Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 18 Who Said Cheese

It was while he was giving the Siamese a couple of slices of meatloaf that the phone rang. His hello brought only labored breathing. "Hello?" he repeated with a questioning inflection. Then he heard a high-pitched voice say, "I'm gonna kill myself." The words were spoken in a monotone, but desperation made them almost falsetto.

"What? What did you say? Is this Aubrey?"

"I'm gonna kill myself."

"Where are you? Are you at your mother's house?"

"I come home. I come home to get a gun. I'm gonna shoot myself."

Qwilleran had heard suicide threats before. Aubrey needed to talk to someone.

"What did your mother think about your leaving?"

"Di'n't tell her."

"How did you get home?"

"Walked."

"Where was she when you left?"

"Diggin' in the yard."

"Don't you think you should have told her?"

"She don't need me. She's got her grandkids. I'm gonna shoot myself."

"But who would take care of your bees? They need you! You told me yourself, they're your friends."

"They're gone. I smoked 'em out."

"Did you blame them for what happened? They didn't know what they were doing."

There was a breathy pause. "I'm goin' crazy. Can't eat. Can't sleep. I'm gonna shoot myself."

"Now, wait a minute, Big Boy. We have to talk about this. I'm your friend. I want to know what's troubling you."

"I got the old man's gun. I'm gonna put it under my chin and pull the trigger."

"Okay, but don't do anything until I get there! I'm leaving right away - do you hear? I'll be there in ten minutes. Turn the outside lights on."

Qwilleran grabbed his jacket and car keys and had the presence of mind to throw the remainder of the meatloaf in the refrigerator. Without saying goodbye, he rushed out the door to his car. Gunning the motor, he bumped through the darkening woods and made a tire-screeching turn onto Park Circle, heading for Sandpit Road. Traffic was light at that hour, and he could speed. Reaching Black Creek, he looked across the forlorn landscape and saw the yardlights of the Limburger house in the distance. It meant that Aubrey had been listening; he was obeying orders.

Qwilleran parked at the curb and hurried to the lighted veranda. As he climbed the crumbling brick steps, the front door opened, and a ghost of a man stood there, his shoulders drooping, his face almost as white as his hair, and his eyes unfocused.

"Thanks for turning on the lights," Qwilleran said, following the shuffling feet into the front hall. A single dim lightbulb burned in the branched chandelier. The door to the gun cabinet was open. "Look here, Big Boy," he said. "Let's go somewhere and have a good talk, friend-to-friend. Let's get away from this gloomy place.

Everything will turn out all right. Don't worry. You 'need to talk to someone who understands, when you're feeling down. Come on. Let's go. Turn out the lights. Lock the door."

Aubrey needed someone to take charge. He did as he was told, moving slowly as if in a trance. Then Qwilleran took him by the elbow and piloted him down the steps and into the car.

He could write a thousand words for his column with the greatest of ease, but he had to work hard to fill the silence that amplified the rumble of the motor as they drove to Pickax. "It's a nice night. Crisp but not chilly. Just what you expect in early October. Soon it will be Halloween - then Thanksgiving, before we know it. We haven't had Indian summer as yet, though. After that. anything can happen. Dark, isn't it? No moon tonight. You can see the glow on the horizon from the Pickax streetlights. Not much traffic tonight. No one goes out on Wednesday night... There's the Dimsdale Diner. They stay open all night. You never see any trucks in the parking lot, though. I think the cook sleeps behind the counter. His pancakes are the worst I've ever eaten. I wonder what he does to them. They say Lois is going to open her lunchroom again."

While he talked about everything and nothing, his passenger slumped in a stupor. Qwilleran hoped that his planned shock treatment would work. They turned off Park Circle, crossed the theatre parking lot, and plunged into the woods. As they emerged from the dark stand of evergreens. Qwilleran reached for the remote control, and instantaneous floodlights turned the towering barn into something unreal. Aubrey sat up and stared.

"An old apple barn," Qwilleran told him. "Built more than a hundred years ago. Wait till you see the inside."

As they walked through the kitchen door, he pressed a single switch that illuminated balconies, ramps, beams, and the giant fireplace cube. Two cats who had been sleeping on the sofa rose, arched their backs, stretched, and jumped down to inspect the visitor. They circled him inquisitively, sniffing his field boots and finding them quite fascinating.

"What are they?" Aubrey asked.

"Siamese cats. Very friendly. You can see they're attracted to you. They know you like animals. The little female is

Yum Yum; the male is Koko. Talk to them. Tell them your name."

"Aubrey," the man said hesitantly.