Lilian Braun - The Cat Who Dropped a Bombshell

"She wanted to talk," Polly said. "It amused her that she and Harvey were given separate rooms at opposite ends of a very long hall. Then Doris was shocked that Harvey had not given her an engagement ring. He said he couldn't afford one, so Doris gave him one of her diamonds to put on Clarissa's finger in a solemn ceremony - which Harvey thought was silly. Clarissa was deeply touched."

"Hmmm" was Qwilleran's only comment.

He said, "Is it too late to stop at the barn for a Mahler symphony?"

Polly thought it would be an appropriate finale to a most interesting evening. And after all, it was Saturday night.

The day following the barn sketching, Koko was still not himself. Now Qwilleran knew the origin of the expression "Nervous as a cat." "Cool Koko," as he was known, was anything but cool, leading Qwilleran to write the following in his private journal:

Sunday - Why is Koko acting so unusual? Is he trying to tell me something? In all the years we have lived in the barn, he has never dropped from a balcony onto an innocent bystander! Perhaps Harvey isn't so innocent. That raises a challenging question!

Harvey and his fiancée were still in town today, spending time with the aunt and uncle. I'd be curious to know what that entails.

One thing I know for certain: Koko's aerial assault was not a mere whim. Nor did the color of the man's hair tantalize the cat. It's something deeper than that.

The guy's an ailurophobe, but that's nothing new, and I do believe that Koko considers them more to be pitied than scorned.

Chapter 6

On Memorial Day Qwilleran and Polly appeared in the women's lingerie department on the second floor of the Lanspeak store. Large windows overlooked the parade route, and there were folding chairs borrowed from Dingleberry's Funeral Home as well as some tall bar stools lent by Harry's Pub . . . not to mention a few plaster mannequins in chiffon nightgowns, lace-trimmed slips, and black satin teddies.

Others who had been invited were Hixie Rice and Dwight Somers, Gil MacMurchie, and certain community leaders.

The Ledfields had been invited because they had lent historic objects for the float, but said they were suffering from allergies; June was the month for sniffing and sneezing in Moose County.

The audio gags were effective. The sight gags were beguiling. Then came the floats depicting Pickax Then :

HOW IT ALL STARTED . . . The famous pickax.

THEY WERE HERE FIRST . . . Wildlife - fine examples of the taxidermist's art.

BE IT EVER SO HUMBLE . . . The interior of a pioneer cabin with fire glowing on the hearth, a cook pot on a tripod, mother rocking a cradle, small boy reading a large picture book, older sister sewing, father arriving home with shotgun and a brace of rabbits.

DEAR OLD GOLDEN SCHOOLDAYS . . . Children sitting on wooden benches, schoolmarm, looking stern and rapping a ruler on a table piled with old books.

LONG BEFORE SUPERMARKETS . . . A barnyard scene with live cow and farmer with milk pail, chickens in coops, children carrying egg baskets, a sack of corn.

SUNDAY GO-TO-MEETIN' . . . Family dressed in their Sunday best, sitting on backless benches, hymnbooks open, preacher pounding the pulpit, choir of three primly dressed singers.

THE OLD VILLAGE STORE . . . Clerk measuring calico for a customer, small boy ogling candy jars, loafers playing checkers on the old cracker barrel.

WITH THIS RING I THEE WED . . . Bride and groom sitting for photographer, box camera on a tripod and his head under a black cloth, attendants throwing confetti at spectators on the sidewalk.

The parade ended with a laugh: a marching band of clodhoppers wearing raggle-taggle garb, plodding along, hopelessly out of step, playing "Yankee Doodle Dandy" and hitting wrong notes with joyful abandon. They were the high school band - having fun, acting up, burlesquing the Good Old Days.

The crowd on the sidelines went wild with cheers and whistles, and the distinguished onlookers in the second-floor window laughed and applauded and congratulated Gil MacMurchie for a job well done.

Qwilleran said, "All the performers on the floats were members of the theatre club and had Carol and Larry for directors. It shows!"

"I appreciate watching a parade from a comfortable chair - behind glass - but I wonder if we missed some of the sound effects: the farmer playing his harmonica to his cow, for example." Polly said, "And the three choir singers in the Sunday-meeting scene told me they were going to sing hymns in three-part harmony."

Qwilleran scribbled a limerick on an index card - anonymously - and slipped it to Hixie:

Old folks all remember how

Every family had a cow.

Life was slow

And prices were low,

But I'd rather live in Pickax now.

After the parade, Qwilleran and Polly went to the barn for some classical music. Polly had wanted to pack a picnic lunch, but he knew what it would comprise, and he insisted on ordering from the caterer. When they arrived at the barn, Celia Robinson had delivered roast beef and cheddar sandwiches on rye, avocado and papaya salad, and lemon bars.

Polly was politely enthusiastic over the picnic fare; Qwilleran felt she really preferred that other stuff, but he pretended to be pleased that she was pleased. To take her mind off the calories he said, "I overheard spectators at the parade talking about ?Shooting and Poisoning.' Is that some lurid TV special that I'm missing?" (At the barn, the only TV was in the cats' quarters, and they watched only wildlife features.)

Polly explained that they were talking about the Kennebeck woman who has second sight and had predicted shooting and poisoning during Pickax Now. This was the first time that she had predicted a crime - man against man.

"The poisoning I can understand," he said. "All those family reunions, all those picnics, all that potato salad."

"Oh, Qwill . . ." she chided and changed the subject.

The day after the parade, it was back to work for Qwilleran.

The families scheduling reunions in Pickax during the summer may have suggested ideas for his twice-weekly column, but his real interest was pure curiosity: He had never been a member of a family.

In Chicago he grew up with only a mother, his father having died before he was born. No brothers or sisters, no grandparents, no aunts and uncles. Arch Riker was his best friend, and Mr. Riker did fatherly service for both boys: advice, sandlot baseball, trips to the zoo. Even now, the only members of Qwilleran's "family" were two Siamese cats.

In Pickax the host families of reunions were exhorted to register their plans and receive help with accommodations, entertainment reservations, and restaurant availabilities.

Qwilleran went downtown to ask some questions and picked up a copy of the newspaper in the dispenser outside the store. Across the bottom of the front page was a two-line heading:

THE LAUGH 'S ON YOU ,FELLAS !

YOU STOLE A FAKE PICKAX !

The police chief had been right: Maxine Pratt had been right. Qwilleran shrugged it off and went to the desk in the store lobby, where Thornton Haggis was on duty as registrar, asking, "Do you accept registrations for families of three?"

Without missing a beat Thorn asked, "Are they interested in sports, plays, music, art shows, antiques? How about a dog show? How about a cat fashion show?"

"What! Are we having one of those abominations here?" Qwilleran's shock was genuine.

"They say they're very popular all over - with cat clubs, pet owners, and the general public. You're dragging your feet, Qwill!"

"Let's change the subject, Thorn, before I burst a blood vessel."