The Cat Who Had 60 Whiskers

“He has a girlfriend,” Danny interrupted.

Hannah stood up. “So nice to run into you, Qwill. I’ll tell Louie I saw you. Come on, Danny!”

Late that evening Qwilleran and Polly had their elevenP .M. phone chat. He asked, “Did you have a good day?”

“We had a few interesting customers. Sales were about normal. Dundee ate something he shouldn’t have and threw up.”

“I visited Linguini’s Party Store. They have a new litter of kittens, and I contributed a name for one of them. I suggested Squunky. Nick showed me around the vineyard. I’ve decided my interest in vineyards, vintners, and viticulture is purely literary. I like the sound of the words and the quotations from the Bible and poets and playwrights…. So I’m afraid it’s a no-story again….”

“Oh dear! You’ve wasted a lot of time!”

“A writer’s time is never wasted. We’ll talk about it at dinner Saturday night. How about the Old Grist Mill? We’ll pay the new management the compliment of dressing up.”

Polly hesitated longer than normal. “Oh, dear! There’s a complication…. You know my friend Shirley in Lockmaster?”

“We haven’t met, but I know she’s the Lockmaster librarian who quit when you did—and went into book merchandising, the way you did.”

“Yes, but her bookstore is a hundred years old and has been in the family all that time. Saturday is her sixtieth birthday. They’re taking a private room at the Palomino Paddock. They want me to be there as a surprise! You’re invited, too, but I think you wouldn’t enjoy it. They play guessing games.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Qwill, I hate to miss our Saturday-night date. It’s the first time ever!”

“That’s perfectly all right. I’ll take Rhoda Tibbitt to dinner and talk about her late husband. Have a good evening. Better not drive back till Sunday morning. I don’t want you to drive alone at night.” Then, since he had placed the call, it was his place to say“À bientôt.”

“À bientôt,”she said. Did he detect a slight chill on the line? Surely she realized that Rhoda was the eighty-nine-year-old widow of the century-old historian of Moose County.

Polly’s defection on Saturday night—in favor of dinner and guessing games in Lockmaster—was just what Qwilleran needed to launch the Tibbitt project. Rhoda was only too happy to cooperate. He picked her up at Ittibittiwassee Estates, where the other residents were thrilled to see one of their number go to dinner with Mr. Q.

Qwilleran had made a reservation at Tipsy’s Tavern, a roadhouse in a log cabin—with its own poultry farm. It was aptly named for the owner’s cat, a portrait of which hung in the main dining room—white with a black patch slipping crazily over one eye. There was a private alcove overlooking the poultry yard that could be closed off for conferences after dinner, and the management was always proud to reserve it for Mr. Q.

As for the food, there was no doubt that Tipsy’s had the best ham and eggs and chicken à la king in the county—but nothing fancy—and the cook made no claim to being a chef.

Qwilleran said to his guest, “We’ll have dinner first and chat; then we’ll clear the table and turn on the recorder.”

He said, “I first met Homer at the Klingenschoen mansion when it was a museum. The cats and I were living there. Iris Cobb was housekeeper. There was a meeting room upstairs, with an elevator, and Homer was scheduled to speak, but he was late—”

Rhoda nodded and smiled. “Homer said everyone should have a personal motto, and his was:Always be late. ”

“Well, there we were, waiting,” Qwilleran said. “Every time the elevator bell rang, everyone looked at the approaching car. The door would open, and it would be someone else. About the fourth time the bell rang, we all looked at the elevator door, positive that it was Homer. The doors opened, and out walked Koko, with his tail high.”

“I remember,” she said, “and he seemed surprised that everyone was laughing and shouting.”

“Was Homer a good principal?” Qwilleran asked.

She said, “We all had a crush on our principal. He was so elegant the way he was dressed and groomed, and he treated his teachers in such courtly fashion. He was the first to retire and went into volunteer work at the Lockmaster Mansion Museum. So when I retired, I went there to apply. Imagine my surprise to findmy principal in old clothes, crawling around on hands and knees, followed by a belligerent-looking cat!…It turned out that the mansion was plagued with mice, and Homer said that it was necessary to find out where they were getting in. He claimed to have foundover a dozen mouse holes and plugged them up, and the cat was furious because his source of supply was being eroded!

“It was another twelve or fifteen years before we were married, and Homer turned out to be a lot of fun…. Do you remember the time, Qwill, when adelegation of us in ten limousines rode around the county dedicating bronze plaques?”

“I do indeed! The worse it got, the funnier it got…. Here comes our dinner. We’ll continue the reminiscences later.”