The Cat Who Dropped a Bombshell полностью

He was glad to return to the barn and spend a quiet hour or two with the Siamese before leaving for Winston Park to pick up Clarissa.

When he arrived at her apartment, she was in a festive mood, but a cat of imposing size was sitting calmly in the centre of the middle seat cushion of the sofa.

"Hail to thee, Sir Jerome!" Qwilleran said with a grand gesture.

The cat observed him with large golden eyes and without a flicker of a whisker.

To Clarissa, Qwilleran said, "Magnificent creature! What language does he speak?" He was accustomed to the Siamese with their voluble responses and expressive gestures.

"He's awed by your moustache."

She explained, "I don't know why he always sits in the exact middle of a chair or cushion or rug - or anything."

"He's a Centrist," Qwilleran said with authority. "Many cats are Centrists. If they were humans, they'd be halfway between Republicans and Democrats."

Before they left Qwilleran complimented Jerome on his blue coat (which he still considered gray) . . . and slyly complimented Clarissa on her gray pantsuit (which was obviously blue).

Qwilleran noted that his passenger was carrying a large satchel-type handbag, reminding him of Thelma Thackery. Was this California style? He avoided dropping the usual masculine quips. (Bring your own dinner? Planning to stay overnight?) Later he would learn what it contained.

En route to the party he told her what new faces she would meet: Connie Constable was a vet at the pet hospital, especially good with cats . . . and Judd Amhurst was a retired engineer and now manager of special events at the bookstore.

Then he remarked, "I hear you have settled in at the paper."

"Yes, and everyone is so friendly! Roger MacGillivray introduced me around. . . . Is he married?"

"Not only married but father of three, whom he's helping to homeschool. You've met John Bushland - prize-winning photographer. Likes to be called Bushy. He and Roger and I were once marooned on a deserted island in a horrendous storm. The three of us are bonded for life."

During cocktails and while waiting for the pizza delivery, Wetherby outdid himself at the piano, playing Chopin's "Minute Waltz." Then Qwilleran was induced to compose an impromptu limerick about Jerome:

An out-of-town cat named Jerome

Says, "I never wanted to roam.

There's not enough sun

And the mice are no fun.

Show me the way to go home."

Then Judd asked Qwilleran if he could write limericks about dogs.

"I just happen to have one with me." He drew an index card from his pocket, having expected Judd to bring up the subject sooner or later. The card read:

There once was a hound with an itch

Who didn't know which end was which.

But he was no fool;

He went off to school,

And learned: Every dog has his niche.

Eventually the subject of the Heirloom Auction took the spotlight. Everyone agreed it was for a good cause and wanted to participate.

"Clever kids, those students of Burgess's," said Wetherby. "They get you coming or going - or both. I donate my grandpappy's moustache cup - then go to the auction and bid on some other grandpappy's shaving mug."

Polly said, "I'm not in the market for any more objects but I'm donating a lot of my in-laws' collection."

Clarissa said she would attend for the thrill of bidding on something. "The only item I have to donate is nothing that anyone could possibly want. I hang onto it only because my grandmother acquired it when she was young."

"What is it?" everyone asked at once.

"I've brought it to show you. Tell me what you think."

There was silence as she reached for her large handbag and withdrew a roll of something like a diploma. Tied with ribbon, it was about three inches in diameter and a foot long. When unrolled, it proved to be a three-foot advertisement for a breakfast cereal.

Sheepishly she said, "A poster from a Detroit trolley car." She waited, and when there was no comment, said, "It's really sort of pretty and in good condition. It's been rolled up for sixty years. When my grandmother was young, she used to ride to work on the trolley car, which was so crowded that passengers had to stand in the aisles and hang onto leather straps, and stare at the ads that filled the space above the windows. . . . I don't know how Grandma happened to acquire this one. I suppose it was a souvenir of many hours of straphanging."

Qwilleran said, "You should donate it, Clarissa, and Joe and I will bid against each other for it - have a little fun. I'll bid the highest and take it home to hang in the cats' apartment. It'll go with their twistle-twig rocker."

Wetherby said, "The poster would make a better presentation if framed. I know a guy in Horseradish who'll frame it for nothing - just to go along with a gag!"