Puss 'N Cahoots

wake up fast enough,”
Mrs. Murphy predicted.
    “Well, that’s it, isn’t it? Agribusiness keeps the cost down.”
Tucker followed Harry everywhere and overheard her conversations with other humans who farmed.
    Mrs. Murphy, swaying back and forth in a hypnotic manner, said,
“Until a virus hits a crop. It’s one-crop farming; genetic diversity has been removed. It’s bound to happen, Tucker. And with oil being volatile, no one can keep prices down, because it takes gas to ship the crops, right? Sooner or later they’re loaded on a truck.”
    “Bring horses back in a big way. Then maybe people will appreciate animals again.”
Tucker laughed with delight at the thought, not considering the potential abuse from people who had no feelings for animals.
    Overhearing the animals, Point Guard nickered,
“When the automobile became affordable, the horse population dwindled to the point where we were afraid we’d become extinct. Thank God, some humans still loved us. My mother told me what her mother told her and so on down the line. Do you know that today there are more horses than since before World War One?”
    “Still rather use draft horses to timber and plow on steep hills.”
Pewter was finally settling herself.
“Safer.”
    “Doesn’t suck up gas, either,”
Point Guard called over his stall.
    Rousing herself at the horse’s nicker, Harry told her friends, “Sorry, guys. Gave in to the slough of despondency. Too much happening. I don’t have it figured out. Scares me. And it’s odd, but being given such a big present kind of knocks me out, too. I’ll be all right.” She walked into the hospitality room, pulled a can of lemonade out of the small fridge, downed it as she watched the cats and dog drink from the water bowl. “Okay, I’m better.” She walked back out, down the aisle to Shortro.
    He turned his lovely gray head when she came into the stall. “Buddy Bud, you and I are going to become very good friends.”
    His large kind eyes promised sweetness and fun.
“What do I have to do?”
    Mrs. Murphy climbed up the wooden side, stepping onto his back since he was against the stall.
    “Shortro, you’re coming with us to Virginia.”
    “Do they have Saddlebred shows there?”
    “They do,”
Tucker answered.
“There’s a big one down in Lexington, Virginia, called the Bonnie Bell, but you’re coming home to be a foxhunter. You’ll love it.”
    “I don’t want to kill anything,”
Shortro, troubled, replied as Harry stroked his long, glossy neck.
    “Don’t kill ’em. You just chase them.”
Pewter preferred to watch the hunt. She wasn’t going to run around after foxes. Actually, Pewter wasn’t going to run after anything if she could help it.
    “Is Renata going to hunt?”
the gelding inquired.
    “Says she is, but she’s given you to Harry because Harry will love you and you can play in pastures a lot, too,”
Tucker said.
“There are other nice horses there. You’ll make friends.”
    “I’ll miss Renata.”
Shortro hung his head, then lifted it to look Harry full in the face.
“But you look kind.”
    Harry rubbed his ears. “We’ll have a lot of fun, you beautiful guy.” She looked down at his tail. He’d be the only horse in the hunt field with his tail up like that, but, hey, if folks could ride mules and draft horses out there, she could go on a horse with a shaky tail. The more she touched Shortro and talked to him, the happier she felt. Him, too. So many times when she was distressed, words didn’t lift Harry, but touching her horses, her cats and dog brought her back to a good place. She thought that humans didn’t touch enough. When they did, the purpose was usually sex or violence. No wonder so many people felt disconnected.
    Her cell rang. She pulled it out of her hip pocket. “Hi.”
    “Harry.” Joan’s voice was excited.
    Before Joan said more, Harry spoke. “I didn’t call you about Ward’s van because I figured everyone else had.”
    “Did. I called you because I found out—took a little wooing of the Shelby County sheriff, but I found out—that Jorge withdrew his money from his savings account on the day he was murdered. He wired it to his mother in Mexico.”
    “Jeez.” Harry felt the net closing.
    “Seventy-five thousand dollars.” Joan paused. “That’s a lot of money. It’s really a lot of money for a groom.”
    “You said he didn’t spend much.”
    “He didn’t, but he still couldn’t have saved that much in two years. No