Rita Brown - Cat of the Century

Thanks to some traffic, she turned down the mile-long dirt driveway to her farm thirty-five minutes after leaving the shopping center. She parked the truck by the barn, making use of the overhang. It felt like snow. If the weather turned nasty, the overhang would keep some of the snow off the windshield.

She flipped open the cell phone to see the missed call. Big Mim.

She hurried into the old farmhouse to use the landline.

Upon hearing the familiar voice, Big Mim ordered without formalities, Harry, you need to call Inez Carpenter in Richmond.

Of course.

Harry did as she was told.

Although Tallys best friend was ninety-eight, her voice was strong.

They chatted for a few moments, then Inez got to the point. Harry, as you know, Im head of the William Woods Alumnae Association chapter here in Richmondwell, Im emeritus. The board wants to present Tally with something from ourselves. I know better than to ask Mim. Shell wave me off. Any ideas?

Shed like a purple-martin house.

Harry mentioned a beautiful insect-eating bird with specific housing tastes. Purple martins returned to Virginia in the spring and liked to live in colonies. Multiple gourds hanging on cross rails or large birdhouses with many apartments appealed to them. One had to carefully clean out their quarters when they left for the fall and winter. A scout, flying ahead of the flock, would arrive in February to inspect the furnishings. If dirty, the purple martin wouldnt return to nest there.

Oh. Inezs voice raised a notch. What a good suggestion. A pause followed. You have a mind for puzzles. If we have a little time when were in Fulton, I have one for you. Lets keep it between us.

Sounds interesting.

A very long pause followed this, and the nonagenarian lowered her voice. Perhaps too interesting.

W

onder what its about. Harry had just finished telling Fair about her conversation with Inez.

Inez isnt given to overstatement. He speared the last piece of rib eye on his plate, having carefully pared off the fat.

Tucker, Mrs. Murphy, and Pewter, alert, sat at his feet. Theyd already worked over Harry.

Guess Ill find out. She didnt want to tell me over the phone.

Then it involves someones reputation or something dicey. Fair felt the glow that attends a full stomach.

Youre probably right. Inez wouldnt want to besmirch someone. She may have doubts, but shell hold her fire until she has everything locked up tight. Ive learned a lot from her.

Me, too. He smiled.

Inez had wanted to be a librarian while at William Woods but, upon graduation, decided she really wanted to be an equine vet. She went back to the college, took organic chemistry and other science courses, then applied to Cornell. She was accepted as the only woman in her class, and when she moved back to Virginia, she was the only woman equine vet in the state. The gods gave her a great gift. She could see what other vets who lacked a feeling for horses couldnt. There were those who thought Inez could read a horses mind. Within ten years,

she was envied by some while others felt only pure jealousy. Many, however, admired her. She was considered one of the best equine vets in Virginia. By the time she was fifty, she was thought to be one of the best in the nation.

When Fair did his residency, he was accepted by Inez. Her practice included the counties just west of Richmond. She specialized in equine reproduction. Fair was her understudy. She always bragged about him, saying he wasnt only her handsomest understudy but her best. He, too, had a feeling for horses, learning to trust his instincts as much as if not more than technology.

When his term of residency ended, Fair established a clinic in Crozet, Virginia, his hometown, thereby diving into vats of debt. Inez threw him as much business as she could from Louisa County, her westernmost territory. She began dragging him along to conferences. Her luster rubbed off on him. He was damned good, too.

Surely you have a scrap of fat on that plate?

Pewter stood on her hind legs to pat Fairs thigh with her front paw.

Fair cast his blue eyes down at the rotund kitty. Id be ashamed to be that fat.

Nonetheless, he tossed her a fat scrap, along with one each to Mrs. Murphy and Tucker.

Pewter let the insult pass. The tidbit was too good.

Im glad you could make it home for supper.

Feels like its been weeks. He sighed, leaning back in his chair.

It has.

Foaling season started in January, especially for the Thoroughbreds, but it continued for other breeds into April. Occasionally, a late foal would even be born in June. Like humans, foals arrived on their own timetable, which always seemed to be in the middle of the night. Fair had learned to snatch sleep when he could. He could even sleep standing up.

Ninety-nine percent of the time, the baby entered this world healthy. Occasionally, there would be birth defects. Some could be corrected with surgery, but others were hopeless and the animal had to be humanely destroyed. Sometimes the problem was with the mother.

Fortunately, this foaling season had been very good, with few miseries, and tonight Fair had made it home early. With luck, he might even sleep for seven hours.

Thought Id take the dually to Fulton. Sucks gas, but I think that long a trip might be asking too much of the 78.

How long is it? He smiled as Pewter, happy, flopped at Harrys side.

Sixteen hours. I can do it in less if Im vigilant. But I think Ill take two days and stop in Kentucky to see Joan and Larry. She mentioned two dear friends. Joan Hamilton owned Kalarama Farm, where she bred Saddlebreds; Larry Hodge, her husband, trained them and other peoples horses for showing. He owned a separate place, Simmstown, which he rented out. He was also an auctioneer, having a real flair for it. They were one of those great teams like Abbott and Costello or Fred and Ginger.

Bring pictures of Shortro.

Harry nodded. Shortro had been given to her by a client of Joans. He was a gray Saddlebred and was just turning four. He was smart, kind, and eager to learn, and Harry had fallen in love with the fellow.

Fair reached for his beer, glancing out the kitchen window. Winter wont give up.

Dont I know it. But the snowdrops are showing their little heads. Soon my crocus shoots will pop up. Sooner or later, winter will release his grip.

I love a good snow, but by March Im ready for the change, as is everyone. He paused. The dually. No, honey, dont take it. Its a great truck, mind you, but you dont want to drive sixteen hours with those double wheels. I mean, the turning radius alone will get you when you snake through St. Louis. What a goddamned bottleneck that is.

Tis. I adore St. Louis. Just wish theyd build more bridges over the Mississippi and a new bypass.

Given that our bridges are falling down, they might have to. The Mississippi is treacherous. That reminds me to reread

Life on the Mississippi.

Well, what can I drive? Im not flying. For one thing, I wouldnt be able to take the kids. For another, its crowded, planes are late or canceled, you dont even get a sandwich, you pay for your bag to be

checked, and an airplane pollutes eight times as much as a train. As far as Im concerned, air travel needs to be a thing of the past if were really going green.

Dont count on it. Those special-interest lobbies couldnt give a damn about whats good for the environment, much less the country. He drained his glass. And the public deluded itself into thinking that long-life electric bulbs and electric cars will solve the problem. Until we phase out polluting industries like air travel, were sunk. He paused. Its complicated. I know that. If we end those industries without creating new ones and retraining people to work in the new ones, were creating tremendous hardship for sectors of our population. Theres no easy answer, but there