Cat Who Went Up the Creek

“That was my aunt, and I was flower girl. That was the wedding where the cake exploded!” With difficulty, she suppressed giggles.

Nell was overwhelmed with mirth. “It was supposed to shoot off fireworks, but it backfired! The tablecloth caught fire and my cousin poured champagne punch on it!”

“Everyone was screaming!”

“The bride’s mother fainted!”

The two women were rocking with laughter, and the two men looked at each other and shook their heads.

Nell regained her composure enough to explain, “The Pickax Picayune headlined it ‘Hooper-Cooper Nuptials’ and didn’t say a word about the explosion. Now, whenever there’s a big wedding, we call it a real Hooper-Cooper!”

Qwilleran said, “Why don’t I find this event funny?”

The women said in unison, “Because you weren’t there!”

The lights blinked, summoning the audience back to their seats. As they moved toward the auditorium, Nell said, “Don’t forget the MCCC luncheon, Qwill.”

“Are you having fireworks?” he asked. He wanted to inquire about her connection with MCCC, but this was not the appropriate time.

As he and Cathy waited for the lights to dim and for Uncle Louie to return to the podium, she asked, “What happens in the second act?”

“Deceit, vengeance, intrigue, and a happy ending. The pirates battle the cops, who win on a technicality.” He handed her the lyrics in booklet form. “Take these home and read them, and you’ll appreciate W. S. Gilbert’s freewheeling way with rhyme. Who else would rhyme lot of news with hypotenuse?”

“Thank you. Shall I return it?”

“No. It’s part of your education.”

When the last triumphant chorus ended, the hall exploded in applause, cheers and whistles.

Cathy was glad that the pirates turned out to be decent after all.

“That’s Gilbert and Sullivan,” Qwilleran said.

“I loved their socks!”

She thought the policemen in their brass buttons and bobby hats were adorable. “But I felt so sorry for Ruth-poor-Ruth!”

“Don’t waste your tears. At the end she went off with the police chief and was winking at the audience.”

Hannah Hawley was the hit of the show—and not just because the auditorium was packed with Hawleys and Scottens.

Arriving at the cabin, Qwilleran could hear the Howling Chorus even as he put the key in the door. He realized it was not exactly delight at seeing him; it was a reminder that their elevenses were overdue. Automatically, he scanned the premises for catly mischief, just as Nick Bamba scanned a vacated guest room for missing lightbulbs and dripping hot water faucets. There were no shredded newspapers or disarranged pens and pencils, but two items had been pushed off the shelf over the sofa: Hannah’s video of Pirates and Bruce’s copy of Black Walnut. The latter reminded him there were some black walnut cookies in the refrigerator, and he brewed a cup of coffee.

chapter nine

On Saturday, Qwilleran was “up betimes,” as they used to say three centuries ago. What, he wondered, had happened to that word? It was still in the dictionary. If Polly were there, they would have a lively discussion about it. He missed her most on weekends. Later, he would drive over to her place to cheer up the cats, who missed her too.

Meanwhile he had coffee and a thawed breakfast roll on the porch. The cats were nearby, washing up after their own breakfast when, suddenly, they went on ear-alert. Someone was coming along the creek footpath.

It was the small boy from Cabin Two. He approached the screen saying, “Kitty! Kitty! You found your mittens!”

The cats remained stiffly aloof from this alien creature who was larger than a squirrel and smaller than a human.

Qwilleran started to say, “Does your mother—?”

“Danny! Danny!” screamed a shrill voice, and a frail-looking woman came hurrying along the path. “I told you not to bother people!”

“I wanna see the kitties!”

She snatched his wrist and dragged him home while he looked back in disappointment.

In preparation for Barter’s luncheon visit, he had some exploring to do and was pleased that he had brought his trail bike. The dense woods called the Black Forest Conservancy adjoined the Nutcracker Inn to the south and stretched for miles and miles.

He put on the biking gear that always scared the cats—tight-fitting green-and-purple suit, spherical yellow helmet, large black sun goggles—and wheeled his bike to Cabin One, where he rapped on Hannah’s back door.

She greeted him with a small cry of alarm and then laughed.

“Oh, it’s you, Qwill! I thought it was someone from outer space. Come in!”

“Not today, thanks. I have miles to bike before noon. Just stopped to say that your ovation last night was well deserved.”

“I had a lot of friends in the audience.”

“Friends or no friends, you created a believable character, and you have a splendid voice!”

“Thank you,” she said graciously, with the aplomb of one who believes in herself.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow night at dinner. I suggest we all meet here and walk up the hill.”