Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Lived High

Rupert caught his eye and nodded toward the elevators. "Both workin' today." "A cause for celebration," Qwilleran replied. While the passengers waited in suspense, reassuring knocks and whines could be heard in both elevator shafts. Old Green was the first to appear, immediately filling with passengers and going on its way. Then the door of Old Red opened, and two of the waiting students rushed aboard. Qwilleran stood back, allowing a white-haired woman with a cane to go next. Slowly, one faltering step at a time, she approached the car, and just as her head and one foot were inside, the heavy door started to close.

"Hold it!" he yelled. One student lunged for the door; the other lunged at the woman, pushing her from danger. As she toppled backward, Qwilleran dropped everything and caught her, while Old Red closed its door and took off.

Instantly Mrs. Tuttle and Rupert were on the scene, the custodian retrieving the woman's cane and the manager saying, "Are you all right, Mrs. Button?" Set back on her feet but shaking violently, the woman raised her cane as if to strike and screamed in a cracked voice, "That man grabbed me!" "He saved you, Mrs. Button," explained the manager. "You could have fallen and broken your hip." "He grabbed me!" "Wheelchair," Mrs. Tuttle mumbled, and Rupert quickly brought one from the office and took the offended victim upstairs in Old Green, while Qwilleran surveyed the gooey hash on the floor.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Qwilleran," said Mrs. Tuttle. "Is that your dinner?" "It was my dinner. Anyway, the plate didn't break, but I'm afraid I messed up your floor." "Don't worry about that. The boy will take care of it." "I don't think that will be necessary," he said. Kitty-Baby had been joined by Napoleon and two other cats, and the quartet was lapping it up, coleslaw and all.

"At least let me wash your plate," Mrs. Tuttle offered.

"It looks as if Old Red is my nemesis," said Qwilleran as he nodded his thanks to a child who handed him his buttered roll and a man who picked up the Grinchman & Hills report, straightening its rumpled pages.

"Could the boy go out and bring you something to eat?" the manager suggested.

"I think not, thank you. I'll go upstairs and feed the cats and then go out to dinner." When he opened the door of 14-A, Koko and Yum Yum came forward nonchalantly.

"How about showing some concern?" he chided them. "How about displaying a little sympathy? I've just had a grueling experience." They followed him into the kitchen and watched politely as he opened a can of crabmeat.

They were neither prowling nor yowling nor ankle-rubbing, and Qwilleran realized that they were not hungry.

"Has someone been up here?" he demanded.

"Did they give you something to eat?" When he placed the plate of food on the floor, the cats circled it and sniffed from all angles before consenting to nibble daintily. Then Qwilleran was sure someone had been feeding them. He inspected the apartment for signs of intrusion and found no evidence in the library or in either bedroom. The doors to the terrace were locked. Both bathrooms were undisturbed. Only in the gallery was there anything different, and he could not imagine exactly what it was. The Indian dhurrie still covered the bloodstain on the carpet; no artwork was missing; the potted trees had all their leaves, but something had been changed.

At that moment Koko entered the gallery and embarked on a businesslike program of sniffing. He sniffed at the foot of the stairs, alongside the sofa, on the gallery level between trees, and in front of the stereo.

"The pails!" Qwilleran shouted. "Someone took the pails!" He hurried to the housephone in the kitchen and said to a surprised Mrs. Tuttle, "What happened to my pails?" "Your what?" she asked. "This is Qwilleran in 14-A. There were plastic pails standing around my living room to catch drips when the skylight leaks. What happened to them? It might rain!" "Oh, I forgot to tell you," she apologized. "The man was here to fix the skylight today, so Rupert collected the pails. I forgot to tell you during the trouble with Mrs. Button." "I see. Sorry to bother you." He tamped his moustache. He would have to speak firmly to Rupert about feeding the animals. But his annoyance at the custodian was erased by his admiration for Koko. That cat had known the exact location of every pail!

Now Qwilleran was twice as hungry. Carrying the clean plastic plate he returned to the Carriage House Caf‚.

"Oh, it's you again!" cried the cashier in delight. "How did you like the special? You didn't need to bring the plate back right away." "It was so good," Qwilleran said, "that I'd like to do it all over again, including that delicious coleslaw and perhaps two rolls if you can spare them." He sat on a stool at the counter, and the cashier insisted on serving him herself, while the cook waved a friendly hand in the small window of the kitchen door and later sent out a complimentary slice of apple pie.

Thus fortified, Qwilleran returned to the Casablanca, where he found the red-hatted Rupert sitting at the manager's desk, reading a comic book. "I notice that the skylight's been repaired," he said to the custodian.

"Yep. No more leaks." The man held up crossed fingers.

"How did you get along with the cats when you picked up the pails?" "Okay. I gave 'em a jelly doughnut. They gobbled it up." "Jelly doughnut!" Qwilleran was aghast.

Rupert, misunderstanding his reaction, excused the apparent extravagance by explaining that it was a stale doughnut that had been lying around the basement for several days.

Controlling himself, Qwilleran said in a friendly way, "I'd rather you wouldn't give the cats any treats if you have occasion to enter the apartment, Rupert. They're on a strict diet because of... because of their kidneys." "Yeah, cats always have trouble with their kidneys, seems if." "But thanks for collecting the pails, friend. You're right on the ball!" Then Qwilleran rode up to Fourteen on Old Red and confronted the Siamese. "Stale jelly doughnut!" he said in indignation. "You ate a stale jelly doughnut! And yet you guys turn up your nose at a fresh can of salmon if it's pink! You hypocrites!" Changing into a warm-up suit, he locked himself into the library to study the Grinchman & Hills report. It appeared to be a formidable task, and he wanted no one sitting on his lap or purring in his ear.

The introduction described the original structure, as Amber had quoted from the SOCK brochure. Then came the chapter on necessary improvements, which Qwilleran condensed on a legal pad as follows:

* Clean and repair exterior and restore ornamentation.

* Restore grassy park on west side and porte cochere on the east.

* Acquire property behind building for parking structure.

* New roof and skylight.

* New triple-glazed windows throughout, custom-made.

* Mechanical update: elevators, heating and air-conditioning, plumbing, wiring, TV cables, and intercom.

* Remove superimposed floorings, false walls, and dropped ceilings.

* Restore former apartment spaces with maids' rooms.

* Update bathrooms in the character of the original.

* Restore marble, woodwork, paneling, mosaic tile.

* Duplicate original light fixtures, custom-made.

* Furnish lobby as before: Spanish furniture, Oriental rugs, oil paintings.

* Reinstate restaurant on Fourteen, converting pool area into sidewalk caf‚.

* Landscape terrace in 1900 style.

* Update basement apartments for staff.

* Redesign kitchen and laundry facilities.

* Preserve owner's apartment on Twelve as refurbished in 1925.

After compiling this ambitious list, Qwilleran blew into his moustache - an expression of incredulity. Turning to the final chapter he had greater cause for disbelief; the bottom line was in nine digits. He emitted an audible gulp! Such a sum was beyond his comprehension. Despite his inheritance, he still bought his shirts on sale and telephoned long distance during the discount hours. Nevertheless, he knew that the Klingenschoen Fund was accustomed to disbursing hundreds of millions without blinking, and he managed not to blink, although he gulped audibly.