Qwilleran asked Thornton, “Any good prospects for Beverly’s successor?”
“They’ve interviewed a few applicants but can’t seem to make a decision”
“You’re doing too good a job, Thorn. Why hire a manager when good old Thorn will do the work free?”
“Don’t think that hasn’t crossed my mind! After September thirtieth, I quit! Meanwhile we’re setting up the craft fair. Are you coming to the opening? I’ll have a few of my own things on exhibit”
“Are you doing something creative in tombstones?” Qwilleran asked lightly. Thornton was a retired stonecutter who had studied art history at one time.
“You can kid all you like,” he retorted, “but I felt the need for a manual hobby. I bought a lathe, and now I’m doing woodturning in my basement”
“That I’ve got to see!” Qwilleran said.
“Then come to the craft fair,” his friend said. “Bring money.”
When Qwilleran walked up the lane to the apple barn, he was approaching from the east. In its heyday it had been a drivethrough barn with huge doors east and west, large enough to admit a horse-drawn wagon loaded with apples. Now the huge openings had been filled in and equipped with human-size doors. On the east side there were handsome double doors flanked by glass panels. These were the front doors, opening into the foyer, although they were on the back of the building. The back door was, of course, on the front, opening into the kitchen. (This kind of anomaly was common in Moose County, where Pickax was referred to as Paradox) Twice the Pickax voters had vetoed a proposal to change the names of streets. “Old East Street” was west of “New West Street,” and there was confusion about “North Street East” and “South Street West” Only strangers were befuddled, however, and befuddling strangers was a local pastime.
As Qwilleran approached the double doors, two Siamese cats watched from the sidelights, standing on their hindlegs with their forepaws on the low windowsill. Entering the foyer he had to wade through weaving bodies and waving tails, circling him, doubling back, rubbing his ankles, and getting under his feet – all the while yowling in the operatic voices of Siamese. The tumultuous welcome would have been flattering if Qwilleran had not consulted his watch. It was feeding time at the zoo!
“What have you guys been doing this afternoon?” he asked as he prepared their dinner. “Anything worthwhile? Solve any world problems? Who won the fifty yard dash?” The more you taIk to cats, the smarter they become, he believed.
The long, lean, lithe muscular one was Kao K’o Kung, familiarly known as Koko. His female companion was Yum Yum – small, dainty, shy, although she could shriek like an ambulance siren when she wanted something and wanted it immediately. Both had pale fawn-colored fur and seal brown masks, ears and tails. Her eyes were blue tinged with violet, and their appealing kittenish gaze could break hearts. Koko’s deeper blue eyes had a depth that suggested secret intelligence and untold mysteries.
They were indoor cats, but the barn interior was as big as all outdoors to a small creature weighing ten pounds or less. The space, a hundred feet in diameter, was open to the roof. A ramp spiraled up the walls and connected the balconies on three levels. In the center stood a huge white fireplace cube with white stacks soaring to the cupola, and it divided the main floor into functional areas: dining, lounging, foyer, and library. The kitchen was under a balcony, half hidden by an L-shaped snack bar.
In the daytime a flood of light came through triangles and rhomboids of glass. Pale colors prevailed – in the bleached timbers, upholstered furniture, and Moroccan rugs After dark, when a single switch activated indirect lights and artfully placed spotlights, the effect was nothing less than enchanting.
Qwilleran’s favorite haunt was the library area. One wall of the fireplace cube was covered with bookshelves, and the shelves were filled with secondhand classics purchased from a local bookseller. A library table held the telephone, answering machine, and writing materials. A capacious lounge chair with an ottoman. Qwilleran liked to read aloud to the Siamese or draft his column on a legal pad with a soft lead pencil.
On the last day of August, before going out to dinner, he read to the cats from a book selected by Koko. He was the official bibliocat. He prowled the bookshelves and liked to curl up between the biographies and the nineteenth-century English fiction. At reading time it was his privilege to select the title, although Qwilleran had the power of veto. They had been reading Greek drama. Koko could sense which book was which, and he repeatedly sniffed ‘The Frogs’ by Aristophanes.
“Okay, we’ll do it once more,” Qwilleran said, “but this is the last time!” Both cats liked the froggy chorus that he dramatized so colorfully: brekekekex koax koax. Yum Yum’s eyes grew wide, and a rumble came from Koko’s chest.
