Lilian Braun - The Cat Who Dropped a Bombshell

"On second thought, I'll take three videos," he said.

"What? What? . . . Qwill. Is this Qwill?" came a distraught voice. It was Maggie Sprenkle.

"Sorry. I thought it was someone else. Is this Maggie? What's wrong. This is Qwill."

"Oh, Qwill! Have you heard the bad news?" Panic was added to the aging voice.

"No! What's the trouble?"

"There's been a terrible accident! Foxy Fred fell out of a tree. His back is broken." She stopped to wail in anguish!

Qwilleran was silent with shock and what it would mean.

"Did you hear me, Qwill?"

"This is terrible! What was he doing in the tree?"

"Cutting off a branch that had tent worms, they say. Lost his footing on the ladder."

"What will this do to the auction plans?" After he had said it, he knew it was a stupid question.

"You'll have to come to the rescue, Qwill! You're the only one who can do it. People are coming from all over the state. TV crews, too."

"What can I say, Maggie? Will you let me think about it?"

"You can't! You can't! No one else can do it!" She was still sobbing, and he began to worry about her having a stroke.

"All right. All right. Calm down, Maggie. Have a cup of tea, and don't worry about a thing. I'll do it. We'll talk about it in the morning. No problem. . . . Do you hear?"

Stunned, he returned to the kitchen to give the cats a treat, then conducted them wordlessly to their sleeping quarters on the third level and watched them hop into their respective baskets. Their door was left open, so they could roam during the night, observing who-knows-what feline rituals. Qwilleran always closed his own door.

On this occasion he retired fearing he would not sleep, and he was right. He had entertained doubts about the kitty auction when it was Foxy Fred's responsibility; now he envisioned a new problem. The kittens had been rehearsing, but not in a strange building before a large - and probably overexcited - audience.

One o'clock. Two o'clock. At two-thirty he became aware of a scratching at his door and a rattling of his door handle.

He jumped out of bed, and there they were - a couple of cool cats. Koko looked around as if saying, "Here we are!"

"You rascals!" Qwilleran said, as he sprawled in his thinking chair. The cats joined him - Yum Yum cozily on his lap and Koko on the arm of the chair, from which he stared at the man's forehead. A calm invaded the room. Qwilleran thought, Anyone who can play the lead in King Lear at the age of fifteen and direct a high school production of Life with Father at the age of sixteen should be able to handle a cat auction. . . . Think of it as show-biz . . . with a cast of forty scene stealers! . . . An audience of cat lovers will be a pushover! . . . We'll not only get their money, we'll show them a good time!

He shooed the cats out of the room and went to bed.

"Wanna wanna wanna wanna . . . bidda bidda bidda bidda."

He mesmerized himself to sleep.

Chapter 15

The Siamese sensed something was queer on Friday morning. Their breakfast had been served at seven AM, and his and her plates had been accidentally reversed under the kitchen table.

As for Qwilleran, he was having a Continental breakfast at the animal shelter with the two chairpersons of the kitty auction, both of them residents of Winston Park. Peggy Marsh was the young computer programmer who went to The Pirate's Chest twice a day to feed Dundee and "tidy up" his private domain. Judd Amhurst was the retiree who divided his time between the bookstore (managing special events) and the animal shelter (bathing the scruffy abandoned dogs brought to the shelter by rescue officers).

At the shelter the forty kittens occupied group cages but were transferred to their personal "limousines" for the rehearsal. One by one Qwilleran lifted them out of their baskets for fondling and sweet talk. They were hypnotized by the resonance of his voice and fascinated by his moustache.

Peggy said, "At the community hall tomorrow there'll be an audience of hundreds, according to the advance ticket sales, but the kittens will be mildly sedated."

"The main problem," said Qwilleran, remembering Koko's disastrous stage debut, "will be to keep the audience from shouting and screaming."

Judd said they could arrange to print some signs in a hurry: QUIET ! KITTENS ASLEEP ! "They could have an artist do some sketches of them; folks could take them home for a donation."

The rehearsal ended with coffee and sweet rolls from Lois's Luncheonette.

Judd said, "Did you know that her son is starting a lunchwagon, to be parked at special events? It'll be in the parking lot tomorrow."

Peggy said, "We're printing souvenir programs for the auction, listing kittens' formal names, nicknames, and markings."

Finally, Judd said, "If this auction is a success, we'll try one with puppies, and I'd buy one if they permitted dogs at Winston Park."

Qwilleran said, "Why not take the plunge tomorrow, Judd? I was a dog man myself until I came under the spell of you-know-who."

You-know-who were waiting on Qwilleran with what he considered a lack of enthusiasm. He took a shower and put his clothes in the washer. His housemates still greeted him as if his morning had been spent in illegal or immoral activity.

He gave them a treat. He brushed their coats. He read to them about bug and bird voices in Hawthorne's book, then toted them to the gazebo to experience bugs and birds firsthand. For himself he took the cell phone and some chocolate chip cookies.

All three of them seemed to feel a strangeness in the atmosphere. Everything was still, as if waiting for something. The sky, though sunny, was a sick yellow.

Then the phone calls started.

Clarissa called to say that her friend Vicki was arriving in late afternoon and was excited about adopting a kitten but would be unable to stay for Monday's parade because she was starting a new job on Tuesday at an important ad agency.

Qwilleran commented, "For anyone who has seen the Tournament of Roses in California, the Tournament of Peonies in Pickax will be no great loss."

Then Polly called praising Qwilleran for his noble offer to handle the auction and regretting that she could not attend; she had to work. She mentioned that Dundee had been acting freakish all day, as if he sensed a change in the weather.

In late afternoon Wetherby Goode phoned, saying in glum tones, "They're gonna shoot the weatherman for sure when they hear the six PM forecast."

Qwilleran said, "Better come here for a nip before you go to the station, Joe - since you predict this may be the last we'll ever hear."

He carried everyone and everything indoors to hear the bad news.

"The sad truth is this," said the meteorologist when he was seated at the bar with a drink and a bowl of mixed nuts. "That storm front that's been stalled over Canada all summer is starting to move over the lakes. It should hit here Sunday. High winds, torrential rain! What they call a Northern Hurricane. You might as well cancel The Big Burning. People won't want to drive. The rain comes in sheets. We can expect power outages. Does this barn have a generator? If not, better move back to the Village temporarily. We're equipped to take care of blackouts. And our streets are paved."

Qwilleran said, "I hope your weathercast tonight isn't going to scare the public away from my auction tomorrow."

"No, it's intended to give them time to stock up on flashlight batteries, canned soup, and cat and dog food."

On Saturday morning, the Forty Famous Felines were being transported in their group cages to the community hall, where they were given a light repast with a little something added to make them feel good about their adventure. The volunteers who attended them were accustomed to speaking in soothing voices, and they would transfer each kitten to his limousine in the proper order. A few salty tears would be shed over kittens like Prince Hal, Lorna Doone, and Rum Tum Tugger, who were going out into the wide world.