The Cat Who Brought Down the House

Chapter 14

Qwilleran was leaving to have lunch with Wetherby, the wacky weatherman, and the Siamese were watching as if they knew where he was going. He asked them, “Do you have any message to send to your friend Jet Stream?”

Yum Yum sneezed softly, and Koko felt a sudden urge to scratch his right ear. Why was it always the right?

Wetherby was a native of Lockmaster County who had grown up in the town of Horseradish and had the mind-set and social flair and snappy wardrobe of south-of-theborder types—everything except the two-tone shoes, Qwilleran had observed.

Being the first to arrive at Onoosh’s Cafe, he stood outside to enjoy the pleasant April breeze.

Then, who should come along but Wetherby in black-and-white shoes!

“What happened?” Qwilleran asked in mock sympathy. “Oh! Excuse me. I thought you had an accident and your feet were bandaged.”

Unruffled, Wetherby said, “You should get some two-tones, Qwill. They’re very big right now.”

“My feet are big enough in ordinary shoes, Joe. Shall we go in?”

They sat in a booth and ordered baba ghanouj as an appetizer. (No one had told Qwilleran it was made of eggplant.)

“How’s our friend Jet Stream?” he asked.

“He’s a good cat. We’re buddies,” Wetherby said, “but I spend a fortune on cat litter. The vet says the old boy has a case of "Gullivarian hydraulics"—nothing serious. But he’s aptly named. How are your two brats?”

“They stay busy—Yum Yum rifling wastebaskets, and Koko prowling the bookshelves, sniffing the glue in the bindings. Lately he wants me to read from Poor Richard’s Almanac all the time, but I get tired of his wit and wisdom.”

“Like what?”

“A man without a wife is only half a man.”

“Propaganda!” Wetherby objected.

“Prejudiced, to say the least! So I've decided to publish a compendium of wit and wisdom, to be called Cool Koko Almanac with catly sayings.”

“Do you happen to remember a couple of examples?”

“A cat without a tail is better than a politician without a head... A cat can look at a king, but he doesn’t have to lick his boots... Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil, but be sure your claws are sharp... But enough of that! What’s happening in Indian Village?”

In the winter, when the barn was hard to heat, Qwilleran moved his household to a condo unit next door to Wetherby. It was a good address, but the developer had skimped on construction. Floors bounced; walls between units were thin. Now the K Fund owned Indian Village and improvements were being made. It meant soundproofing the wall between Qwilleran’s foyer and Wetherby’s living room.

“Amazing what they can do without making a mess,” the weatherman said. “They surround the work area with plastic sheeting, then drill holes in the wall and blow in the insulation; cover the holes; paint over them. Neat operation. I thought our studs would be two-by-fours, but luckily they’re two-by-sixes, so they could blow in more insulation.”

“Is it effective?”

“Since you and your operatic cats aren’t in residence –and the unit on the other side of me is for sale—I can’t tell. But others in the Village are pleased—even fussbudgets like Amanda Goodwinter! She’s mellowed somewhat since being elected mayor. I think it’s because her P.R. adviser made her get a cat to improve her image.”

Amanda had long been the crotchety owner of a successful design studio and a cantankerous member of the town council. No matter how much she spent on clothes and grooming, she always looked like a scarecrow. When it came to getting a cat, her friends expected her to adopt a scruffy orange tom with half a tail and one chewed ear. Instead she acquired a glamorous longhair whom she named Quincy, after an early president of the United States.

“Speaking of cats,” Qwilleran said, “are you involved in the Kit Kat Revue?”

“Yeah... They asked me to emcee”

Qwilleran said, “I'd better brush up my tap dancing and do a brother-and-sister act with Mayor Goodwinter.” Actually he hoped to do a reading of some of T. S. Eliot’s madcap verses in Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats.

He often read them to the Siamese. Yum Yum liked the one about Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer, who prowled about the house stealing things; she could identify. Koko seemed to feel a kinship with Rum Tum Tugger. For he will do as he do do and there’s no doing anything about it.

After lunch Qwilleran was walking past the library when he noticed Thelma’s green coupé in the parking lot. He went into the building and was surprised to see Janice and one of the volunteers dismantling the exhibit of movie star photographs.

“What’s happening?” he asked.

“Oh! It’s you!” Janice said. “What a nice surprise! Thelma said everyone has seen the photos and it’s time to show some different ones. She’s had a new sign made.”

It read: EXHIBIT COURTESY OF THELMA'S FILM CLUB.

He said, “I'll buy you a cup of coffee when you’ve finished the job. Don’t hurry.”

While waiting, he browsed, said a few words to Mac and Katie, put a dollar in their jar, and bantered with the young clerks at the circulation desk.

“Mrs Duncan is attending a business luncheon,” one said. “She didn’t say what time she’d be back.”

They found their boss’s low-key romance with the famous Mr Q to be of extreme interest and they would no doubt find it momentous when he left the building with the new woman from Hollywood, who was younger than Mrs Duncan but not as nice-looking.

He and Janice walked the short distance to Lois’s Luncheonette as he explained the cultural significance of the shabby, noisy, friendly eatery; and when they arrived, a political argument was in progress among the customers, with Lois herself refereeing as she walked about swinging the coffee server.

The voices hushed as Mr Q entered with a strange woman. “Come in!” Lois called out. “Sit anywhere! All the tables are clean. Two pieces of apple pie left in the kitchen.”

Janice whispered, “Thelma wouldn’t care for this place, but I love it!”

“What is Thelma doing this afternoon?” he asked casually.

“Meditating in her Pyramid. She has one made of copper, which concentrates the electronized energy more efficiently. It will do her good. She was upset after an argument with Dick this morning.”

“Has he been giving Lolita chocolate caramels again?”

Janice hesitated. “Maybe I shouldn’t talk about this, but I worry about her and it helps if 1 can get another opinion. She’s been so good to Dick, and he’s so ungrateful.”

“You’re quite right to be concerned, Janice. Do you know what they were arguing about?”

“Employees for the Film Club. They’ll need people to take tickets, run the projector, serve drinks, and clear away between shows. Dick wants to bring in people he knows—from Bixby. Thelma insists on hiring local help—for several good reasons.”

“She’s entirely right.”

“Well, Dick stormed out of the house and slammed the door, so I guess Thelma used her Big Stick. She always talks about carrying a Big Stick to get her own way.”

Qwilleran said, “One wonders why Dick was so determined to hire Bixby Bums, as they’re called in Moose County.” (He thought he knew.)

Changing the subject Qwilleran asked, “How was the boat ride yesterday’?”

“Wonderful! The Viewfinder is a beautiful cruiser. The Handleys were nice. And the lunch was good. Bushy is a lot of fun. He told stories about his ancestors, who were commercial fishermen, and about UFOs, and about the terrible shipwrecks before the government built the lighthouse.”

“And what is the response to the ad for Thelma’s Film Club?”

“Very good! Dick is selling both Gold and Green Memberships.”

“Has the opening date been decided?” Qwilleran asked casually.

“Not definitely. Thelma wants it to coincide with a triple-high on her BioRhythm chart.”

He nodded sagely. “A wise approach!”

“And guess who’s coming for opening night?” He thought, It can’t be Mr Simmons! Or can it? “Mr Simmons!” she announced.

“As a friend of the family or a security guard?”

“Just a friend, although Thelma says he has a suspicious eye that roves around and frisks everyone visually.” Janice said this with much amusement.

“Is there anything I can do to help during his stay? Pick him up at the airport?”

“Thelma says he’d be very interested in seeing your barn. She told him about it.”

“That could be arranged,” Qwilleran said genially. “And Bushy has offered to take us out on the Viewfinder:

Janice was far different from the shy guest she had been at the reception. Had Thelma decided it was now “all right’ to talk openly with Mr Q? His sympathetic listening always attracted confidences.

Janice was saying, “Bushy is going to do a portrait of Thelma like the one he did of her brother. And she’s commissioned him to do still lifes of each of her twenty-four hats—to be made into a book. A woman in California is going to write the text. You haven’t seen the hats, have you? I have some snapshots that I took . . .” She rummaged in her handbag.

Qwilleran looked at them and thought, More art than hat! “Interesting,” he said.

“Fran Brodie said we should offer them to the Art Center for an exhibit.”

Qwilleran said, “There’s a gallery opening in Mooseville that would get better traffic and a more sophisticated audience. Tourists come up from Down Below and summer people come over from Grand Island on their yachts. I suggest you show these snapshots to Elizabeth Hart. She’s co-owner of the Grist Mill restaurant and founder of Elizabeth’s Magic, a boutique in Mooseville. Tell her I said it will get statewide publicity.”

Qwilleran was not prepared for the weary ‘hello’ he heard when he phoned Polly for their evening chat.

“Polly! Are you all right?” he asked in alarm.

“I don’t know. I'm at sixes and sevens. I had my quarterly luncheon with my friend Shirley—the Lock-master librarian, you know. It was her turn to drive up here. We went to Onoosh’s, which isn’t busy on Mondays, and had a booth for privacy. We met to discuss library problems and solutions.

“We compared notes and personal feelings and came to the conclusion that libraries aren’t as much fun as they used to be, twenty years ago. Libraries, we said, used to be all about books! And people who read! Now it’s all about audios and videos and computers and people in a hurry. What used to be serenely open floor space is now cluttered with everything except books. Even the volunteers find it less attractive work, and stop reporting on schedule.

“The public flocks in to see movie stars’ photos, but no one shows up for a book program. Shirley’s quitting! Her son owns the bookstore in Lockmaster, and she’s going to work there. I planned to continue, but can I stand another five years of frustration? And if I leave, what will I DO? I could teach adults to read... or do you have any suggestions, Qwill?”

Qwilleran said calmly, “If the K Fund opened a bookstore in Pickax, Polly, would you manage it?”

“What! You don’t mean it!” she cried.

“It’s a crime for a community of this size to have no bookstore! You could have book reviews, discussion groups, and readings from the classics... a busload could come in from lttibittiwassee Estates.”

Polly said, “I think I'm going to faint!”

Qwilleran said, “Before you pass out, let me thank you for the opera recording!”