Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 12 Who Knew A Cardinal

"Welcome to my eyrie," she said in a shaky voice. "And these are the two aristocrats I've heard about!"

They regarded her with blank stares and wriggled to escape Qwilleran's clutches. They were acting disappointingly catlike.

"I've made some blueberry leaf tea," she said to him, "and if you'll carry the tray we'll sit in the tower alcove." The suite of rooms was furnished with heirlooms in profusion, and on every surface there were framed photographs, including one of Theodore Roosevelt, signed. Glass cabinets displayed a valuable collection of porcelain birds, causing Koko to sit up on his haunches and paw the air. One of them was a cardinal. Even Qwilleran knew a cardinal when he saw one. As Mrs. Inglehart, veteran of thousands of formal teas, poured with graceful gestures, she said, "So this is your first steeplechase, Mr. Qwilleran! Do you know the origin of the name?"

"I'm afraid not."

She spoke in the precise, carefully worded style of one who has presided at thousands of club meetings. "In early days, horses and their riders raced through the countryside, taking fences and hedges and brooks, racing to the church steeple in the next village. In Lockmaster the sport of riding was unknown until my father-in-law introduced it. Until then there were only workhorses, pulling wagons, and tired old nags used for transportation. Then riding became fashionable. We all took lessons in equitation. I loved the hunt and the music of the hounds. I had my own hunter, of course. His name was Timothy."

"You have good posture, Mrs. Inglehart. I imagine you looked splendid in the saddle."

Yum Yum was now in Grummy's lap, being stroked. "Yes, everyone said I had a good seat and excellent balance and control. To control twelve hundred pounds of animal with one's hands, legs, voice, and body weight is a thrilling challenge... But I am doing all the talking. Forgive me."

"It's a pleasure to listen to someone so well-spoken.

"What provoked your interest in birds?"

"Well, now... let me think... After I married Mr. Inglehart, I avoided the needlework clubs and boring book clubs that young matrons were expected to join, and I started the ladies' Tuesday Afternoon Bird Club. Oh, how the townfolk ridiculed us - for studying birds instead of shooting them! They wrote letters to the newspaper, referring to our idle minds and idle hands."

"Do you mean it was customary to shoot songbirds?"

"Yes, indeed! A young lad would come home with a string of tiny birds over his shoulder and sell them to the butcher. They were in demand for dinner parties! I'm sorry to say we still have a few sharpshooters who think of a bird as a target. Of course, it all started when the government put a bounty on birds because they were thought to destroy crops. Then scientists discovered that birds protect fields from rodents, insect, pests, and even destructive weeds... Now, I'm afraid, the farmers rely on those spraying machines and all kinds of chemicals."

Koko could be heard chattering at the birds in the feeding station outside the east window as he stood on his hind legs with forepaws on the sill. Yum Yum was purring and kneading Grummy's lap with her paws.

"I believe she likes me," said the old lady.

"What kind of birds come to your feeder?" Qwilleran asked.

"Innumerable species! My favorites are the chickadees. They're so sociable and entertaining, and they stay all winter. Koko will have his friend all winter, too. Cardinals are non-migratory, and don't they look beautiful against the snow?"

"One wonders how birds survive in this climate."

"They wear their winter underwear - a nice coat of fat under their feathers," she explained. "Oh, I could talk forever about my bird friends, but you'll be leaving soon for the 'chase."

"I'm in no hurry," he said. "You must have a wealth of memories, Mrs. Inglehart, in addition to riding and bird watching."

"May I tell you a secret?" she asked with a conspiratorial smile. "You have honest eyes, and I know you won't tell on me. Promise you won't tell Victoria?"

"I promise," he said with the sincerity that had won confidences throughout his career in journalism.

"Well!" she began with great relish. "When everyone leaves the house, I go downstairs in my elevator - I call it my magic time capsule - and I walk from room to room, reliving my life! I sit at the head of the dining table where I used to pour tea for the Bird Club, and I imagine it laid with Madeira linen and flowers in a cut-glass bowl and silver trays of dainties - and all the ladies wearing hats!... Does that sound as if I've lost my senses?"

"Not at all. It sounds charming."