Patches memorial bedtime story, James Herriot’s The Christmas Day Kitten, Lucy was exhausted. It had been a long day and she was glad to sink into a hot bath herself and let her tense muscles relax. It was an effort to make herself climb out of the tub and get dried off. Then she pulled about ten yards of flannel nightgown over her head, smoothed Oil of Olay under her eyes, and brushed her teeth. On her way to bed she detoured through the living room, where Bill was stretched out on his recliner, flipping through channels with the remote control. She stood next to him and smoothed his hair affectionately.

“I’m going to bed early tonight.”

Bill nodded. “Toby having any trouble at school?” he asked.

“Not that I know of. Why?”

“Patches wasn’t hit by a car. There was a string around her neck. Somebody strangled her.”

Lucy was stricken. “Who’d do a thing like that?”

“Most probably a boy of a certain age.”

“You don’t mean Toby? He’s really upset.”

“No, not Toby.” He stroked her hand. “Maybe some kid with a grudge against him. Has he said anything?”

“Nope. He seems to get along with everybody.” Lucy’s voice was defensive.

Bill shrugged. “Don’t worry. Go to bed. I’ll be up soon.”

“That was a nice thing you did today. Thank you.” Lucy sat on his lap.

Bill grunted. “What do you mean?”

“You know. Having Sue make me buy an outfit.”

“What did you get? Something sexy?”

“No, something beautiful. And expensive. Sue said money was no object.”