Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 11 Who Lived High

Lori Bamba was concerned chiefly about the cats. "If you're taking Koko and Yum Yum," she said, "don't let it be known that you have pedigreed animals. Kitnapping is big business Down Below. Also, you should feed them extra B vitamins to combat stress, because they'll sense menacing elements." Even Qwilleran's cleaning man was worried. "It's prayin' I'll be," said Mr. O'Dell, "until you be comin' safe home, Mr. Q." Nevertheless, Qwilleran stubbornly shopped for the journey. He bought a cagelike cat carrier that was more commodious and better ventilated than the picnic hamper in which the Siamese had formerly traveled. For their meals en route he laid in a supply of canned crabmeat, boned chicken, and red salmon. He also bought two blue leather harnesses - one medium and one large - with matching leashes. For himself he would take whatever he happened to have on hand.

There were two suits in his closet-a gray flannel that he had worn once to a wedding and a dark blue serge that he had worn once as a pallbearer. These - 'with two white shirts, a couple of ties, and a raincoat - were his concessions to city dressing. Otherwise, he would take flannel shirts, sweaters, and his comfortable tweed sports coat with leather patches on the elbows.

During Qwilleran' s final days in Pickax, fare- well scenes with friends and associates had the solemnity of a deathbed vigil. Polly Duncan, on their last evening together, was lachrymose and in no mood to be comforted or to quote Shakespeare, although Qwilleran rose to the occasion with "parting is such sweet sorrow." "Promise you'll call me as soon as you arrive" were her final words. He had hoped for less wifely anxiety and more amorous sentiments.

Even the Siamese sensed that something dire was afoot, and they sulked for twenty-four hours before their departure. When taken for rides in their new carrier, as rehearsal for the trip, they reacted like condemned nobility on the way to the guillotine - stoic, proud, and aloof.

None of this heightened Qwilleran's anticipation of the expedition, but he packed the car on Saturday morning with grim determination. Two suitcases, his typewriter, the unabridged dictionary, and his computerized coffeemaker went into the trunk. On the backseat were two boxes of books, the new cat carrier, and a blue cushion. The cats' water dish and their commode - a turkey roaster with the handles sawed off - were on the floor of the backseat.

The car was a small, energy-efficient, preowned four-door that Qwilleran had bought in a hurry, following his accident on Ittibittiwassee Road. The paint finish, a metallic purplish-blue, was not to his liking, but the used-car dealer assured him it was a color ahead of its time, called Purple Plum, and it would increase in acceptance and popularity.

"It looks better on fruit," Qwilleran remarked. The price was right, however, and the gas mileage was said to be phenomenal, and he had retained thrifty habits despite his new financial status, so he bought it. This was the car he packed for the four-hundred-mile journey, which he intended to stretch over two days for the comfort of the Siamese.

"All aboard the Purple Plum for Lockmaster, Paddockville, and all points south!" he announced to his two reluctant passengers. Grudgingly they allowed themselves to be stuffed into the carrier.

As the three of them pulled away from their home on Park Circle, the pair in the backseat maintained their funereal silence, leaving Qwilleran long, quiet hours to reflect on his sojourn in the north country. Despite the king-size mosquitoes, poison ivy, skunks, and hazardous deer crossings, Moose County afforded a comfortable life among good people. Most of them were rampant individualists and non-stop gossips, but that merely made them more interesting in the eyes of a journalist. How, he questioned, would he adjust to city life with its mask of conformity, guarded privacy, and self-interest?

His ruminations were interrupted by a demanding shriek from the backseat - so loud and so sudden that he gripped the steering wheel to keep the car on the road. Yum Yum was merely making a suggestion. How a creature of such delicacy and gentleness could produce this vulgar screech was beyond his comprehension, but it was effective. At the next crossroads he stopped for a coffee break and released the Siamese from their coop to stretch, peer out the windows, lap a tongueful of water, and examine the gas pedal.