Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 11 Who Lived High

WHEN QWILLERAN RUSHED into 14-A and found the bathroom flooded and the culprit sitting on the toilet tank, he had no time to analyze motives. He tore off his shoes and socks, threw bath towels on the floor, then squeezed them out-a performance that Koko found diverting. Qwilleran growled into his moustache but realized the futility of a reprimand. If he said "Bad cat!" Koko would merely gaze at him with that no-speak-English expression.

The mopping job finished, he took the towels to the basement to put in the dryer, but the laundry room was locked for the night. It gave him time, however, as he rode down on sluggish Old Red and up again on laggard Old Green, to think about Koko's misdemeanor. The cat had rubbed his jaw against the lever-type faucet. It was obviously neurotic behavior; he was bored and lonely and wanted to attract attention. With Yum Yum in her indolent mood, Koko missed the chasing, frolicking, wrestling, and mutual grooming sessions that are so important to Siamese pairs.

It's my fault, Qwilleran said to himself; I dragged them to the city when they wanted to stay in the country.

Koko was waiting for him when he returned with the pail of wet towels. "I'm sorry, old friend," he said. "Tomorrow's Sunday. We'll spend the day together. We'll find something interesting to do. If the weather permits, how would you like to go for a walk on the roof?" "Yow," said Koko, squeezing his eyes. He gave the cats a bedtime snack - a morsel of smoked salmon from the deli - and was getting into his pajamas when he had reason to pause and listen. Something could be heard crawling under the floor.

"That's no mouse," he said aloud. "That's a rat!" The cats heard it, too, Koko scurrying around with his nose to the floor, and even Yum Yum sniffing in a lackadaisical way.

Qwilleran strode to the housephone in the kitchen and rang the manager's night number. Rupert answered.

"Rupert! This is Qwilleran on Fourteen. We've got rats up here under the floor!... Rats! That's what I said. R-a-t- s! Yes, I can hear them under the floor in the master bedroom. The cats hear them, too... Oh! Is that so?... Hmmm, I see. That's too bad... Well, sorry to bother you, Rupert. Good night." He returned to the bedroom. "It's a plumber in the crawl space," he informed the Siamese. "He's investigating a leak. Water's dripping down into the Countess's bedroom. Does that make you feel guilty, Koko?" The cat laundered a spot on his chest with exasperating nonchalance.

If it had happened to any apartment but that of the Countess, Qwilleran reflected, the management would have waited until Monday.

True to his word he spent Sunday with the Siamese, first grooming them both with a new rubber-bristled brush he had found in a pet shop. Then he read aloud to them from Eothen, Yum Yum falling asleep on his lap during the chapter on the Cairo plague. Around noontime he strapped the harness on Koko and took him for a walk out of the apartment, across the elevator lobby, through the door marked No Admittance, up two flights of stairs, and out onto the roof, Koko marching with soldierly step and perpendicular tail.

It was glorious on the rooftop. There was a dramatic view of the downtown skyline and the river curving away to the south. The cat sniffed the breeze hungrily and tugged on the leash; he wanted to walk to the edge. Qwilleran had other ideas; he pulled Koko to the skylight and peered down into the penthouse apartment. Although the glass was clouded with age, certain panes had been replaced in recent times, and it was possible to see the long sofa, the large paintings, and some of the potted trees. At night, with the gallery lighted, anyone on the roof could look down and see whatever was happening in the conversation pit.

Qwilleran thought, What if... ? What if someone on the roof had witnessed the murder of Di Bessinger and knew the true identity of the murderer? Why wouldn't he come forward with the information? Because he would fear for his own life, or because he would recognize an opportunity for blackmail? But that was the way it happened in mystery novels, not in real life.

The skylight held no attraction for Koko, who preferred to walk on the low parapet that edged the roof. Together they made one complete turn around the perimeter before going downstairs for the next activity, which was Scrabble.

Hardly had the game started when the telephone rang. Qwilleran hoped it might be Winnie Wingfoot; he had a hunch she would follow up their brief acquaintance of the evening before. Instead, it was the disappointing, reedy voice of Charlotte Roop.

"Are you busy, Mr. Qwilleran? I hope I'm not interrupting anything." "I was just thinking of going for a walk," he said, "but that's all right." "I wondered if I could go up and see your beautiful pussycats a little later on, if it wouldn't be too much of an imposition." She had shown no interest in the Siamese when they lived on River Road. "Sure," he said without enthusiasm.