THE CAT WHO SAW STARS_

That was another of Qwilleran’s absolute favorites. Okay, he thought; she can stay a second night. He said, “Grott’s Grocery is run by four generations: Gramps, Pop, Sonny, and Kiddo. They still cut meat to order and cheese from the wheel. Anything you buy can go on my charge account. Tell Gramps you’re my guest.”

Then a surge of hospitality prompted him to say, “Would you like to see a play at the barn theater tomorrow night? It’s a sellout, but they reserve a few passes for visiting celebrities.”

“I love barn theater!” she said.

Tess retired early to the Snuggery - she wanted to do some reading - and Qwilleran phoned Wetherby Goode in Indian Village. He said, “Guess who drove a school bus into my yard today and moved into the guest house! Your cousin!”

“That woman! She was supposed to go to the family homestead in Horseradish and phone you from there.”

“Well, she changed her mind.”

“What do you think of her, Qwill?”

“She’s as nutty as you are! But pleasant and interesting. Did you tell her that I have a weakness for macaroni-and-cheese and lamb shank?”

“No. I never mentioned food. I swear!”

“The problem is, she seems to like it here, but I’ve got to move back to Pickax.”

“Throw her out! She won’t mind,” Wetherby said. “And thanks, Qwill, for pinch hitting for me at the dogcart races Saturday.”

Friday morning Qwilleran served a continental breakfast on the kitchen porch, which was flooded with morning sun. He reconstituted frozen orange juice, thawed cinnamon rolls, and pressed the button on the automated coffeemaker. The Siamese joined them, looking for warm concrete on which to sun. Koko stretched out full-length to do his grooming in solarized comfort.

“He’s a ham,” Qwilleran explained. “He likes an audience for his morning ablutions. An eighteenth-century poet described the ritual in ten steps: For first he looks upon his forepaws to see if they are clean. For secondly, he kicks up behind to clear away there.”

Tess laughed heartily and said, “For thirdly he works it upon stretch, with his forepaws extended.

“You know Christopher Smart!” Qwilleran said in pleased surprise.

“Oh, I adored Christopher Smart! I named my male cat after Jeoffrey. Stop and think: For two centuries - or two millennia - cats have been washing up in the same simple, efficient way, while we go on inventing revolutionary improvements that mayor may not be successful or even necessary.”

“Avoid radical theories in Mooseville,” he advised. “Don’t get yourself arrested. The local lawmen may consider the Republic of Crowmania subversive…Incidentally, while you’re there, be sure to visit Elizabeth’s Magic on Oak Street.”

After the yellow bus had wheeled down the driveway, Qwilleran took the file of crow literature to the lake porch and read it carefully, hoping to find something – anything - that would suggest a scenario to Tess’s specifications. He was disappointed. There was nothing that made crows seem glamorous or heroic or inspirational. They had some repulsive feeding habits. They could be nasty to other species or even other crows who happened to be outside their family cooperative. They enjoyed pulling the tails of dogs, sheep, and birds of a different feather. Some of their hobbies bordered on the kinky, like encouraging ants to run through their feathers.

“Please!” he said in repugnance. He thought about the friendly family of seven who visited the beach daily and amused the Siamese. They cawed, and Koko cawed right back. They strutted. They showed off. They seemed to have innocent fun.

Now, in the cold light of research, crows seemed snobbish, antisocial, prejudiced, and nauseous in some relationships. Qwilleran threw the dossier aside and drove into Mooseville to buy red wine and fruit juices for sangria - and to see if Tess had been arrested. He found the yellow bus on the hotel parking lot surrounded by excited tourists. Tess, in her crow T-shirt, stood on the bottom step of the bus and answered questions. A patrol car cruised slowly past the scene.

As he listened to her captivating her audience, Wayne Stacy came up to him. “She’s a friend of yours? She asked permission to park on the lot and said she was visiting you.”

“She’s Wetherby’s cousin from Down Below. She’s here to visit her family in Horseradish.”

“I told her she could park there for an hour. Anything that pleases the tourists is good for business. But after that we have to clear the lot and paint lines on the asphalt for the dogcart event - lanes for racers, you know. We use a temporary kind of marker and then hope it won’t rain tonight and wash it away. A big storm is expected, coming down from Canada, but Wetherby says it isn’t due till Sunday. He appreciates your filling in for him, Qwill, and so do we.”

There was a ripple of applause around the bus as the crowd started to dissolve, and Qwilleran moved away before Tess could see him. According to schedule, it was time for her to go home and start cooking the lamb. He went to Elizabeth’s Magic to inquire about his special order.