Рита Браун: Catch As Cat Can

“Worrywart.” Mrs. Murphy barely got the words out of her mouth when the wrecker's ball swung over the roof of the truck, over part of the new main building's roof.

“Adios!” Pewter flew out the window.

“Damn.” Tucker scrambled to the window; it was a long drop for the dog.

“Don't worry, Tucker, I can open the door.” Murphy leaned hard on the door handle, pressing with all her weight.

Hearing the click, the corgi pushed against the door, which opened, Tucker nearly tumbling out. Once on the ground, cat and dog bolted just as the ball passed over on its way back.

“Every cat for herself,” Pewter called from under a neatly stacked crosshatched pile of railroad ties.

Miranda crouched in her Falcon, which she'd parked next to those railroad ties. “Tell you what, I hope that boy is sober.” She emerged from her car thinking if anything did go wrong she'd have a better chance on foot.

“Me, too,” Pewter concurred.

Up in the operator's cab, Roger brought the ball back up to the nose of the crane. “Your turn.”

She sat on the cracked black leather seat, warm from Roger. “Ready.”

“If you want the ball to go down—no, don't grab them yet—you squeeze these calipers. Closing them completely dumps the ball straight down. Smash.

“If you want to swing the ball use this set of calipers here, here on the left, and the wheel”—he pointed to the steering wheel—“will move the whole deal, turn the cab and the crane, see. Got it?”

“Piece of cake.” She smiled as she swung the ball, slowly, over the other side of the fence, keeping her eyes glued to the ball. “Bet you get to a point where you can work the calipers, the wheel, the pedals kind of like a drummer.”

“'Zactly, but I say if you can drive a tractor you can learn to do most any heavy equipment work.”

She brought the ball back up, let it down a little bit, then brought it up to the nose. “This is so cool.”

“Yeah.”

Sean strode outside, looking upward along with his customers who were outside. He shouted, trying to be heard over the heavy diesel motor, “Roger!”

Roger leaned out of the cab, saluting his brother, then he swung back in. “He is so old. Turned into an old man. I'm telling you, I love my brother but, Jesus H. Christ, he is such a pain in the ass. Like this business is the center of the universe. Ever since Dad passed. Okay, okay, everyone has to make a living but Sean thinks he's the indispensable person. Hey, the cemeteries are filled with indispensable people, you know what I mean, Harry Barry?” He sighed. “Miss seeing you around.”

“Thanks, Rog. What a nice thing to say.”

He shook his head. “We've got the yard on an even keel. Working like dogs but all I ask”—he waved again to his gesticulating brother, then cut the motor—“is to go to the tracks Friday and Saturday nights.” He glanced down. Sean hadn't moved. “Big Brother is watching you. Well, babe, lesson's over.”

“I loved it.”

As they climbed down, the three animals hurried back to the truck, jumped in, and together using the armrest pulled the door back.

Tucker had to jump onto the floorboard first but she scratched up on the seat and helped pull the door back with the kitties.

“ She doesn't need to know I can open the door.” Mrs. Murphy raised her long silky eyebrows.

“What she doesn't know won't hurt her.” Pewter giggled.

“I'm thrilled to be alive,” Tucker exhaled. “Seeing that black ball swoosh over my head did not inspire confidence.”

Harry, enthusiastically reporting her lesson to Miranda, didn't notice the animals shutting the truck door. She hadn't even noticed it was open in the first place and she was so excited when she was up with the wrecker's ball she missed the people scattered below.

Sean fired off a few choice words to Roger, who shrugged. Sean turned on his heel, stalking back into the main building.

Roger smiled at the two women. “The only question worth asking yourself is, ‘Am I having fun?'”

Harry drove home feeling the day had improved considerably. As she turned down her long farm road to the house she noticed a gleaming BMW 740il parked in front of the barn. The car belonged to BoomBoom Craycroft, a marvelously beautiful woman who had had an affair with Harry's ex-husband, making her a least-favorite of Harry's. Granted, BoomBoom had slept with Fair Haristeen after Harry had separated from him. Still, the affair had lasted for about six months. Harry was devastated. Of all women, BoomBoom! She had competed against the tall beauty since grade school. Harry usually won the athletic and intellectual events, although BoomBoom ran a close second along with Harry's best friend, Susan Tucker. But where no female classmate could compete with Boom was her effect on the male of the species. Most men, especially when they were young and not wise in feminine wiles, fell for BoomBoom like the proverbial ton of bricks.

The two women had managed an accord over the last few years but that was the extent of it.

“Damn, damn, damn,” Harry whispered under her breath.

“If you'd let me catch that rat she would have come and gone,” Tucker unhelpfully suggested.

“Tucker, shut up. You know how they can get. It's all hands on deck.” Mrs. Murphy put her paws on the dash.

5

I'm so glad you're here. I was just about to leave,” BoomBoom effused as the three horses watched her from the paddock.

“We're in luck,” Harry dryly replied as Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker scrambled to see who could get out of the truck first.

Pewter won only because she used Mrs. Murphy's back, banking off her to touch the edge of the seat, then slide down, front paws onto the running board and onto the ground.

“I don't believe you did that!” Murphy was furious.

“Toodle-oo.” The gray cat made a beeline for the house, where she knew a large bowl of crunchies waited on the kitchen counter.

“Pretty good for a fat girl.” Tucker eased herself down.

“Don't take up for her.”

“I'm not but it is amazing.”

The cat replied with a laugh, “You're right, though, she can be agile when she has to be. After all, she is a cat.”

“Self-regarding, you cats.” Tucker walked over to greet BoomBoom, who leaned over, petting the dog's glossy head.

Mrs. Murphy, now out of sorts, thumped into the barn, walked into the tack room, sat down hard, and shouted at the tiny mouse-hole in the wall, “I know you're in there. I tell you, you'll be mouse soufflé before Memorial Day.”

The mice, sound asleep, didn't reply. Further agitated, the cat returned to the house, where the humans had now repaired. Maybe she could irritate someone in there.

Despite her antipathy, Harry had minded her manners and invited BoomBoom into the house for tea or a soft drink.

BoomBoom sat in the living room, ensconced in one of the old wing chairs Harry's parents had bought forty years ago for five dollars apiece because they were circa 1930s, unfashionable at the time, and beat-up. Since then they'd been re-covered five times; the last time, before her death, Harry's mother had had them redone in soft green leather, an extravagance on the one hand but a prudent expense if one considered the long run. The chances were that Harry would never have to re-cover the chairs in her lifetime.

“I have a teeny-weeny problem.” BoomBoom cast her eyes downward, which meant the problem had just increased in size. “I'm hoping you'll help me.”

“Oh. Why not ask Susan?” Harry volunteered her best friend, who got along with BoomBoom better than Harry did.