The Cat Who Smelled a Rat_txt

“What’s bugging you, sweetheart?” he asked, trying to pick her up for comforting, but she darted away and ran to the coffee table. There he found that a cat had upchucked on his book about Egypt with its fine jacket illustration of pyramids in the desert. Fortunately the cover was protected by a heavy polyurethane slipjacket. Even so, why had the cat elected that particular spot for an indiscretion?

Obviously Koko was the culprit. Cats never covered for each other. The innocent one always circled and sniffed the scene of the crime. And where was the perpetrator? He was not hiding in guilt or shame or embarrassment; he was sitting complacently on his cushion atop the refrigerator.

Silently Qwilleran did what had to be done. There was nothing to be gained by scolding. Perhaps Koko had an upset stomach, but he could have selected a more appropriate target.

Qwilleran stayed calm. And Koko was certainly calm. Only sweet little Yum Yum with her housekeeperly instincts suffered the stigma of it all. Qwilleran picked her up and carried her around the room several times, kneading her fur and murmuring in her ear-until she purred.

And as he walked, he pondered the remarkable creature named Kao K’o Kung, trying to communicate and failing to get through… . No wonder he tossed his cookies! And on my best book! What does he want to tell me?

A moment later Qwilleran had a brilliant idea. Putting Yum Yum down-gently-he phoned Kirt Nightingale and left a message on the machine.

“Kirt, this is Qwilleran. I’ve decided to go whole hog-David Roberts-Napoleon-and anything else you consider a wise investment. Could you come over tomorrow, about noon, and have a Bloody Mary and give me some advice? Just call and leave a yes or no on my machine.”

When Qwilleran picked up Polly for a dinner date at the Nutcracker Inn, he was met at the door by Brutus, her self-appointed security officer, who accepted a small bribe. “The way to have a friend is to be a friend,” said Qwilleran, “and that goes double for cats.” On the way to Black Creek he announced, “I’ve solved my Christmas-shopping problem!”

“I wish I could,” she said. “What are you doing?” “Giving everyone a gift certificate for an ankle tattoo at a Bixby art studio. It’s now socially correct to declare your commitment to the environment by having a nature symbol tattooed on your ankle.”

Her peals of laughter jolted his grip on the wheel. “Who gave you that idea?”

“You could have a butterfly or a mouse or a cardinal-“

“Cardinals are overdone. You see them on greeting cards, T-shirts, pot holders, wastebaskets-everywhere,” she objected.

“You have plenty of time to decide. I visualize Arch with a bullfrog and Mildred with a white rabbit.”

His manner was so serious, she never knew when she was being teased.

She said, “I saw Derek driving into our street the other day. I wonder what that was all about?”

“He and Wetherby were probably planning the entertainment for the party. I wouldn’t be surprised if they did a tap dance.”

Polly had never seen the tall brick mansion that housed the Nutcracker Inn.

“Wait till you see the interior,” he said. “Fran Brodie was commissioned to furnish it in Stickley, like the Mackintosh Inn.”

“But the atmosphere is different,” she said as she entered. “Lighter and airier and friendlier. It’s the pale coral walls!”

When the innkeeper welcomed them, he said to Qwilleran, “The young couple you recommended as innkeepers came in and introduced themselves. They have good personalities and credentials, and I told them-“

“Mr. Knox! Mr. Knox!” cried a young woman in a housekeeping smock as she rushed down the stairs from an upper floor. “Mrs. Smith on the third floor wants her dinner sent up on a tray.”

“No problem,” he said quietly. “Give the information to the hostess. And Cathy-walk, don’t rush.” To the guests he explained, “An MCCC student. Her first day on the job.”

Polly said, “How well I remember my first day on my first job.”

“Don’t we all!”

In the dining room the tablecloths were the same pale coral. They both ordered grilled salmon-to go with the tablecloths, they said. Qwilleran grumbled that it must be the cook’s first day on the job, too, although he finished every morsel on his plate.

Polly said, “Guess who came to the library today, bearing gifts? Misty Morghan! She’s offering us two large batiks in splashy colors to brighten the reading room. I took her to lunch at Rennie’s.”

“What did you do with your trusty tuna sandwich?”

“Gave it to Mac and Katie. Misty claims to have a unique eye for hidden details, and she can tell when someone has had cosmetic surgery. She was glancing around the restaurant, and it struck me as invasion of privacy, but I reserved my opinion. She said to me, ‘Don’t look now, but the man over there has had a complete facial reconstruction.’ He must have been in a devastating accident.”

“Did you look?”

“Of course I looked! It was Kirt Nightingale! I always thought his expression was unemotional. I wonder if he’s doing well with his catalogue.”