Милдред Гордон - Undercover Cat

He said, “I’ve got something to celebrate. I got those kids together who wanted a divorce. They came into the office today and you should’ve seen their faces. They just needed somebody to crack their heads together and tell them it was time they were acting like adults.”

He asked then, “How about me bringing my duck over tonignt and you roasting it?”

She stalled, and reality, stark and stern, padded back in. He was immediately suspicious. “I promised Inky I’d go to a PTA meeting,” she lied and, having done so, felt the warmth in her cheeks.

“Tomorrow night then?”

“Could I let you know in the morning? The folks will be home this weekend and

now, Greg, don’t get excited. Don’t be so suspicious. I want to, you know that, even if nights do have a rather peculiar effect on you.”

He turned back the temper admirably, and even produced a half-hearted smile. As he let her out at her front door, they saw the tree movers cleaning up the last vestiges of the apri­cot they had cut down. “I’m sorry,” he said, “although frank­ly, I don’t think Blitzy had anything to do with it.”

She thanked him for the ride and said she would give him a ring the next morning. Crossing the sidewalk, she passed Mr. Macdougall, who gave her an old rake smile along with a greeting. We are all bounders together, the smile seemed to say. Hurrying up the walk, she shot a quizzical glance back­ward. What’s got into him, she wondered.

As Mr. Macdougall let himself into the living room, his wife looked up from the front window where she had been manning the outposts of decency. “Just look at her, all sweet innocence, and her with a man in her room again tonight, and her folks so nice.”

”Terrible, terrible,” Mr. Macdougall agreed.

“I don’t know what this generation’s coming to.”

“Same as the last. No good.”

“Wilbur!”

21

Humming to himself, Greg parked the car in the drive­way and walked around to inspect the front yard, which Mike was mowing.

“Nice job,” Greg said. He stripped three one-dollar bills from a roll he was carrying.

“My sister says I can take only a dollar,” Mike announced sorrowfully. “She says you’re trying to corrupt me and I should be ashamed. I thought she’d pat me on the back for being such a good businessman.” He added thoughtfully, “She should encourage me since I’ll probably have to take care of her in her old age.”

Greg said, “She’s a wonderful person, Mike.”

Mike grinned. “That’s what everybody tells me. Oh, well

“

Greg handed him the dollar. “We’ll see what we can do about fringe benefits. Maybe a movie now and then. Your sister couldn’t object. It’s all a part of modern business. You know, pensions, free aspirin, Blue Cross, free haircuts, paid vacations, free bail bonds, and, of course, free psychiatric service since everybody’s nuts these days.”

Mike grinned broadly and headed for the garage to put up the mower. Still humming, Greg entered the house by the front door, picking up a newspaper on the way in. As he closed the door behind him, he was slowed by the abnormal quiet. “Blitzy,” he called, and hurried into the living room where he stopped suddenly, stunned.

Blitzy, curled up on the floor by the divan, looked dead. Greg stood a moment, paralyzed. Blitzy dated to his high school days. In his sophomore year, Greg had sneaked him home one night. His friend, Hal, who lived the next street over, had found the puppy wandering aimlessly about, half-starved, but Hal’s folks refused to let him keep the dog and were going to call the pound.

Now Greg dropped beside the little dachshund, and, with a swell of relief, saw he was breathing. “Blitzy,” he said softly, “Blitzy.” He rubbed the dog’s head gently for several minutes and kept calling his name, but failed to bring him back to consciousness. He then telephoned Blitzy’s old “family doctor,” a veterinarian who had brought the dachshund through several illnesses.

While he was waiting for him to come, Greg sat anxiously on the floor by the dachshund, trying to get him to respond. A half-hour later, the veterinarian, Dr. James T. Newhall, ar­rived. He was on the pudgy side with a round, beaming face and a boyhood love for animals.

When he finished his examination, he rose, puzzled. “Heartbeat’s good,” he commented, “and as far as I can de­termine he hasn’t suffered any physical injury. But some­thing has caused him to black out. A shock of some kind.”

Greg was baffled. Blitzy, as usual, had been in the house alone all day. “He’s gotten to an age when he doesn’t like to run around much. Sits here on top of the divan most of the day and watches – watches.

“

His words drifted away as he stared out of the window. “No – it couldn’t be,” he mumbled to himself.

“What couldn’t be?” asked Dr. Newhall.

“Nothing.

“You saw something out there,” persisted Dr. Newhall. “Something that might have given him a jolt.”

Greg looked sheepish. “The neighbor across the street – she had a tree taken out today. It was his favorite tree.”

Dr. Newhall smiled. “That could do it. Happens over and over, same as with people. That tree was his security, part of his life, his world.” He shook his head. “A frightful thing to have happen to you.” He added hurriedly, “That is, if you’re a doxy. Well, we’ll give him whirlpool baths and see if we can bring him out of it.”

His car had scarcely pulled away when Mrs. Macdougall waddled up. “Poor little fellow, we all loved him so. I’m going to miss him sitting in the window when I water my roses. I always looked over – “

Greg broke in. “He’s going to be okay. He merely suffered a shock. Miss Randall cut down his favorite tree.”

“Oh, I’m so glad – I mean, that he’s all right. My, what a start that gave me, seeing the doctor carry him out and him looking like he had passed on to his reward.”

All in the same breath, she asked, “And how is poor Miss Randall, is she feeling better? I saw you bringing her home, and with the doctor waiting in her bedroom, I didn’t want to barge in but I’m so concerned for the poor girl, her health never was any too good, too skinny, that kind they can go so fast, I had a cousin the spittin’ image of her

“

Greg left her standing in midsentence. Unmindful of traf­fic, he cut diagonally across the street. A neighbor passed and said hello but he neither saw nor heard her.

He knocked hard and repeatedly on Patti’s door, until Ingrid, out of breath, answered his summons. “I want to see your sister,” he said without preliminaries, his voice shaking.

Ingrid stared a moment before calling to the back recesses, “Patti, the monster’s here.” Turning to him, she said, “Greg, please, remember your image.”

“The heck with my image.”

“Oh, Greg, just when I thought

I’ve got a boy friend like you, but he carries tranquilizers and uses them when he’s about to go into orbit.”

“I don’t need any. I’m not excited. I’m going to keep perfectly calm.”

He continued hastily, “Poor old Blitzy. Did you see? The vet just carried him out. He’s going to give him whirlpool baths, and see if he can bring him out of shock.”

Patti appeared, and her eyes brightened at the sight of him. Ingrid put in hurriedly, “Blitzy’s sick.”

“Your apricot,” Greg said. “He watched them cut it down and went into shock. Something to do with his social security. But that’s not why I came over. Mrs. Macdougall heard a prowler in your bedroom, and since you and the kids are by yourselves

“

He brushed by Patti and Ingrid, saying, “I’d better take a look.”