Karen sat down on the log and put her elbows on her knees. "I told you, Glenn. San Miguel looks newer and cleaner. Why, even the slums look better. I think they've painted them."

"The only time we ever had a cat, when I was eleven, it made me sneeze. My aunt made me give it away. I wanted to drown it in a gunny sack but she talked me out of it."

"Oh, you couldn't have. You're too tender and kindly." She held her hand out and motioned him down beside her.

Wheelan sat, feeling the sand seep in over the sides of his loafers. "Maybe I'll talk to Neff. There should be a law against this kind of thing."

"Chief Neff? I doubt if he'll do anything."

"Why?"

"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 

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