THE CAT WHO SANG FOR THE BIRDS

The moon was bright, the temperature mild, the breeze playful. On such a night Qwilleran was in no hurry to go back indoors. He walked around the barn, thinking about the compass and the two books by authors named West. Brodie had a case; it was too absurd for a rational mind to accept, and yet… who could know anything about the circuitry in Koko’s fantastic little brain? Only a Korzybski could comprehend the cat’s connections between Things and Meanings and Messages.

As he took a second turn around the building he could hear an imperious baritone yowling. Thinking it a protest about the bedtime snack that was behind schedule, Qwilleran went indoors to dish up Kabibbles. There he found Koko alternately jumping at the door handle of the broom closet and running to the window in the foyer. This was no request for food.

It was a subtle hint that he, too, wanted a moonlight excursion, and he wanted it immediately. The cat’s body was trembling with excitement as he was buckled into his gear. Yum Yum, who had an aversion to leather straps, was hiding in one of her many secret places.

The terrain was eerily illuminated by the full moon as the two adventurers set out down the lane, Koko riding on Qwilleran’s shoulder and Qwilleran keeping a firm hand on the leash. The cat could see invisible movement in the underbrush, and he could hear inaudible sounds in the night air. Once a rabbit crossed their path; another time, a waddling raccoon. Once there had been a great homed owl in the woods who hooted in Morse code, but he had moved to wilder habitat after the Art Center was built. Koko liked to give the building a security check, tugging at the leash, walking about the studios, sniffing the aromas of the artists’ turpentine, ink, and tuna sandwiches.

On this occasion Koko’s body vibrated excessively as they neared the gate, and when they reached the Art Center he did his imitation of a pileated woodpecker: a rapid-fire kek-kek-kek-kek-kek-kek-kek like an automatic weapon in the still night. There was no traffic on Trevelyan Road. The empty parking lot looked blue in the moonlight.

When Qwilleran unlocked the front door, he felt a draft of air, as if a window were open. He could see through the main room to the sliding glass doors and the moonlit landscape beyond. One door had been left half open; Beverly would have a fit if she knew, no matter how warm the weather. With Koko still on his shoulder, he closed it. There was no need to turn on lights. The interior had an enchanting chiaroscuro effect. Rectangles of moonlight made a checkerboard out of floor, walls, and furnishings.

At that point Koko struggled to get down and landed on the floor with a thump, where he stood like a statue with legs splayed and ears pricked. Then he pulled toward the studios. The darkness of the long hall was punctuated by pools of moonlight filtering through the studio doors. The floor squeaked under their feet, and Qwilleran thought, New building - squeaking floors - bad construction.

Suddenly the hush was broken by pounding footsteps coming up the basement stairs at the end of the hall, and a tall figure charged toward them in the half-light.

Qwilleran stepped back into the manager’s office, and at the same time Koko flew through the opposite door.

Without intent, they had stretched the leash between them, and the fleeing intruder tripped and fell headlong.

Instantly Koko was on the man’s back, digging in with his claws and rattling a menacing kek-kek-kek-kek-kek-kek-kek. At the same time Qwilleran reached back into the office to flip the wall switch, hoping to find a weapon… there it was! The totem pole.

As the prone figure struggled to rise, Qwilleran tapped him on the back of the head with the wood carving. “Hands behind your head! Don’t move! We have an attack animal here, and he doesn’t fool around!”

The head went down and the hands came up. It was a head as red as the cap on a pileated woodpecker!

With the leash in his left hand and the totem pole under his left arm, Qwilleran reached back into the office for the phone and called 911: “We’re holding an escaped prisoner from the county jail… holding him at the Art Center… on Trevelyan Road.”

The prisoner was quiet. Every time he attempted to move, Koko threatened him with another kek-kek-kek-kek-kek-kek-kek and kneaded his back with his claws. In a matter of minutes the sirens and flashing lights converged on the building. As soon as possible Qwilleran and Koko made an unobtrusive exit. They weren’t needed. The officers had their fugitive.

The next morning the WPKX newscast reported, “A police prisoner who escaped from the county jail last evening was quickly apprehended by city and county officers in a hiding place at the Art Center on Trevelyan Road. As a suspect facing charges of arson and homicide, he will be arraigned today.”

-19-