“Horace!” she exclaimed. “That’s Grandma’s rug! She did deliver it here, and that looks like—it is!” Gathering the cat in her arms with another exclamation, she hugged him against her cheek and then, holding him back to look at him, asked in amazement, “Blackberry! What in the world are you doing here?”
“What he intended to do was obvious,” Horace observed with a grin. “What would any cat do in a room full of fish? I didn’t recognize him when he crossed our path out there and then darted through the door.”
“He led us here!” cried Judy. “He’s always leading me into adventure.”
“And trouble,” Horace added. “By the way, sis, are you sure he is Blackberry?”
“Of course I’m sure,” replied Judy, tilting the cat’s head to show her brother the proof. “No other black cat has the same tiny white hairs that look as if someone had spilled milk on his nose. They’re on his feet, too. When I first saw him I said they made him look like a blackberry dipped in sugar, and Peter agreed that Blackberry was a perfect name for him.”
“A ‘purrfect’ name?”
“Exactly,” Judy agreed, “with the accent on the purr. The white hairs don’t show as much as they did when he was a kitten, but I’d know him anyway by the crackle in his purr. Listen to him, Horace! He’s so glad to see us.”
“I wonder,” Horace said, still grinning. “He seemed rather glad to see the fish before we came in. My big news story may turn out to be nothing but a fish story after all. At least I know what his hobby is.”
“Whose hobby?” asked Judy. “You don’t even know who owns the fish. Stanley could be taking care of them for the Brandts. It does seem to me I remember goldfish in the pool around the fountain.”
“When you fished for the diamond you showed me?”