The Cat Who Dropped a Bombshell

Phoning the photographer, the newsman said, "Bushy, I'm in the soup! Koko destroyed a photo I was supposed to return to someone in Purple Point. I won't go into details, but I'm taking a group to dinner at the Nutcracker Inn on Saturday night, and I wonder if you'd be there to photograph them. We'll arrive at seven o'clock."

"I have a shoot at eight o'clock, but I can squeeze it in. Any instructions?"

"I'm chiefly interested in a full-length portrait of the guest of honor - a tall young man with shoulder-length hair, unless he's had it cut lately. In any case, I'll be there to point him out. You can also shoot the group as a whole. I'll explain later. . . . And Bushy, send me a bill; I'll take it out of Koko's allowance."

On Saturday morning as Qwilleran groomed the Siamese, he said, "It's not every day we have guests from California, so be on your best behavior. If you mind your manners, you might be included in one of his sketches."

The cats were quite calm. As for Qwilleran, he appeared calm, but he was feeling more stage fright than he had felt since playing the lead in a high school production of King Lear.

A chauffeur-driven limousine brought the guests to the barnyard. That was typical of the well-bred, well-heeled old-timers who lived in Purple Point.

The young couple who stepped out of the car gazed up at the barn with unabashed awe.

Qwilleran showed the chauffeur the exit circle. Then he shook hands with Harvey Ledfield - tall, young, and serious in mien, with a healthy crop of shoulder-length hair in the tawny color of an Irish Setter. The young woman, who said she was Clarissa Moore, extended a hand with a businesslike grip that belied her dimpled smile and curly blond hair. Qwilleran thought, Wait until Joe lays eyes on her. He'll light up like Times Square!

The cats were watching from the kitchen window, and Qwilleran explained to his guests, "This is the back door. The front door is in the rear. That's what happens when you convert a drive-through apple barn into something it was never intended to be."

They walked around to the rear (or front) on a flagstone path between weeds and wildflowers tended with loving care by Pat O'Dell's landscape crew.

Then they entered through the custom-made double doors - staring and speechless until Clarissa said, "It's so . . . overwhelming . . . I could cry!"

Qwilleran liked her immediately. He liked her even more when he discovered she was a journalism major in her fourth year.

Still speechless, Harvey wandered around carrying a camp stool, sketch pad, and pencil box. He was looking for vantage points for sketching. Clarissa asked, "Where are your cats, Mr. Qwilleran?"

"Call me Qwill. Koko and Yum Yum are overhead somewhere, giving you a security check. . . . Feel free to walk up the ramps to the roof, Harvey. The scene from every level is incredible."

"I can see that!" the young man said. "You two - just keep out of my way and let me think."

Qwilleran and Clarissa went to the gazebo with refreshments.

She said, "I'm sorry I didn't meet your cats. Aunt Doris showed me a scrapbook of your columns, and a lot of them were about Cool Koko."

"Do you have cats?" he asked.

"I have a British Shorthair named Jerome. He has won prizes. Do you know Brits? They have round heads, perky ears, and great golden eyes." She produced a snapshot from her shoulder bag.

"He has a look of nobility," Qwilleran said, "and I've never seen such lush fur on a Shorthair - or such a rich gray!"

"It's called blue," she corrected him.

"Interesting. Does Harvey like cats?"

"No. He's never known any. When I was growing up in Indiana, we had cats around all the time."

"There are excellent journalism schools in the Midwest; may I ask why you chose California?"

She flashed her dimples. "On a vacation out there, I discovered downhill skiing and it seemed like a good idea . . . but sometimes I get homesick." She waved her arm at the landscape. "It would be fun to work for a paper like the Moose County Something . . . . What's down this little lane?"

He said, "It leads to the back road. There's an art centre down there, and they're having a craft show that you might enjoy. If you want to amble down and see the show, I'll go indoors and give Harvey some moral support."

Harvey was sitting quietly on the camp stool, looking up at the balconies and ramps and then down at his drawing pad. His concentration was too intense to interrupt but as Qwilleran watched, there was a blur of movement overhead and a cry of alarm. Harvey fell off his stool and a cat darted away up the ramp and out of sight.

Qwilleran rushed to the casualty on the floor. "What happened? Are you all right?"

"I'm okay. . . . Surprised, that's all . . . It was like a bombshell - but soft. Was it the cat?"

"I don't know. He's not vicious. Maybe he was playing games. He has a strange sense of humour."

Harvey stood up and shook himself. "I think I've done enough sketching."