"Because he's so active on our Civic Public Relations Committee. And he owns a couple of motels." Wheelan absently put his hand on Karen's shoulder. "Now, somebody must be against this. Maybe Dr. Watchers. He was even against free paper towels in the public johns." "He passed away," Karen said, moving Wheelan's arm around her with her shoulders. "I could write to the governor," Wheelan said, noticing Karen's soft dark hair fluttering faintly over the tip of his nose. "There must be a law against lycanthropy." Karen shook her head. "No. They checked on it. There is in one of the New England states. The dunking stool is the penalty, I think." "Why?" he said in a loud voice. "Why dunking?" "No," Wheelan said, blowing her hair out of his face. "Why do people want to turn into cats anyway? My God, it must feel crawly." "Well, you know what Mr. Balderstone says." "He's a quack." "Perhaps. But nevertheless he perfected a method for turning people into cats and back. And that's more than a lot of people have done. He can't be all quack." Karen relaxed and snuggled back against Wheelan. "Who the hell else would want to discover something like that? You might just as well invent an economical method of canning persimmons." Wheelan shuddered. "Cats." Karen closed her eyes. "Anyway, he says it's a great tension-reliever. People get out of themselves. Forget their troubles. Aggressions. That's very important in times like these when everyone is worrying about blowing up unexpectedly." Wheelan tightened his arm around her. "Damn. When I think of all those people going out to the old fairgrounds and turning into cats and yowling around it...." "Makes you crawly?" Wheelan turned her head up and kissed her. Karen's tongue shot under his and back and she pulled away. "You take everything too seriously. Mr. Balderstone has a way of helping people relax. So what? What's that Latin thing about disputandum and all?" "Yeah, but a whole town. My town and yours! And it's given over to turning people into cats." "My town and yours! You sound like Chief Neff." She kissed him on the cheek. "Hey. Last summer we didn't spend all this time debating." * * * * * Wheelan smiled quickly. "I'm maturing. Once you pass twenty-six you get wisdom. You'll see." "I say if they want to be cats let them. It's very good therapy. And Lord knows we need it." "It's not right." Karen sighed. "What was that comic strip when we were kids, about the cat and the mouse? Cicero's Cat?" "Krazy Kat?" She nodded. "You're like that mouse. Always have to go around throwing bricks at the cats. And it always got him in trouble. Ignatz. That was his name, Ignatz Mouse. That's who you are." "Very profound insight." Wheelan ran his hand down her back, touching each of the white buttons on her sweater. "I'm still going to do something about it." Though she was facing away Wheelan could feel her smile. "Glenn?" she said.