Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 11 Who Lived High

"Cocktails at six. Come as you are," she said. "Are you waiting for someone?" "The pizza man. By the way, Amber, I'm ashamed to admit I don't know your last name." She said something like "Cowbell." "Spell it." "K-o-w-b-e-l. Here comes your pizza, Qwill. Gotta dash. I'm late." The pizza was good - better than any he had found in Moose County, he had to admit. He gave the Siamese a taste of the cheese and a nibble of the pepperoni. Then he pushbuttoned a pot of coffee and carried it into the library. He intended to study his Scrabble - particularly the scoring rules and the value of the various letters - in preparation for his forthcoming joust with the Countess. He unfolded the board and deployed the tiles on the teakwood-and-chrome card table, then started building crosswords, playing for premium squares as well as high-value words. Koko was on hand, watching the process in his nearsighted way. Abruptly the cat lifted his head and listened. A minute or so later, there was a knock at the apartment door.

No one had buzzed from the vestibule, so it was obviously a resident, and a fantasy flashed through Qwilleran's mind: It was the beauteous Winnie Wingfoot! Then again, he reflected, it might be Rupert. Nevertheless, he gave. the mirror a quick glance, smoothed his moustache, and finger-combed his hair before opening the door.

A woman was standing there, wearing a fur coat, and it was not Winnie Wingfoot. It was Isabelle, the middle-aged tippler, and she was carrying a bottle. He regarded her without speaking.

"Hello," she said.

"Good evening," he replied coolly.

"Like a drink?" she asked, looking flirtatious and waving the bottle. Her other hand clutched the coat, and he hesitated to guess what she might have under it, if anything.

"No thanks, I'm on the wagon, but thanks for the offer," he said in a monotone intended to discourage her.

"Can I come in?" she asked.

"You must forgive me, but I'm working and I have a deadline." "Don'cha wanna take your mind off your work?" She opened her coat, and Qwilleran's wildest surmise was confirmed.

He said, "You'd better bundle up before you catch cold." Gently he closed the door, hearing a vulgar remark as he did so.

Huffing into his moustache, he returned to the library. "That was Isabelle," he told Koko. "Too bad it wasn't Winnie. She has a better vocabulary." At that moment he felt an uncomfortable desire to talk with Polly Duncan in Moose County, even though the eleven o'clock discount was not yet in effect. He dialed anyway.

"I'm so glad you called, Qwill," she said. I was just thinking about you. How is life in the wicked city?" "You'd be surprised how wicked," he said. "Today someone let the air out of my tires, and tonight a female flasher presented herself at my door." "Oh, no! Qwill, you must have been encouraging her!" "All I did was pick her up off the floor when she fell out of the phone booth. How are things in Moose County?" "I'm starting to pack things to go into storage. Bootsie is helping me by jumping into every carton. He's adorable, but he's a monomaniac about food, Qwill - tries to steal it right off my fork!" "He's growing. He'll get over it. Koko and Yum Yum have gone through all kinds of phases." "How do they like it down there?" "Yum Yum has discovered the waterbed and gets some kind of catly thrill out of it. Koko and I are learning to play Scrabble. I have a Scrabble date with the Countess tomorrow night." "Is she very glamorous?" Polly inquired anxiously.

"Not exactly. She's a gracious hostess but out of touch with reality. I don't know how I'm going to talk real-estate business with her." "Is the Casablanca as wonderful as you thought?" "Yes and no, but I'd like to write a book about its history. I wish you were here, Polly, so we could discuss it." "I wish I were, too. I miss you, Qwill." "There are some interesting restaurants we could explore." "Qwill, something has been worrying me. Sup- pose I move into your apartment - " "Hold it!" he shouted into the phone. "I can't hear you!" There was a prolonged wait during which a helicopter circled overhead. "Okay, Polly. Sorry. What were you saying? A helicopter was hovering over the building and creating pandemonium. The cats hate it!" "What's happening?" she asked. "Who knows? They're up there every night, sometimes shining their searchlight into my window." "Why, that's terrible! Isn't that unconstitutional?" "Now what were you saying about moving into my apartment?" "Suppose I move in, and then the Casablanca project falls through and you decide to come home!" "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Qwilleran said. "Call me if anything interesting happens, or even if it doesn't." "I will, dearest." "A bient“t," he said with feeling.