The Cat Who Dropped a Bombshell

He gave them a treat. He brushed their coats. He read to them about bug and bird voices in Hawthorne's book, then toted them to the gazebo to experience bugs and birds firsthand. For himself he took the cell phone and some chocolate chip cookies.

All three of them seemed to feel a strangeness in the atmosphere. Everything was still, as if waiting for something. The sky, though sunny, was a sick yellow.

Then the phone calls started.

Clarissa called to say that her friend Vicki was arriving in late afternoon and was excited about adopting a kitten but would be unable to stay for Monday's parade because she was starting a new job on Tuesday at an important ad agency.

Qwilleran commented, "For anyone who has seen the Tournament of Roses in California, the Tournament of Peonies in Pickax will be no great loss."

Then Polly called praising Qwilleran for his noble offer to handle the auction and regretting that she could not attend; she had to work. She mentioned that Dundee had been acting freakish all day, as if he sensed a change in the weather.

In late afternoon Wetherby Goode phoned, saying in glum tones, "They're gonna shoot the weatherman for sure when they hear the six PM forecast."

Qwilleran said, "Better come here for a nip before you go to the station, Joe - since you predict this may be the last we'll ever hear."

He carried everyone and everything indoors to hear the bad news.

"The sad truth is this," said the meteorologist when he was seated at the bar with a drink and a bowl of mixed nuts. "That storm front that's been stalled over Canada all summer is starting to move over the lakes. It should hit here Sunday. High winds, torrential rain! What they call a Northern Hurricane. You might as well cancel The Big Burning. People won't want to drive. The rain comes in sheets. We can expect power outages. Does this barn have a generator? If not, better move back to the Village temporarily. We're equipped to take care of blackouts. And our streets are paved."

Qwilleran said, "I hope your weathercast tonight isn't going to scare the public away from my auction tomorrow."

"No, it's intended to give them time to stock up on flashlight batteries, canned soup, and cat and dog food."

On Saturday morning, the Forty Famous Felines were being transported in their group cages to the community hall, where they were given a light repast with a little something added to make them feel good about their adventure. The volunteers who attended them were accustomed to speaking in soothing voices, and they would transfer each kitten to his limousine in the proper order. A few salty tears would be shed over kittens like Prince Hal, Lorna Doone, and Rum Tum Tugger, who were going out into the wide world.

From the waiting room on the lower level, each limousine would be brought to the stage, carried by MCCC spotters, trained for the assignment. The bleak stage was made friendly by a few potted plants lent by florists, and the auctioneer's table in centre front was softened with a paisley shawl lent by Maggie Sprenkle herself. Qwilleran was wearing his silk shirt in a neutral color that would show the kittens' markings to advantage. Purposely, his moustache had not been trimmed.

As the excited audience began to gather, spotters pointed to signs saying: QUIET ! KITTENS ASLEEP !

Four-page catalogs were handed out, listing twenty males and twenty females by their glamorous names, their nicknames, along with markings and eye color.

When the seats were filled on the main floor and balcony, the main doors were closed, and the welcome was made by Maggie Sprenkle, an important figure in the local aristocracy as well as animal welfare.

She said, "We know you're going to adore these kitties and want to scream in delight, but - please keep your voices to a low murmur. And when our auctioneer makes his bow don't welcome him with thunderous applause, but . . . remember the kitties!"

When Qwilleran made his entrance, the enthusiasm threatened to explode. Here was Mr. Q in person! But he held up both hands for silence, and proceeded to thrill them with the depth and warmth of his mellifluous voice.

"Friends, let's review the rules of the game. All of you who have bought bidding tickets have also received numbered flash cards. There will be no shouting of bids. Flash cards will be used to make bids in silence. . . . Let me see your flash cards!" A flutter of numbers filled the main hall.