THE CAT WHO SAW STARS_

At 1:50 the phone rings. I answer, and a man shouts, “Where is she? Where is that woman?” I say calmly, “I have four here. Which one do you want?” It’s Wetherby. Tess is supposed to be in Horseradish as guest of honor at a family reunion. Fifty relatives have come from all over to meet the Bunkers’ first Ph.D. Photographers are there from two newspapers. I return to the porch and tell Tess, “It’s for you.” As she rushes to the phone, she’s saying, “Oh, no! Oh, no!”

At 1:55 she returns to the porch, wide-eyed. “I’ve got to leave! I’m going to pack! There’s a car blocking the drive!” It’s the rental car, and I offer to move it, but Polly wants to go home to see Brutus and Catta.

At 2:00 Polly leaves, saying she’ll phone me.

At 2:05 Tess leaves in a confusion of embarrassment and remorse. I tell her to drive carefully.

At 2: 10 Janelle leaves because it looks like rain.

At 2:15 Barb leaves, looking more troubled than ever. I ask if something’s wrong. She nods, but says she can’t talk about it.

At 2:20 they’re all gone, and I have a chance to look at the framing job on my sampler (neat) and Polly’s hand-knitted vest (sensational).

At 2:25 the sky turns yellowish-gray. There’s a strange whistling in the tops of the pines. Eerie! Koko goes into a tizzy, racing around, knocking things down, scattering stuff. I tell him, “Christopher Smart’s cat would never wreck the house. He was a paragon of virtue. For he will not do destruction, if he is well fed.” He wriggles as if tired of hearing about Jeoffrey.

At 2:30 I close the windows of guesthouse and van and stack the furniture on the north porch. The storm is coming from Canada.

At 2:35 it’s really dark. Lights have to be turned on. All the windows and doors are closed, and I sit down to wait for the storm to hit. But where are the cats? Nowhere in sight! Where’s the macaroni and cheese? I yell “Koko!” From the pantry come a yargle - half yowl and half swallow. The two of them are on the counter, with their heads down and tails up. They’re devouring the cheese, horseradish and all, but avoiding the macaroni.

The wind and rain that bombarded the shoreline communities on Sunday afternoon was a true squall - brief but violent. In five minutes the lake surface went from glassy to raging surf. Wind-lashed rain slammed into the north side of the cabin, rattling the window glass, seeping under the door and around the window frames. Qwilleran was kept busy soaking up the flood with towels and wringing them out in a pail. Then the blow ended as abruptly as it had started. Although heavy rain continued to fall, it fell in vertical sheets instead of horizontal waves. There was damage indoors but only as a result of Koko’s tizzy: crumpled rugs, a toppled table lamp, books and papers on the floor, and several yards of paper towels unrolled in the kitchen.

The good news was that the power had not failed, and the telephone still had a dial tone. He called Polly. “Just checking to see if you got home safely.”

“Luckily I was indoors before the onslaught. Now it’s merely a normal rainfall, steady but not destructive. How about you?”

“We’re getting a thorough drenching, but the worst is over. Were the cats glad to see you?” he asked.

“Catta was. She’s too young to know she’s supposed to boycott me for twenty-four hours after a prolonged absence.”

“Well, you’re probably tired and have things to do.”

“I admit I’m exhausted.”

“Make a cup of tea and have a Lorna Doone,” he advised, knowing her choice of pick-me-up. “And let me know tomorrow if there’s anything I can do. You’ll need groceries, and I expect to be back in Pickax tomorrow morning as soon as it stops raining.”

He hung up and started rectifying Koko’s rearrangement of the cabin interior. Patiently he rerolled the paper toweling, straightened the rugs, put the lamp together again, and restored two postcards to their proper place.

The gully-washer, as the locals called such a storm, continued all night, pounding the cabin roof and alarming the cats. They were used to the lofty roof of the barn in Pickax; in the tiny cabin, the weather was too close for comfort. Qwilleran allowed Yum Yum to crawl under his bedclothes, and eventually brave Koko followed.

On Monday morning it was still raining steadily, and roads outside Mooseville were flooded. Qwilleran would have to stay at the cabin one more day. The interior was dismal, even with all the lights turned on, and the cats were moping. “Count your blessings,” he told them. “It could be worse.”

Nevertheless they huddled on the floor, facing each other, in their bored-stiff pose. (Reading aloud to them was no good because of the noise of the rain on the roof.) Only then did Qwilleran remember the Kalico Kat. He found it in a drawer and placed it on the floor between their dispirited noses.

Koko stretched his neck to sniff it and then withdrew into his torpor. Qwilleran thought, So much for contemporary American folk art. Yum Yum, on the other hand, showed some signs of interest.