The Cat Who Knew A Cardinal

-7-

On Thursday morning Qwilleran emerged sleepily from his bedroom on the balcony and heard a familiar whistle: who-it? who-it? who-it? "Good question," he mumbled as he groped his way down the circular staircase to the computerized coffeemaker. "How about giving us a few answers?" He pressed a button and heard the grinding of the coffee beans, a reassuring sound. It was one of his constant fears that he might stumble down to the kitchen some bleak morning and find the machine out of order.

A feline imperative could be heard, drifting down from the upper reaches of the barn, and he went up the ramp to the top balcony to release the Siamese from their loft apartment. Yum Yum emerged sedately, like the princess that she knew herself to be, but Koko scampered down the ramp to the lower balcony, then flew through space, landing in the cushions of a lounge chair on the main floor. From there he rushed to the window-wall to greet his new-found friend. For a while he sat transfixed, fluttering the tip of his tail as the cardinal turned his head sideways to make eye contact. Shortly, the dump truck arrived to spread crushed stone on the trail, and the cardinal departed for more congenial surroundings.

Qwilleran thawed a Danish for his breakfast, fed the Siamese their roast beef from the deli with a garnish of Roquefort cheese, threw some clothing and towels into the washer, and finally showered and shaved in time to greet Susan Exbridge, who arrived in her long, sleek, top-of-the-line wagon.

"Oh, Qwill! I'm positively destroyed!" she said as she entered the barn and dropped into the nearest chair. "Dennis was such a darling! How could he throw it all away? What was his motive?"

Qwilleran said, "There's more to the story than meets the eye. Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"Could you add a touch of something comforting?"

"Like... rum?"

She nodded gratefully. "Okay, Susan, tell me how you're going to handle the crowds on Saturday."

After taking a few sips she opened her briefcase and ticked off the arrangements. "The tickets instruct people to use the Main Street parking lots belonging to the theatre, courthouse, and church. We've cleared it with all of them."

"Suppose someone elects to drive up Trevelyan Trail to avoid the traffic jam?"

"The Trail is reserved for guides, and the entrance will be blockaded. Signs will direct visitors through the woods and to the front door of the barn. Indoors there will be plastic runners to protect the floors. Roped stanchions will keep visitors off the rugs. Only a certain number will be admitted at one time."

"Will they go up to the balconies? I wouldn't care to have them snooping in my bedroom."

"Definitely not. The ramps will be roped off. Visitors will simply circle the main floor and exit through the kitchen door. The guides will keep the line moving. No picture taking permitted."

"And for this they're paying five dollars?" he asked in amazement.

"The tickets are sold out, and we could have sold more. There was a sudden demand, you know, after... after Tuesday night. The library will realize twenty-five hundred dollars. Polly is simply ecstatic!"

Qwilleran knew that the chief librarian was never ecstatic. Pleased, or quietly happy, or even mildly overjoyed, but never ecstatic. Susan's mocking emphasis on ecstatic was a subtle reminder that the two women were library associates but not friends.

"You're very well organized, Susan," he complimented her. "Here are the keys for the front and back doors. Hang onto them after the tour, and I'll pick them up at your shop next week."

A handsome and interesting woman, he reflected as she drove away - more fashionable than Polly - but too aggressive and theatrical for his taste, and she never sat down and read a book.

Another woman visitor arrived in the afternoon while he was regaling the Siamese with the devious exploits of Sir Edmund Backhouse. Lulled by his mellifluous voice, they were lounging dreamily in relaxed postures when a sound inaudible to human ears suddenly alerted them. Ears perked, heads lifted, necks craned, bodies raised on forelegs, hindquarters prepared to spring, they raced to the front door as if to greet a shipment of fresh lobster. Moments later, Qwilleran heard what they heard: the rumble of a car that had not recently had a tune-up.

It was Lori Bamba's vintage vehicle - Lori, his part-time secretary and adviser on all matters pertaining to cats. She had long golden hair, which she braided and tied with ribbons, and these tempting appendages held a hypnotic fascination for the Siamese, who greeted her with enthusiastic prowling and ankle rubbing.

"A pleasant surprise, Lori," said Qwilleran as he admitted her to the barn. Her husband usually delivered her finished work and picked up the week's correspondence.

"Nick told me what miracles you've done with the barn, I had to come and see for myself. I'll bet the cats love those ramps and balconies."

"May I show you around? The five- dollar tour on Saturday limits visitors to the main floor; as an intimate of Koko and Yum Yum you're entitled to go up on the catwalks and visit their loft."

"First let me give you your correspondence. There are forty-seven letters for you to sign. On the less personal ones, I forged your signature. The crank letters were chucked into the wastebasket."

Qwilleran and Lori walked up the ramps, followed by e Siamese with erect tails, then down again. As soon as she sat down, both cats piled into her lap.

Qwilleran said, "I wish I could get Yum Yum to walk on a leash. With Koko it's no problem; he walks me on a leash."

"Just let her wear her harness around the house until she gets used to the feel of it," she suggested. "And do you realize, Qwill, that you have a perfect setup here for blowing bubbles?"

"Bubbles?" he asked dubiously.

"Soap bubbles. Stand on the balcony and let them float own to the cats below. They'll have a wonderful time - jumping and trying to catch them."

"Hmmm," he said, stroking his moustache. He could imagine the town gossips peeking in the window and carrying the news back to the coffee shops: "Mr. Q has started blowing bubbles!"

"The best thing for blowing bubbles," Lori advised, "is the old-fashioned clay pipe. They have them at the hardware store in Wildcat."

At that moment Koko leaped from her lap and bounded to the window, and they all heard the clear-toned who-it? who-it? who-it?

"That's a cardinal," Lori said. "He's Koko's buddy."

"They're a couple of aristocrats," she said.

"Yes, they act like two potentates at a summit meeting. The orchard is full of other species, but somehow Koko is attracted to the cardinal. I don't know whether he appreciates the bird's regal demeanor or just likes red."

"I've read conflicting opinions about a cat's ability to see color. I'm inclined to believe they feel color. They get different sensations from different hues."

"I'll buy that," he said. "Koko is equipped with a lot more senses than the basic five. He's an especially gifted animal."

Lori said, "Let me tell you something interesting. I have an elderly aunt who lost her sight totally a few years ago, but she still recognizes red. She claims she can feel it! And she likes to wear red. She says it restores her energy."

"I'd like to meet her. It would make an interesting topic for my column... Would you like a glass of cider, Lori?"

"No, thanks, Qwill. Just give me the week's mail. I've got to dash. I've got a baby-sitter."

Later, he was signing the forty-seven letters when a black van with gold lettering on the panels pulled into the barnyard, and a young blond giant leaped out. He opened the rear doors and hoisted to his shoulders - with apparent ease - a large paper-wrapped cylinder, eight feet in length and about a yard in diameter. Fran Brodie was with him, and she directed him to the back door.

This is Shawn, our world-class installer," she said to Qwilleran.

"Hi!" said the giant with an amiable smile.

She guided him through the kitchen to the great hall, four stories high, and told him to put the tapestry on the floor at the foot of the ramp. Going down on one knee, like Atlas with the world on his shoulders, Shawn dropped the cylinder on the floor with a thud. Then he stood up and gazed at the balconies, the triangular windows, and fireplace cube with its three stacks.

"How much did this job cost?" he said in awe. "It's sure ferent!... Is this where the guy hung himself?"

"Shawn!" Fran said sharply. "Bring in the toolbox, the tack-strips, and the rope." To Qwilleran she said, "I want unroll the tapestries down here for inspection. This is the moment of truth!"

The wrapping was carefully removed, and the eight-by-ten-foot wall hanging was spread out on the floor.

"Beautiful!" said Qwilleran.

"Gorgeous!" Fran said.

Shawn shook his head and said, "Crazy!"

The design was a stylized tree dotted with a dozen bright red apples the size of basketballs. Tufting gave them dimension.

"They look real enough for plucking," Qwilleran observed.

"Don't you think," Fran remarked, "that the artist actually captured their juiciness?"

"You guys must be nuts," said the installer. "All I know - it weighs a ton."

The Siamese, watching from the top of the fireplace had, had no comment.

"Now, this tapestry," the designer explained, "will hang from the railing of the highest catwalk, Qwill, making an exciting focal point that draws the eye upward into that delicious galaxy of radiating beams and triangular windows. Also, it will add warmth and color to an interior with lots of wood and lots of open space. Don't you agree?"

"Yow!" said Koko.

"Okay, Shawn," she said, "roll it up again and carry it to the top level."

"No elevator?"

"You don't need an elevator." The tack-strips were installed on the top surface of the catwalk railing; the top edge of the tapestry was pressed down securely on the tacks; and then it was slowly unrolled as the ropes were played out.

"Hope it doesn't drop and kill a cat," said the installer with a grin.

"If it does," Qwilleran said, "I'll be after you with a shotgun."

"The other tapestry will be easy," Fran assured Shawn. "We'll hang it on the blank wall of the fireplace cube, facing the foyer, and it's a little smaller."

"Why'n't ya put the heavy one down here?" he asked. Again the wrappings were removed, and the tapestry was unrolled on the floor - a galaxy of birds and green foliage.

"Yow!" came a comment from the fireplace cube, and Koko jumped to the floor. Birds native to Moose County were flitting among weeds, grazing on the ground, sipping nectar from flowers, warbling from tree branches, and swaying on tall grasses. He walked purposefully across the tapestry and sniffed the red bird with black face patch and red crest.

"Amazing!" Qwilleran said.

The bird extravaganza was hung and admired, and then Fran glanced at her watch. "I can't hang around," she said. "This is my mother's birthday, and Dad and I are taking her out to dinner. When are you leaving for Lockmaster, Qwill?"

"After the funeral."

"Have a good time at the races. Don't lose all your money."

Qwilleran was glad to avoid socializing. He wanted to stay home and plan his trip and learn how to pack his new luggage. It was the last word in nylon with leather bindings and straps and more pockets and compartments than he needed. It replaced his two old suitcases lost in a disaster Down Below. Imitation leather, scuffed and battered, they had traveled with him from city to city during his lean years. Polly said they were a disgrace. He said they were easy to pack. "Just throw everything in."

After dinner, when he opened his new luggage on the bed to consider its complexities, Koko moved into the two- suiter and Yum Yum took possession of the carry-on. He left them sleeping there and settled down with the Thursday edition of the Lockmaster Logger.

The race course, he learned, was a little over two miles - in a natural setting surrounded by gentle hills from which viewing was convenient. For first- time race goers there were instructions for reading the race chart: the name of the horse and the weight he was carrying; the names of owner, trainer, and rider; the color of the racing silks; the horse's color, sex, and age; the names of sire and dam. Such details were more than Qwilleran cared to know.

There was only one entry that aroused his interest: Robin Stucker would be riding in a race that permitted amateurs. He asked himself: Wasn't Stucker the name of the woman who played Queen Katharine? Didn't her note to VanBrook mention that she had to buy boots for Robbie? The horse, according to the chart, was owned by W. Chase Amberton. The trainer was S. W. O'Hare. The name of the horse - and this was what caused Qwilleran to smooth his moustache in speculation - was Son of Cardinal.