Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 11 Who Lived High

"What time would be convenient?" "Well, I'm due at the restaurant at four, and if I went up there about three thirty..." "That's good," he said, thinking that she would be unable to stay long. "I'll expect you at three thirty. I'm in 14-A." "Do you mind if I bring my friend?" "Of course I don't mind." What else could he say?

To Koko he said, "Your old pal Charlotte is dropping in at three thirty. Try to act like a gentleman." During their previous acquaintance, which had been brief, the cat had gone out of his way to shock and embarrass the woman.

Charlotte was easily shocked and embarrassed in those days.

They went back to their Scrabble. Koko was partial to the letter O, and Qwilleran was building words like FOOT, ROOF, TOOT, and DODO when the telephone rang again. This time he was sure it was Winnie Wingfoot, but it was Isabelle Wilburton, and she was inebriated.

"Watcha doin'?" she asked in a sleepy voice.

"I'm working at my desk," he said coolly.

"Mind if I... come up?" "I'm afraid this is not a good time to visit. I'm concentrating on a problem." "Wanna come down here?" "I've just told you, Miss Wilburton, that I'm extremely busy and cannot leave my work at this time," he said with a touch of impatience.

"Why don'cha call me Isabelle?" "All right, Isabelle. As I said, I can't interrupt what I'm doing." "Don'cha like me?" He had a great desire to hang up, but he said as graciously as he could, "It's not that I don't like you; it's simply that you are calling at an inopportune time." "Don'cha wanna see my cat?" "I've seen your cat, Isabelle. I saw her in the lobby yesterday. She's a nice little kitten and I told you so." "Wanna come and have dinner?" He tried to speak kindly. "Perhaps you don't remember, but I told you yesterday that I have a dinner meeting with the officers of SOCK." "Nobody wants to eat with me," she whined. "I don't have any friends. I'm gonna jump off the roof." "Now, wait a minute, Isabelle. Don't talk like that. You have a good life ahead of you. How old are you?" "Forty-two. Forty-three. Don't remember." "Do you remember the conversation we had in the laundry room? I had the same experience when I was your age, so I know how you feel and what you're going through. I also know you can get help, the way I did, and start enjoying a good life again. There are groups you can join, where you'll meet people who have the same problem as yours." "Don't have any problem. Just don't have any friends. No reason to live anymore. Gonna go up on the roof and jump off." "Isabelle, the last time I saw you in the lobby you were carrying your kitten in a blue blanket, and you seemed very happy. What's the name of your kitten?" "Sweetie Pie." Her speech was slurred.

"Is she good company?" There was no answer. He thought he heard a glug and a swallow.

"What do you feed her?" "Stuff out of a can." "Do you play with her? Kittens like to play. You should tie a twist of paper on a string and swing it around - let her jump for it and chase it." It was an asinine conversation, but he was trying to distract her from her grisly intention. "Where does she sleep?" "On my bed." "Is she a happy cat?" "Guess so." "Does she purr a lot?" He hoped that something would capture her interest.

"I dunno." "Kittens need love and attention. They like to be brushed, too. Have you tried brushing her?" Qwilleran mopped his brow. Why was he perspiring? Why was he working so hard? She wasn't even listening.

"Wanna come down... have a drink?" she mumbled.

"Have you had anything to eat today, Isabelle?" "Gonna jump off the roof... end it all." "Listen, Isabelle, you can't do that. Think of Sweetie Pie! She needs you! What would she do without you? She's just a helpless kitten." "Gonna take her with me." He paused for an instant. Then, "Hold the line a minute, Isabelle. Don't hang up! I'll be right back!" Hurrying to the kitchen he rang the housephone. "Isabelle Wilburton's threatening to jump off the roof!" he shouted. "I've got her on the phone!" "Keep her on the line," Mrs. Tuttle said. "I'll go up to her apartment." He rushed back to his phone in the library but heard only a dial tone. Was she on the way to the roof-with the kitten? Running out of the apartment and slamming the door, he sprinted up two flights of stairs, three at a time; there was no one up there. He waited for a while, but Isabelle didn't appear. Could she have arrived before him? Impossible! Yet he looked over the edge apprehensively. A wind had sprung up, and he stepped inside the stairwell for protection.

What am I doing here at the Casablanca? he asked himself. It had been nothing but stress in the last week: cranky elevators, cold showers, runaway radiators, the Gut Dancers, trouble in the parking lot, the crazy Countess, and now Isabelle! After ten or fifteen minutes he was sure she had been intercepted, and he started downstairs. At the bottom of the second flight he received a harsh surprise. The steel door shutting off the stairwell was locked!