The Big Cat Nap

The triple-sash windows, wide open, allowed a fresh breeze to fill the comfortable room at St. Luke’s Church, where the vestry-board meeting was now in progress. The administrative offices were connected to the church itself by an old stone arcade, so one could walk without getting soaked in those sudden hard Virginia rains. The St. Luke’s complex was built around a lovely symmetrical inner quad, and parts of the church were some two hundred thirty years old. The entire site radiated calm and encouraged contemplation.

The early parishioners and pastor rested in a large rectangular cemetery behind the huge quad at a lower level. This lower large square was surrounded by a row of eighty red oaks, in front of which a border of climbing roses cascaded over the stone retaining wall. The current pastor’s living quarters anchored the far southern side of the large outer quad. The Very Reverend Jones’s fishing gear could be seen leaning against the garage. It was a hopeful sight.

Also attending the vestry-board meeting were the Lutheran cats, Elocution, Lucy Fur, and Cazenovia. As the humans—Harry being one—discussed and occasionally argued about funds or the social calendar, the feline parishioners languidly sprawled on the windowsills. Their kind were once gods in ancient Egypt, but all had the good sense to keep that to themselves. Then, too, they loved their reverend. Why upset him with a competing theological view? Humans could understand so little of cat communication. So all felines—not just Elocution, Lucy Fur, and Cazenovia—recognized that the feline–human relationship was often one-way. They pitied the two-legged creatures, but when that tin of Fancy Feast was opened, they utterly adored them.

“The riding mower needs a new air filter, and the blades must be sharpened.” Susan Tucker, Harry’s childhood friend, now in charge of buildings and grounds, read from her monthly report. “This isn’t terribly expensive. Jimmy Carter is excellent and more than reasonable, but because of that there’s a long, long wait time.”

“We can’t let the grass grow. It will look awful.” BoomBoom Craycroft, a smashing beauty, knew people would grumble about unkempt grounds, and not just parishioners.

“Can’t we borrow a mower?” Harry sensibly inquired.

Craig Newby, in his first year on the board, replied, “In theory, yes, but everyone is mowing. It’s been a wet spring. Some people are mowing three times a week.”

Herb’s gray eyebrows shot upward. “Three times?”

“Martha Stewart, maybe,” BoomBoom quipped, and all laughed.

As the problems of mowing the large expanse of church lawns and the cemetery occupied the board, Elocution looked out the window. “Brown creeper.”

The creeper was a small bird, rather large chested, with a slightly curving slender bill. It worked its way up a locust tree.

“Bet we could catch it.” Lucy Fur’s eyes widened.

“They’re pretty quick,” Cazenovia remarked.

Lucy Fur murmured her agreement, then wondered, “They’re so social, always hanging out with woodpeckers and chickadees. The chickadees you can sometimes distract and nail, but the woodpeckers, never. Doesn’t matter what kind of woodpecker.”

“I wouldn’t want to eat a woodpecker,” Elocution declared. “Now, a fat little mole—tasty.”

As to the mowing problem, Harry agreed to haul in her zero-turn mower until the church’s old John Deere was repaired. The discussion moved on to moles.

“Put poison down the holes.” Craig shrugged his shoulders.

“All creatures bright and beautiful, all things great and small, the Lord God made us all.” Herb folded his hands. “Did I get that right?”

“Sounds good to me.” BoomBoom beamed a megawatt smile, then turned to Craig. “There’s an ultrasonic deterrent. You put a small stake in their tunnel and they’ll leave. Doesn’t kill them.” She glanced at Harry. “Not expensive.”

“Yes, but do we have to buy them luggage?” Harry laughed.

Finally the meeting drew to a merciful end, after which they all stayed for coffee, tea, or a Coke. Usually these meetings started at 6:00 P.M., but it so happened that this one had been scheduled in the morning.

Miranda’s odd accident was discussed, as was Herb’s truck problem.

“Did I ever tell you all the story of when I had three accidents in one day?” Herb smiled.

“Another trip down memory lane,” Elocution, the middle kitty of the three, remarked.

“I was sixteen, had my first vehicle, an old 1939 Chevy. Ran like a top. Anyway, I pulled out of the farm, didn’t get a mile down the road, and was rear-ended by old Kitchie Richards. Remember her?”

The older board members did. They also remembered that Kitchie was deep in the grape.

“Then what happened?” Craig asked, as if on cue.

“Aunt Tally drove by, turned around, drove back to Rose Hill, and called the sheriff. While I waited for the sheriff, wouldn’t you know I was rear-ended again, this time by John Barrow. He just wasn’t looking where he was going.”

“What happened to Kitchie?” BoomBoom asked.

“Kitchie apologized as best she was able, turned around, and left. So up drives the deputy, sees that I’ve been hit twice. I hated to finger Kitchie, but I didn’t know what to do. Anyway, it was Tom Ix, still living, who was on duty. Took down everything, including John’s statement. So he told me to go on. I get in the Chevy—engine, wheels fine—and head toward Charlottesville. Didn’t get two miles down that road when I was hit again. As luck would have it, Tom passed me as I sat by the side of the road with the culprit. None of these accidents were my fault. Well, Tom looked at me and said, ‘Son, you need to go home.’ So I did.”

They laughed, chatted, then the group dispersed. Harry, BoomBoom, and Susan remained to clean up.

“Are you taking Herb down to ReNu?” BoomBoom asked, tying up a trash bag.

“I am,” Harry answered, while placing glasses in the cabinet. “Two accidents. Things go in threes.”

“Harry, don’t say that,” superstitious BoomBoom reprimanded her.

“Well, they do.”

“Maybe we’d better do like old Deputy Ix told Herb. Go home.”

“Finished!” Susan called out to Herb, who’d ducked back into his office.

“All right. Any of you other girls want to ride along?”

“What? I thought I was your only girlfriend,” Harry teased him.

“Yes, but what man doesn’t want to be surrounded by beautiful women?” Herb’s eyes lit up.

“Good answer.” BoomBoom smiled at him, then kissed him on the cheek. “I need to get out to the farm. We’re putting in a new well down at the main barn. The storms finally ruined the barn well. We’re still cleaning up the debris.”

“I got some of that, too, but I think you got more than me,” Harry replied.

“Mother Nature doesn’t pick favorites.” Susan added her two cents. “I’ll ride along as long as you brought the station wagon, Harry. Otherwise, we can go in mine.”

“I did.”

Soon the three sat comfortably in Harry’s Volvo station wagon, a gift from her husband. Harry—a motorhead, as was BoomBoom—marveled at how well the wagon handled, given its dimensions. If she put the seats down, she could haul a lot in the back.

They drove out Route 240, turned left on Route 250, heading into Charlottesville. After twenty minutes in medium traffic, they moved along Route 29 north and pulled in to ReNu Auto Works. Harry stepped out of the Volvo, as did BoomBoom. They’d wait to make sure. So often a vehicle was supposed to be ready, then you’d show up and it wasn’t finished yet.

The front office had a counter with a young man behind it. Herb said he was there to pick up his truck.

A badge on the young man’s left pocket read “Kyle.” He spoke into a phone. The three friends could hear the announcement in the back to bring up the 1994 Chevy half-ton.

Nothing happened. Kyle asked for the Chevy again. No Chevy.

Slightly irritated, he looked up at Herb. “They should be back from lunch by now.”

“I’ll just go back and find them,” Herb declared. “The keys are back there?”

“They are.”

“And you’re in touch with my insurance company?”

“Oh, yes. Safe and Sound is always on time paying the bills. I can go back if you’d prefer,” Kyle said.

“We can’t service a customer in the front office as well as you can.” Herb smiled. “We’ll go back—I don’t mind. If there’s a problem, you’ll see me again.”

With that, Herb headed to the garage, Harry and Susan with him.

Entering the spacious garage, they saw all the pits clean, cars raised on every lift. ReNu had two buildings set fifty yards apart, with cars parked in between. The garage sat on the left, the body shop on the right. The inner parking lot was jammed. Miranda’s Outback sat on an outside row.

Not a soul was to be seen in the garage.

“Long lunch,” Susan stated.

Harry noticed a tire iron sticking out from a stack of engine parts under a wall of shelves. Ever curious, she walked over.

“What the—” Blood and brains coated one end of the heavy metal iron.

Then she saw a pair of work boots peeking out from behind the cartons.

“Come here.”

Due to the urgent tone of Harry’s voice, Herb and Susan hurried over.

They stepped behind the cartons to view the body of a mechanic, still in his greasy uniform, his brains bashed over the floor.

There was a problem.