THE CAT WHO SANG FOR THE BIRDS

Returning home, Qwilleran drove around the Park Circle, where Main Street divided into one-way north-bound and southbound lanes. On the perimeter of the traffic circle were two venerable churches, the stately courthouse, and a public library that resembled a Greek temple. Yet the most imposing structure was a fieldstone cube that sparkled in the sunlight. Originally the Klingenschoen mansion, it was now a small theater for plays and concerts, its gardens paved for parking. The four-stall carriage house was still there, and the apartment above was occupied by a woman who took special orders for meatloaf, macaroni and cheese, and other freezables for a bachelor’s larder.

At the rear of the parking lot Qwilleran’s brown van passed through an ornamental iron gateway into an ancient grove of evergreens so dense that all was dark and silent even in midday. Suddenly the drive opened into a clearing where a huge structure, more than a hundred years old, loomed like an enchanted castle. This was Qwilleran’s barn, octagonal and four stories high.

The first story was the original fieldstone foundation, with walls so thick that small windows cut in the stone looked like crossbow ports in a medieval fort. Above the foundation the walls were

shingled with weathered wood, and the octagonal roof was centered with a cupola. New windows cut in the walls had odd shapes dictated by the massive interior timbers bracing the structure.

Then there were the doors. In its heyday, this had been a drive-through barn, with doors large enough for a farm wagon and a team of horses. Now the two large openings were filled with glass panels and doors of human scale. A formal double door faced east, leading from the foyer; a single door on the west connected the barnyard with the kitchen.

The interior was even more spectacular. As renovated by an architect from Down Below, it featured a continuous ramp that spiraled up to the roof, connecting balconies on three levels. In

the central open space, which soared a good forty feet, stood a huge white fireplace cube with white cylindrical stacks rising to the roof. The cube divided the main floor into lounge area, library, dining room, and foyer.

Though not especially designed to be cat-friendly, that was what the barn proved to be. The cube, a good eight feet high, was a safe perch just beyond human reach. The ramp was made-to-order for a fifty-yard dash; before each meal, eight thundering paws spiraled to the top and down again. Odd-shaped windows admitted triangles and rhomboids of sunlight that tantalized the cats by moving throughout the day.

Arriving home, Qwilleran parked his van in the barnyard and checked the antique sea chest that stood at the back door and served for package deliveries. It was empty. He stood with his hand on the doorknob as he had a moment’s qualms about his housemates. Were they all right? Had they wrecked the interior in a fit of catly exuberance? Would they meet him with a yowling welcome and waving tails?

When he entered the kitchen, the premises were hushed, with no visible signs of life.

“Koko! Yum Yum!” he shouted - three times with increasing concern - before starting a search. Circling the main floor counterclockwise, he stopped short when he reached the foyer. “You rascals!” he said with relief and rebuke. “You gave me a scare!”

The two elegant Siamese were standing on their hind legs, gazing out the low-silled windows that flanked the front door. They were watching a congregation of seven black crows just outside the glass. They had never seen such birds at such close range. Briefly, they turned glassy eyes toward the person who had called their names, but they were still under the spell of these creatures who strutted in unison like a drill team-all seven to the north, then right-about-face and all seven to the south.

“I’ve brought you guys a treat,” Qwilleran said. Reluctantly they moved away from their posts and followed him to the kitchen, walking stiffly on long slender brown legs. When they reached the sunlight streaming through the west windows, their fawn fur glistened with iridescence and their dark brown masks framed brilliant blue eyes.

Suddenly black noses twitched, brown ears pricked forward, and whiplike brown tails waved in approval. Turkey! It was diced and served on separate plates.

Then Qwilleran produced a white canvas tote bag with the logo of the Pickax Public Library and announced, “All aboard!” He lowered it to the floor and spread the handles. Koko was the first to jump in, settling down in the bottom and making himself as compact as possible. Yum Yum followed, landing on top of him. After some good-natured shifting and squirming, they settled in, and other items were tucked in around them. It was the easiest, quickest, safest way to transport two indoor cats, some reading matter, and a coffee thermos to the gazebo. It was only a few yards from the barn - a free-standing octagonal structure, screened on all eight sides.