Twelve Angry Librarians

Handler sounded sincere, and I supposed if Kanesha tried to verify the story, she might be able to. It could be a clever fiction, though. This man was a novelist, and apparently a good one, to judge by what Marisue and Cathleen said. He could make up a plausible story without thinking all that hard about it.

I had to accept what he told me at face value, and he probably was telling the truth. I couldn’t forget his background in chemistry, though, and that left me with a niggling doubt about his story and his motives for sharing it with me. I wondered why he hadn’t simply told me to go to hell and be done with it.

“Thank you for telling me,” I said. I thought about adding another apology but decided I’d apologized enough. He hadn’t acknowledged the first one anyway.

Handler shrugged before he pushed himself up from the couch. “Whatever,” he said before he walked off.

The room had continued to fill while I spoke with Handler, and I estimated there must be about twenty people here. A couple, a woman and a man, sat on the sofa away from me and Diesel and chatted with each other after a quick nod in my direction. Diesel seemed not to be stressed by the number of people, and I relaxed a bit.

I needed to visit the bathroom, however, and I took Diesel with me. We made our way past a small knot of people near the table where the hotel staff had laid out several choices of finger food. I spotted some cream cheese and spinach spirals that I particularly liked, and I hoped there would be some left when we came back from the bathroom.

I took my time in the bathroom, which I had fortunately found unoccupied. Despite the lure of food, I was in no hurry right then to rejoin the crowd. Once I’d washed and dried my hands, however, I had no reason to linger. “Come on, boy,” I said. “Back into the fray.”

The crowd had thinned by five or six people in the few minutes I was in the bathroom. I breathed a little easier as Diesel and I approached the food table. I picked up a plate and napkin and helped myself to two—well, three, since there were still plenty left—of the cream cheese and spinach spirals. Thus far I’d avoided making eye contact because I knew I was too distracted by my thoughts to want to make conversation with strangers. I was sure people thought I was strange or standoffish or both, but I wasn’t in the mood to repeat over and over information about Maine Coon cats and respond to remarks on Diesel’s size. Maybe I was turning into a curmudgeon and didn’t realize it. Or maybe I was just tired.

I found a seat, this time facing the door, and cleaned my plate. Diesel kept gazing at me with hope in his eyes, but I thought I detected garlic or onion in the spirals, and neither of those was good for cats. I promised him a treat when we got home.

I finished my diet soda and decided I wanted water now. The bar was near my chair, and I left Diesel where he was while I retrieved the water. Relieved to see that it was a different brand than the one Gavin favored, I brought it back to my chair and resumed my place. Diesel decided to climb into my lap, and suddenly I had large feet treading on tender places. I grimaced until the heavy weight in my lap found a comfortable position, head on one arm of the chair and tail hanging over the other.

“My goodness, that is the largest cat I think I’ve ever seen.”

I remembered that voice. It was either Ada Lou or Virginia. I couldn’t remember which was which, but they stood about five feet away from me, staring at Diesel.

“Don’t you think that’s the largest cat I’ve ever seen, Virginia?” Ada Lou nudged the woman beside her in her ribs.

Virginia scowled. “How on earth should I know whether that’s the largest cat you’ve ever seen, Ada Lou? You’ve been to a zoo, haven’t you? They’ve got much larger cats there. Surely you’ve seen lions and tigers.”

“Well of course I have.” Ada Lou appeared cross. “You know what I meant. That’s the largest pet cat I’ve ever seen.” She stared at Diesel, then her eyes seemed to travel upward to his face. “Oh, so you’re the one people have been talking about.”

“I suppose so,” I said, resigned to conversing on the subject of my cat. “His name is Diesel, and he’s a Maine Coon. They’re the largest American breed of house cat, and the only truly American breed.”

“You don’t say,” Virginia said. “I’ve heard of them, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen one in person before. Does he bite?”

“How much does he eat a day?” Ada Lou talked right over Virginia’s last few words, and for a moment I couldn’t sort out what either of them had asked. Once I did, I answered them.

“Well, that surely is interesting,” Ada Lou said. “Don’t you think that’s interesting, Virginia? He’s so big he looks like he could be ferocious, but this man is telling us he’s gentle.”