The Cat Who Had 60 Whiskers

He went downtown to Lanspeak’s Department Store and asked Carol about a going-away gift for Polly. “Not another scarf! And certainly not a bottle of French perfume!”

She said, “We have a wonderful travel coat—gabardine—with snap flaps on the patch pockets—with secret pockets in the lining—and a brimmed rain hat. Polly looked at it but thought the price a little steep.”

“I’ll take it!” he said. “In fact, I’ll take two. Is there a choice of colors?”

Now, it seemed to Qwilleran, would be a good time to work on his senior program for Lisa Compton. It would be easy. He could tell an anecdote or two about Cool Koko…then show a stack of the school notebooks he filled with journal entries. Never a day went by without filling a page.

On some days there were brief entries:

When Yum Yum, my female Siamese, has access to a long hallway with many doors to bedrooms, bathrooms, etc., her performance is a wonder to watch. The doors are open; the rooms are unoccupied much of the time.

With stiff legs and resolute steps, she proceeds to walk the length of the hall down the exact center, looking straight ahead. At each open door she stops in her tracks; her body remains motionless except for her head, which swivels to look in the room. Only her eyeballs move as she appraises the interior. Then, finding nothing of interest, she switches her head back to the main course and trudges on to the next open door.

I have never seen her find anything of interest, but she continues her silent inspections.

There are times when I would like to redesign this barn and put the front door in the front and the back door in the back. But what is the back? And what is the front?

I stable my bicycles in the elegant foyer—and greet guests at the kitchen door.

I guess this is what happens when you convert a drive-through apple barn into a residence. And it reminds me of the pioneers who founded Pickax. Did they have a mischievous sense of humor when they put North Street south of South Street…and when they put storefronts facing the alley and loading docks facing the street?

Pickax is the quintessential absurdist city!

That evening, Qwilleran phoned the Comptons and told Lisa he was ready to talk to the seniors about private journals. He had some free time. He would read a couple of his own entries. They could start their own journals without waiting for the Senior Health Club to be finished.

Lisa said they would announce the date at the community hall.

“There’ll be a crowd!” she said. “We’ll notify the Traffic Department.”

On Thursday, Qwilleran felt the need for lunch and camaraderie with Kip MacDiarmid. The editor in chief of theLockmaster Ledger was one of his best friends, and Kip’s wife, Moira, was the marmalade breeder who had presented the affable Dundee to the Pirate’s Chest. Their favorite restaurant was in the old Inglehart mansion.

Kip’s first words were, “Moira says you and Polly must come to dinner soon.”

“Polly’s leaving for Paris for two weeks,” Qwilleran said, “with Shirley Bestover.”

When told the particulars, Kip asked, “Who’s planning their trip?”

“It appears there’s a semiretired travel agent in Lockmaster, who will go along to see that they get the best of everything.”

“Him, I know him! He’s an old roué, but I suppose Polly and Shirley can handle him. You might tip them off.”

They talked about many things. “If you would syndicate your column in theLedger, we’d run it on page one and it would double our circulation….

“Want to know something, Kip? Our office manager at the paper says that most of the mail that comes addressed to Koko has a Lockmaster postmark…. You’ve got a bunch of Koko-nuts around here.”

They mentioned the local election that was coming up. “The incumbent is sure to win,” Kip said. “The challenger is confident, but…as the saying goes, he couldn’t get elected dogcatcher!”

Then Kip made a suggestion that launched Qwilleran like a rocket. It was just what he needed under the present circumstances. “Were you ever involved in the Theater of the Absurd?”

“Yes, I was in New York and saw it at its best. I always wanted to write an absurdist play, but never did.”

“There’s talk about a revival. Would you be interested?” Kip asked.

“How about an original absurdist creation? How about:The Cat Who Was Elected Dogcatcher ?”

Then Kip changed the subject slyly: “Moira wants me to ask you if you’re still practicing medicine without a license. You could bottle this stuff and sell it.”

He referred to a humorous verse Qwilleran had composed for his last birthday. He brought a card from his vest pocket printed with a typical Qwilleran limerick:

An editor known as Kip

Is said to run a tight ship.

His heart is large,

He’s always in charge,

But he won’t take any lip.

The editor said, “Whenever I’m feeling below normal, physically or otherwise, I read your prescription and it gives me a boost.”

Qwilleran said, “I’ve been thinking of writing a book on the subject of humorous verse—”

“Do it! I’ll buy the first copies and give them to all my friends.”