Рита Браун - Tail Gait

“Let’s go to the barn,” Pewter urged Harry. “I’d like to check the mouse holes.”

Tucker, walking next to the gray cat, replied, “You’d like to see if there’s any kibble in the tack room bowl.”

Pewter ran ahead before Tucker could bump her. “What’s it there for, Bubblebutt?”

Mrs. Murphy ran to catch up with Pewter. This morning was a morning for running. The tiger cat drew alongside Pewter, passed her, then bolted in front of her. She stopped, then leapt over the other cat, landing behind her. “Whoopee!”

Tucker trotted up to the cats. “You’re too fat for acrobatics.”

“Peon!” The gray cannonball jumped and soared over the corgi with surprising grace.

The show made Harry laugh. She joined the dash, ran up to them, passed them. Harry ran to the tractor shed and back to the barn, the three animals frolicking with her. Sheer exhilarating silliness—what could be better? Breathlessly, they all dashed into the barn, first squeezing through the small opening in the large double doors. As winter receded, Harry would open the barn doors at both ends of the aisle for more air circulation.

The cats proceeded to play tag. Mrs. Murphy reached the ladder built on the wall up to the hayloft. Nimbly, the cat clawed her way up, Pewter in pursuit. They chased each other around the square hay bales, on the bales, between the bales, their speed increasing. Down in the main aisle, Harry listened to the thumps overhead.

She looked at the stoic corgi. “Oh, Tucker, to be a cat for a day.”

Tucker had many occasions to question the intelligence of the human she loved. This was one of them. “Better to be a corgi.”

“Don’t touch me!” Pewter cried from up in the loft. She had her back to a hay bale, standing on her hind legs, claws unsheathed, as Mrs. Murphy crouched, ready to pounce.

Behind the plump puss emerged another, decidedly different form. Matilda, the huge blacksnake, out of hibernation but still groggy, flicked her tongue. What was this fatty doing at the entrance to her home? Egad.

Matilda had used the same hay bale for years, and Harry gave her a wide berth, plus a few treats in the spring before she revved herself up for hunting. Matilda hunted a radius around the barn, sheds, and house from which she never varied. You could tell the time of spring or summer by where Matilda was. High summer she lived in the gorgeous old tree by the back screen door. Occasionally she would hang from a branch and swing, which sent Pewter into orbit.

Another rocket launch was about to happen, because Matilda, eyes now wide open, drew herself up, large body curled underneath her, and let out a loud “Ssssst!”

Pewter shot straight up, fur puffed out, turned in midair to reach the top of Matilda’s hay bale. This further irritated the snake, who now stuck her head out.

The drama queen screamed, “A dragon! I’m going to die!”

Prudently backing up, Mrs. Murphy hollered, “Calm down. It’s just Matilda.”

Those glittering snake eyes now focused on the tiger cat. However, Matilda, half in, half out of her hay bale, twisted around to give Pewter the full effect.

“Save me!” cried Pewter.

“What the hell is going on up there?” Harry climbed the ladder, passed the hay bale where Simon the opossum hid, way in the back. Discretion seemed the better part of valor for the opossum. Although half a pet after all these years, he mostly stayed out of view.

Seeing Harry, Pewter wailed more piteously. “The biggest snake in the world. She’s as long as the barn.”

Pewter and Matilda regarded each other. Harry, who quite liked this snake, spoke in a low voice. “I’m going to reach over you and lift off this terrified cat.”

Matilda turned around to fold herself back into her cozy quarters, although in fairness to Pewter’s frazzled nerves, it did take quite a bit of time for the serpent to whirl around her hind end. At last she was back in the rear of the bale, comfortable in her home.

Harry leaned over to lift up the cat, who put her arms around Harry’s neck. “She is huge, Pewts. I’ll give you that.” Walking to the ladder, Harry put the cat down. Mrs. Murphy already sat nearby, her expression bemused.

“You could have tried to help me.” Pewter swatted at Mrs. Murphy, who deftly avoided the slap.

“I give Matilda a wide berth,” the tiger cat admitted. “She’s okay, but still…”

Most of the expensive alfalfa and orchard grass/clover mix hay had been used up, and the hayloft was almost empty. Harry was reminded to clean the rafters. Cobwebs in summer catch flies, but by this time of the year, those cobwebs hung in dark clumps and strings. Time to take the leaf blower, bring them down, and sweep up the debris. The next generation of spiders would build silky new webs to catch the next generation of flies.

Climbing down, Harry walked into her tack room, sat down at her desk, and made a note to clean. Under it, she added the need to purchase more square alfalfa hay bales. Harry ran a tight ship. She grew her own orchard-grass hay, round-baled it, and if the hay was exceptionally good, when she needed square bales, she’d unroll a round bale and square-bale it. All this took expensive equipment. When he died, her father left hay equipment behind. Harry used the same equipment today as had her father, who had kept things in the best order. Sooner or later some of it would wear out. However, if well cared for, farm equipment from good manufacturers could last decades and decades.

Scribbling on a notepad designed by Gustave Eiffel, she whistled. The day was beautiful. She actually loved making lists and planning. She’d like to think it was in part due to her efficiency that her crops had brought in enough money last fall so she now had a little cushion. Purchasing alfalfa wasn’t going to crack her budget. Harry counted her blessings.

The phone rang. Susan’s voice sounded as if she was in the next room. “Hey, I called the house. No answer, so I’m calling the barn.”

“What’s up?”

“Frank Cresey tried to kill himself.”

Harry thought for a moment. “What did he have to live for? Poor devil, he even failed at suicide?”

Knowing how Harry’s mind worked, Susan was not put off by this response. “I don’t know what he’s got to live for, but maybe if he makes it, he’ll find something.”

“How’d you find out?”

“Olivia called me. Sobbing. Feels this is her fault.”

“How could it be her fault? He started his love affair with the bottle a long, long time ago.” Harry marveled at the human capacity to feel guilt. And then there were those who felt no guilt at all, regardless of what they’d done. Did Ginger’s killer feel guilt?

Susan stated the obvious. “Olivia’s a very emotional woman.”

“Trudy’s not. Where did she get that?”

“Harry, it doesn’t matter. She just is, and she’s upset. She didn’t tell her mother or Rennie about the scene on the mall. She called me because, well, you know, it’s obvious.”

“I guess,” said Harry, to whom it wasn’t obvious at all. “Is there anything I can do, or we can do?”

“Yes, meet me at the McConnell house. We’ll take Olivia for a drive or something. Her mother and sister know she’s upset. They don’t know much more.”

“All right. I’ll be over there shortly. Right now I’m in my work clothes. And I have to put the animals in the house. I don’t think Olivia would mind them, but it’d just be us.”