Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Saw Stars

For news-on-the-hour, Qwilleran returned to his van and tuned in WPKX. He heard this:

“One casualty has been reported in the Mooseville disaster. Ernestine Bowen was killed in her recreation vehicle when it dropped into the sinkhole and was buried under tons of sand. She was the chef at Owen’s Place. Her husband disappeared a week ago in a freak accident on the lake. The couple had come from Florida to open a restaurant for the summer.”

Parked near Qwilleran’s vehicle was John Bushland’s green van. The photographer was obviously getting ground photos while aerial shots were being taken from the hovering helicopter. Qwilleran wrote a note on the back of his business card and wedged it under Bushy’s windshield wiper. Then he spotted Phil Scotten in the crowd and said, “Did the boats go out today?”

“They went, but got a late start,” the fisherman said. “I don’t work the boats every day; I do the accounting for the fisheries. I heard the news on the air and had to come and see for myself. Never thought it would happen - not in my lifetime, anyway.”

Qwilleran nodded soberly. “The sheriff’s dog was on the job, and a victim was found in the rubble.”

“That’s Dutch, a German shepherd, trained for search-and-rescue. He’s highly intelligent, has a good sense of sight and smell, and never gives up!

That’s the beauty of an S-and-R. Einstein is trained as an all-purpose dog. In his five-year career he sniffed out millions of dollars’ worth of contraband. But all they need around here is an S-and-R. Dutch found a deer-hunter who went into the woods alone, tripped, and broke a leg… and he found an old lady who wandered away from Safe Harbor in a snowstorm.”

Qwilleran said, “If I had a dog, it would be a German shepherd.”

“You couldn’t do any better than a shep. Remember the bloody riot at the soccer game between Sawdust City and Lockmaster? After that, Dutch and his handler attended the games and - no more trouble! The dog’s presence alone was enough to keep the enthusiasm within bounds. My old college roommate Down Below is a handler on a police force, and I’ll tell him to watch for a shep going into retirement, if you want me to.”

“Uh… do that!”

“Are you covering the disaster for the newspaper?”

“No, I was here when it happened. I’ve been waiting for them to open the lake highway to east-bound traffic.”

When Qwilleran arrived at the cabin, the Siamese met him with expressions of concern; they knew something was wrong.

“Bad scene down there,” he told them. “There’s nothing we can do to help, so we’re heading for home first thing in the morning.”

He fed them and gave them a good brushing to calm their apprehensions. They were basking in the late afternoon sun on the porch when the green van pulled into the clearing.

Bushy jumped out, waving the card. Qwilleran had written: “Good for G and T at the K ranch. Signed: Q.”

“I need one,” Bushy said. “I’ve exposed a lot of film in the last hour. They’re giving the story most of the front page tomorrow, and most of the picture page.”

“Well, I’ve got the gin and tonic. Have you got the lens?”

“I’ve got the lens. Have you got the cats?”

“They’re on the porch in the sun, freshly fed and brushed, so they should be receptive. We’ll take our drinks out there and talk about anything but cats and cameras. Don’t even think about taking a picture; they read minds.”

The two men took porch chairs facing the lake.

To their left, visible from the comer of an eye, were the Siamese: Koko striking aristocratic poses on his pedestal; Yum Yum stretched full-length on the warm glass top of the snack table.

Bushy asked, “Where were you when it happened?”

“At Elizabeth’s Magic. They thought it was an earthquake, and we rushed out into the street. We saw the dune collapse.”

“It buried the rear of the restaurant and killed the chef,” Bushy said, “and -strange enough - it was her husband who disappeared in his boat a week ago. I have a theory about that.”

“So have I,” said Qwilleran. “It was his boat that was in conference with Fast Mama, the day you and I were out on the lake. I say there’s got to be some connection.”

“I say it was an abduction. Do you know, Qwill, that Mooseville has an ordinance on the books going back more than a hundred years - an ordinance about UFOs? It’s never been enforced and never been rescinded.”

“What’s the nature of it?”

“Anyone having contact with a ‘flying boat’ must report the incident to the town constable within twenty-four hours. Would they have enacted such a law if there hadn’t been any ‘flying boats’ in the sky?”

“Well…” Qwilleran thought, How can I tell him that his ancestors weren’t quite sane? He said, “How did you find out about it?”

“My grandfather told me when I was a kid. He’d seen several flying boats himself, when out with the fishing fleet. Recently I got the … idea of …” His voice trailed off. He stood up slowly, raised his camera, and clicked it while facing the lake.

Qwilleran turned his head cautiously. Yum Yum was lounging on the table, and nestled between her forelegs was Gertrude with a tipsy expression embroidered on her calico face. Yum Yum, without knowing it, was facing the camera with a contented look of fulfilled motherhood.

“That does it!” Bushy announced with satisfaction. “If that doesn’t win a prize, I’m going to give up photography.”

“What about Koko ?” Qwilleran asked.

“Forget that tyrant! He’s missed his chance. He’ll never be famous.”

Having heard the click-click-click, Koko had jumped from the pedestal to the floor and - as the poet delicately phrased it - was kicking up behind.

Qwilleran said to him, “I’m going to trade you in on a German shepherd!”

Wednesday was moving day, and the sooner they left the cabin, the better Qwilleran would like it. Packing had to be done surreptitiously; although Koko was usually eager to jump into the carrier, the sight of it sent Yum Yum scurrying to places unknown. Once she was found on the top shelf of the pantry, behind the supply of paper towels; another time it was under the red blanket in the bunk-room, where she flattened herself like an omelette; then again she turned up among the wires behind the stereo amplifier. Qwilleran’s strategy was to lock them on the lake porch until the van was loaded, then grab Yum Yum and pop her into the carrier before she knew what day it was.

On this occasion she was captured and caged, but Koko - instead of panting to join the expedition - vanished suddenly and utterly, like the legendary Jenny Lee. Impatiently, Qwilleran checked all possible hiding places while Yum Yum’s wailing in the carrier added to his frustration. He yelled “Treat!” That was a password guaranteed to bring Koko stampeding into view. Instead, there was only a faint murmur in the upper reaches of the cabin. Twenty feet above the floor, in the peak of the roof, the cat had elongated himself on a narrow shelf created by the ridgepole and rafters.

After shouting the magic word again and hearing another nonchalant murmur, Qwilleran sat down to think. There was no ladder in the toolshed capable of reaching the peak. He was reluctant to call out the volunteer firefighters on such a mission. At that moment the phone rang, and he answered with a curt “Yes?”

It was Polly, sounding frantic. “Qwill, I’m back at work and calling an emergency meeting of the library board tonight. We have a mess on our hands.”

Grouchily, he muttered, “Did Mac and Katie throw up?” They were newly acquired library cats.

Ignoring the feeble quip, she said, “My assistant has resigned; the new roof is leaking; and someone tore a page from Webster’s Unabridged! We’ll have to postpone our dinner date again.”