Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 10 Who Talked to Ghosts

"I'm afraid not. He's gone to Lockmaster."

"Is he all right?" Qwilleran asked hastily. Lockrnaster, in the county to the south, had a medical center noted for its geriatric department.

"Oh, yes, he's fine. Ms. Finney drove him down there to - see the autumn color in horse country. They say it's gorgeous."

"I see," Qwilleran mused. "When do you expect them to return?"

"Not until Sunday afternoon. They're visiting friends down there. Shall I have him call you?"

"No. Don't bother. I'll catch up with him at the museum."

Qwilleran now faced an uncomfortable task - packing Iris Cobb's personal belongings in cartons from the basement. He had done it once before, after his mother died, and it was a heart-wrenching chore. He had done it often when he worked in a nursing home during college days, and in that situation it was a routine job. But it was an embarrassingly intimate rite to perform for a woman who had been his former landlady and housekeeper. He felt like a voyeur as he gathered her pink pantsuits, pink robes, pink underwear, and pink nightgowns from closets and dresser drawers. Most painful of all was the invasion of the top drawers with its jumble of smeared lipsticks, broken earrings, used emery boards, pill bottles, a hair brush with stray hairs clinging to the bristles, and the magnifying glass with silver handle that he had given her on her last birthday.

When the cartons were packed, he labeled them and carried them to the museum office. Koko wanted to accompany him.

"Sorry," Qwilleran said. "The sign stipulates no smoking, no food or beverages, and no bare feet."

When the chore was completed, however, Koko was still bouncing up and down at the door to the museum, trying to turn the doorknob. He had been allowed in the exhibit area once before when Mrs. Cobb was alive, and on that occasion he had been attracted to some model ships.

Qwilleran finally acquiesced. "All right, but you'll be disappointed," he told the cat. "The ship exhibit has been dismantled."

As soon as the connecting door was opened, Koko bounded into the museum, ignoring the pioneer rooms and heading for the east wing, which housed the theme exhibits, study collections, and the museum office. He scampered directly into the office, looked behind the door, and started jumping to reach Ms. Finney's feather duster.

"You devil!" Qwilleran said. "How did you know it was there?" He removed the cat and closed the office door, then watched him closely as he explored.

Koko bypassed the room that had formerly featured model ships; the door was closed, and a sign announced a new exhibit opening soon. He showed no interest in historic documents or the distinguished collection of early lighting devices. What fascinated this remarkable cat was an exhibit that everyone considered the most boring in the museum: textiles. It consisted of bed linens and table linens yellow with age; quilts faded from laundering with lye soap; hand-woven blankets perforated with moth holes; hand-hooked rugs dingy with wear; dreary dishtowels made from flour sacks; a stained mattress stuffed with straw; curtains dyed with berries and onion skins. Yet, the identification cards stated proudly the names of the early settlers who had woven, quilted, hooked, dyed, and stuffed these artifacts. Koko especially liked a bed pillow made from a flour sack and filled, according to the ID card, with chicken feathers from the Inchpot Centennial Farm. He sniffed it intently.

"Chicken feathers! I might have known!" said Qwilleran. "Let's go home." He picked up the cat, who squirmed from his grasp and rushed back to the Inchpot pillow. Curiously, a similar pillow from the Trevelyan Farm, dating somewhat earlier in Moose County history, was totally overlooked. Qwilleran got a stranglehold on Koko and wrestled him back to the apartment.

They were met by Yum Yum, who touched noses with Koko and proceeded to groom the historical odors out of his fur. This business finished, Koko undertook a new mission: staring at the freezer compartment at the top of the refrigerator.

"There's nothing in that freezer for cats," Qwilleran ad- vised him. "You're barking up the wrong tree. You can have some meatloaf from the big freezer, but not until dinner-time."

Koko persisted, prancing on his hind legs. To prove his point, Qwilleran opened the freezer door, exposing stacks of cinnamon doughnuts, blueberry muffins, chocolate brownies, banana nutbread, and other confections. It was then that an idea flashed into his mind: A package of Mrs. Cobb's pecan rolls would make an ideal thank-you for the family at the Fugtree farm, a gift beyond price and with a touch of sentiment. Later he might present a cherry pie to the Boswells, if he could do so without getting involved in neighborly chitchat. Mrs. Boswell was all right, but her husband's voice made Qwilleran's blood curdle, and Baby was a little pest.