The Cat Who Had 14 Tales

The bank had a cat, too. They kept boxes of old bank records in the cellar, and one winter the mice got in and messed them up. So they got a cat. Her name was Constance. Black with white feet and green eyes. Oh my! Those eyes! They made folks uncomfortable. Seemed like Constance knew what you were thinking, and she’d look at you reproachful-like. Uncle Bill called her Conscience. He said: “If a burglar tried to rob the bank, Conscience would give him that look, and he’d run like the dickens.” So then everybody called her Conscience.

Listen! Do you hear blue jays? Reminds me of the funeral. Is there a tree out there? They like oak trees . . . .

Excuse me, ma’am. What was the funeral you mentioned?

Don’t shout at me! I’m not deaf . . . . The funeral? Why, it was Mister Freddie’s funeral. Don’t you know what happened to him? It was on the front page of the County Gazette. Everybody worshipped Mister Freddie. He was handsome as all get-out. Little moustache—wavy hair—blue eyes. He was just Freddie when he was growing up in Gattville. Then he got to be manager of the bank—with a private office and a clerk and a stenographer and all. So then folks started to call him Mister Freddie. Out of respect, you see. He wasn’t old. He was only forty when he died . . . . Are you still there?

Yes, ma’am. You’re a good storyteller.

The farmers would come into town to ask for a loan to buy seed, and Mister Freddie would make them feel real good, like they were doing the bank a big favor. The women were always taking him a batch of cookies or a jar of homemade jelly. He liked gooseberry. The young girls would go to the bank and get change for a nickel, just so Mister Freddie would smile at them.

He was married, but he wasn’t happy. When he was away at college he married a widow. She was older. Folks in Gattville didn’t see much of her except on Sundays. She was sickly.

Mister Freddie didn’t go to church, but everybody said he was a blessing from heaven. After the granary explosion he organized the volunteer fire brigade. And he got the town to get rid of the wooden sidewalks and put in brick ones. And he got them to put indoor plumbing in the school. When they tore down the old Cousin Johns in the schoolyard, Uncle Bill said they should call the new ones Cousin Freddies. Uncle Bill was a regular cutup.

Listen to that old lady across the hall! She’s always hollering. Why do old folks make so much fuss? . . . What was I talking about?

The funeral, ma’am.

The funeral? . . . Oh, yes. Mister Freddie. He was a hard worker—worked six or seven days a week except when he went to Chicago. He had to work late every night because folks pestered him during banking hours. They’d walk into his private office and unload all their troubles. Gattville didn’t have a lawyer, but Mister Freddie knew about things like that, and he’d give them advice. Or maybe they were having trouble at home. Or maybe they couldn’t sleep nights. Mister Freddie would listen—so sympathetic, he was—and they’d walk out of the bank feeling a heap better. Folks said Mister Freddie did more good than the preacher and the doctor rolled into one. Nobody could understand it when he hanged himself.

Listen! The nurse is coming. I can hear her shoes. They go squinch-squinch-squinch on the floor. My shoes never did that.

Time for your pill, you sweet old thing! Hold out your hand . . . . Now pop it in your mouth. Here’s a glass of water . . . . I’ll be back when it’s time for your nap. Be a good girl. Don’t flirt with this nice young man.

Hmmph! Did you hear what she called me? I’m not sweet and I’m not old. The silly madame! Squinch-squinch-squinch! I always had nice shoes. I had a pair of white kid with eighteen buttons and embroidery all the way up the side. They were for summer.

Excuse me, ma’am. Did you say Mister Freddie took his own life?

What? Yes, Matt was the one that found him. Matt was the clerk. Mister Freddie always got to the bank early and opened up, but when Matt got there on Saturday morning, the door was locked. That was odd, because it was going to be a busy day—payday at the mills. So Matt went around to the barn in back, to see if Mister Freddie’s horse and buggy had come in. And that’s when he found him—hanging there! It was terrible!