Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 11 Who Lived High

"I told you the farm had been sold," she said, almost in tears. "Now I learn that the new owner wants my cottage for his married son. Winter's almost here! Where can I go? Landlords don't permit cats, and I can't give up Bootsie! What shall I do?" she wailed. Here was a woman who could devise a swift solution to the most complex problem arising at the public library; her panic over this personal setback was disturbing. "Are you there?" she cried impatiently. "Did you hear me, Qwill?" "I heard you. I'm thinking," he said. "It so 'happens that I'm invited to spend the winter months Down Below - in a penthouse apartment. That means... you could put your furniture in storage and stay at my place in Pickax while you scout for a new house." Whimsically he added, "I have no objection to cats." There was silence at the other end of the line. "Are you there, Polly? Did you hear me?" "I'm thinking," she said. "It sounds like an ideal solution, Qwill, and it's certainly very generous of you, and of course it would be handy to the library, but... " "But what?" "But I don't like the idea of your spending all that time Down Below." "You went to England for an entire summer," he reminded her. "I didn't care for that idea, either, but I survived." "That's not what I mean. Cities are so unsafe! I don't want anything to happen to you." "Polly, may I remind you that I lived in large cities all my life before moving up here." "What is the penthouse you mentioned?" she asked warily.

"Let's have dinner tomorrow night, and I'll explain." Next he phoned his old friend, Arch Riker, now publisher of the local paper. He said, "I've just had an interesting call from Down Below. Do you remember the Casablanca apartments on the edge of Junktown?" "Sure," said Riker. "Rosie and I lived there when we were first married. They'd cut up most of the large apartments into efficiencies and one-bedroom units. We had a few good years there. Then the kids started coming, and we moved to the suburbs. What about the Casablanca? I suppose they're tearing it down." "You guessed right," Qwilleran said. "Some developers want to take it over." "They'll need a nuclear bomb to demolish that hunk of masonry. It's built like the Rock of Gibraltar." "Well, hold on to your hat, Arch. I've been thinking it might be a good public relations ploy for the Klingenschoen Fund to buy it and restore it" "What! You mean - restore it all the way? That would be a costly operation. You're talking about megamillions!" "That's what I mean - restore the apartments to their original condition and go condo. The Fund is making money faster than the board of directors can give it away, so what if it's a financial loss? It will be a triumph for the cause of preservation - and a feather in the Klingenschoen cap." "I have to think about that. Offhand, it sounds like a madcap gamble. Have you suggested it to the board of directors?" "I heard the news only half an hour ago, Arch. I'll need more particulars, but see what you think of this: If I spend the winter down there, investigating the possibilities, I can write a weekly column for you on the horrors of city living.

Moose County readers will lap it up!" "Are you sure you want to go down there?" Riker asked apprehensively. ','It's a dangerous place to live, what with muggings and break-ins and murders." "Are you telling me? I wrote the book!" At the height of his career Qwilleran had written a bestseller on urban crime. "You may remember, Arch, there were muggings and break-ins and murders when you and I worked for the Daily Fluxion, and we took them for granted." "From what I hear and read, conditions are much worse now." "There's no coward so cowardly as a city dweller who has moved to the boondocks, my friend. Listen to this: I can get the penthouse at the Casablanca, furnished." "Sounds good, I guess, but don't rush into anything," Riker advised. "Think about it for a couple of weeks." "I can't wait a couple of weeks. The K Fund will have to sneak in a bid ahead of the wrecking ball. Besides, we can expect snow any day now, and it won't stop snowing until March. I won't be able to get out of here." "What about the cats?" "I'll take them with me, of course." "They won't like living high up. We were on the ninth floor, and our cats hated the elevator." "They'll adjust. There's a terrace, and where there's a terrace there are pigeons. Koko is a licensed pigeon watcher." "Well... do it if you want to take the gamble, Qwill, but wear a bulletproof vest," Riker warned, and said good-bye.

Qwilleran found it difficult to settle down. He tried reading aloud to the Siamese to calm his excitement, but his mind was not on the printed page. He was impatient to learn more about the Casablanca. Unable to wait until morning, he phoned Down Below.