Canapés for the Kitties

by Marian Babson

  “Maybe not, but they’re obviously disturbing your sleep again.”

  “If you think I look bad,” Freddie said. “Wait till you see the others. Gemma looks terrible – I think they let her out of hospital too soon.”

  “What was wrong?” Lorinda felt guilty; she ought to have rung Gemma this morning.

  “Nothing the medics seemed to be definite about. They halfway agreed with her own diagnosis of something she ate, but they didn’t rule out an extreme allergic reaction to something, or even one of the new mystery viruses that are breaking out all over.”

  “No one else seems to have caught it,” Macho said. “So it was probably an allergy.”

  “And Rhylla is really in trouble.” Freddie dismissed Gemma’s problem as inconsequential. “Her son and daughter-in-law telephoned last week to say they were having such a good time without the sprog that they’ve booked themselves a second-honeymoon skiing holiday in Colorado over New Year. She’s stuck with the brat and the rat until well into January – and I don’t know which is upsetting her more.”

  “Oh, no!” Lorinda was horrified. “What will that do to her deadline?”

  “Nothing good,” Freddie said gloomily.

  “Look on the bright side.” Macho cheered up for the first time all afternoon. “It may upset Rhylla – but it will drive Plantagenet Sutton absolutely crazy.”

  “That’s right.” Freddie also brightened. “He hates rats. Funny that, you’d think he’d have some fellow-feeling for them.”

  Had-I’s ears twitched and she raised her head.

  “Go back to sleep,” Lorinda advised. “Boswell is out of bounds.”

  Had-I lowered her head slowly, with the air of a cat who had her own ideas about that.

  “I thought I’d drive over to Marketown for some shopping,” Freddie announced. “Either of you care to come along?”

  “Now?” Macho looked askance. He might have a hero who acted on impulse – a door kicked down here, a jaw broken there – but he preferred to plan his own days well in advance.

  “Say ... ten minutes?” Freddie offered.

  “Two will do it.” Lorinda was already on her feet. “Just let me grab my coat and bag and I’ll be right with you.”

  “Sorry –” she heard Macho say as she left the room. “But I want to finish a chapter before dinner. Another time ...”

  It was not until Lorinda was safely tucked into the passenger seat beside Freddie that it occurred to her that it might not be wise to leave the house unattended. Dear as the cats where, they were of no use as watchdogs.

  But the car was rolling smoothly down the High Street and it was too late to do anything about the situation except worry. She wished she had not thought of it. She turned to make a remark to Freddie and gave a muffled shriek.

  Freddie was driving with her eyes closed.

  “What is it?” Freddie’s eyes flew open, she looked fearfully in the direction of the graveyard they were passing. The car swerved. “Did you see it?”

  “See what?” Lorinda was startled. There was genuine terror in Freddie’s eyes as she stared deep into the old graveyard where the mist was thickest. “Freddie, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, nothing!” There was an echo of Macho’s anxious evasion in Freddie’s immediate defensive denial. “Why should anything be wrong?”

  “Freddie! Watch the road!” The front tyres scraped against the kerb.

  “Sorry.” Freddie braked violently, then they lurched backwards. “Not paying attention. I’ll be all right as soon as we get on the open road.”

  “I hope so.” Lorinda bit down on a sharper remark. Freddie was still looking fearfully over her shoulder at the old graveyard. It was clearly not a moment for either levity or reproach. Freddie was deeply disturbed.

  “Freddie –” A sudden thought disquieted her. “Don’t tell me the old graveyard is haunted!”

  “All right.” Freddie returned her attention to the road. They rounded a bend and the graveyard was out of sight. “I won’t tell you.”

  “Well ... is it?” She remembered Freddie’s strange attitude towards the graveyard when she had been walking Gemma’s dogs, just before she went up to London.

  “Who knows?” Freddie shrugged. “Stranger things may have happened in Brimful Coffers. I wouldn’t put anything past this bloody place.”

  “But what is it?” She tried to pin Freddie down. “If there were any sort of legend about the place, surely Dorian would have told us about it?”

  “Told us? He’d have seen to it that we were charged extra for the privilege.” Freddie’s bravado was growing, the farther away from the graveyard they travelled.

  “Have you seen whatever it is?” Lorinda would not be diverted. “Has anyone else seen it?”

  “No one is admitting it, not that I’d blame them.” Freddie shrugged again. “In fact, the subject has never been raised. I don’t blame anyone for that either.”

  “But is there anything to talk about?” A spectral sighting might explain Macho’s curious behaviour – although not, perhaps, his intense anxiety over Roscoe. In the annals of haunting, human beings were often menaced, but not animals. It took vampires for that.

  “Perhaps someone is playing jokes.” Lorinda put forward the idea cautiously. Misery loves company and she realized that she would be a lot happier if she thought she wasn’t the prankster’s only target.

  “Ha-ha-ha,” Freddie said bitterly. “I may die laughing.”

  “But what exactly have you – ?”

  Freddie swerved the car sharply, throwing her against the seatbelt, cutting off her breath.

  “You had the right idea,” Freddie said. “Get out of this place for a while, sweep the cobwebs out of your brain and come back with a fresh perspective.”

  “I’m not sure I could claim –”

  “Maybe I ought to go up to London for a week or two myself.” Having changed the subject, Freddie was not going to go back to it. “Tell me what show I ought to see.”

  8

  It was days before Lorinda could force herself to take up work on the book again. Had-I and But-Known watched with interest as she approached the desk, taking one step backward for every two steps forward. They had not seen this performance before.

  “All right, all right,” she assured them. “I’ll get there? Don’t rush me.”

  It didn’t help that the cats had decided that their favourite spot to curl up was the place on the carpet beneath which the envelope lay hidden. They weren’t trying to keep her attention focused on the spot, she knew, and no one who came into the study would think anything untoward about it. They were probably settled there because the envelope and pages provided another layer of insulation, making that spot on the carpet slightly warmer than the rest of it.

  She hesitated over the pile of paper beside her typewriter, and lifted the top sheet with a hand that trembled only slightly. It was blank. She quickly riffled through the other pages. Blank, all blank. She exhaled a quiet sigh of relief.

  The cats shifted into a more comfortable position and waited for her to sit down in her office chair. They seemed to relax when she did so. It had been several days since she had occupied her familiar place. All was right with their world again. What about hers?

  Cautiously, she began to tap at the keys, still half fearful that control might be snatched away from her. After a few paragraphs, the knot in the pit of her stomach began to loosen. Miss Petunia settled her pince-nez firmly on the narrow bridge of her long thin nose, Lily growled, Marigold tossed her red-gold curls and burbled, and none of them showed any signs of taking on a Sinister life of their own.

  With increasing confidence, Lorinda settled down to making up for lost time. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, she scarcely noticed when the sky began growing darker.

  The cats grew restive. Had-I strolled over, head-butted her ankles and eyed her lap, inaccessible since the chair was pushed well under the desk.

  “Later,” she said abse
ntly to Had-I’s protest.

  But-Known knew better than to try to disturb her, but was equally disgruntled. Nose to nose, the cats communed for a moment, then turned and left the room purposefully. Lorinda barely registered the subsequent plop of the catflap as she continued working.

  When, at last, she raised her head and came back to the present, the room beyond the desk lamp was dark. In the early-night blackness outside, lighted windows glowed in Macho’s cottage and in the larger semidetached occupied by Freddie and the Jackleys.

  Lorinda sighed, stretched and pushed back her chair. As though that were a signal, the doorbell and the telephone rang simultaneously.

  “Hello?” The phone was nearest. “Hold on a minute, will you? The doorbell’s ringing. I’ll answer it and get straight back to you.”

  “Oh-oh!” It was unmistakably Freddie’s voice. “I’ll get right over there. You may need reinforcements.”

  “What?” But Freddie had already rung off. The doorbell rang again, more insistently.

  “I’m coming!” she called, hurrying down the stairs to throw open the door.

  “I thought you might need some help.” Macho stepped inside and looked around – at floor level. “Where are they?”

  “What on earth – ?” She could see Freddie hurrying up the path with an anxious expression on her face.

  “Keep calm and don’t worry,” Freddie said quickly. “If the pugs had done it, Gemma might be in trouble but, remember, a cat owner is not responsible for anything her cats do. That’s the law.”

  “Do? Law?” That sinking feeling was back in the pit of her stomach. “What have they done now?”

  “She doesn’t know yet,” Macho said. “They haven’t –”

  Flip-flop ... flip-flop ... The catflap sent its familiar message, followed by a questing, “Mrraahhaarrmm?”

  “In here –” Lorinda began, but Freddie and Macho were already rushing for the kitchen door. She followed, more slowly, in their wake.

  “Not in here, you little wretch!” Freddie said. “Not on the nice clean carpet.”

  There was a muffled indignant feline protest as Freddie executed some fancy footwork, blocking the threshold.

  “Oh, no!” Lorinda had a full view of the scene now: two triumphant cats standing over one plump furry white body with glazing red eyes.

  “I saw it from across the street,” Macho said. “I shouted at them, but they paid no attention.”

  “They wouldn’t,” Freddie said. “Not even Lorinda could have stopped them at that point.”

  “You saw it, too?” Lorinda asked faintly.

  “It was hard to miss. Clarice’s screams were enough to wake the dead.”

  “Oh, no!” Lorinda flinched as the telephone shrilled. “If that’s Rhylla, what can I say?”

  “Just grovel,” Freddie advised. “And remember, it’s not your fault.”

  “Hello ...?” Lorinda breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, Elsie ... Yes ... yes, I know. They’ve just come in with it ... yes. Yes, it looks very dead ... Well, thanks for trying to warn me.” She had barely replaced the receiver when the phone rang again.

  “Hello ...? Oh, Jennifer... right past the bookshop, did they? Yes, yes, of course I want to know. They’re back now and they’ve brought it with them. Thanks, anyway.” She began to replace the receiver, then thought better of it and set it down beside its base.

  “What did you do?” she asked the cats bitterly. “Take a lap of honour with the damned thing?”

  Had-I wriggled her shoulders and preened; she was delighted with herself. But-Known sensed criticism and moved a few inches away from her sister, distancing herself.

  “Prrryaaaah?” Had-I began to notice that she was not receiving the appreciation that was her due. She reached out and prodded the limp white lump. “Prrryaaaah?”

  “Yes, yes, good girl.” Macho bent and patted her head consolingly. It was all right for him, he didn’t have to face the full brunt of the social horrors in store. Lorinda shuddered.

  “Well, she is,” Macho defended. “If the place were overrun by an infestation of rats, you’d be bloody glad to have her on duty. She isn’t to know the difference between a pet rat and a wild one. She might even have thought the rat was attacking Clarice. If it had been, she’d have been a heroine.”

  “Good scenario,” Freddie said. “Would you like to try to explain it that way to little Clarice?”

  “Perhaps after she’s calmed down a bit,” Macho said.

  Lorinda shuddered again. The doorbell rang more insistently. But-Known backed a little farther away from Had-I and her victim.

  “I’ll get the door,” Freddie said.

  “Now what do we do?” Lorinda asked despairingly. “When we lost one of the hamsters at school,” Macho said, “we found it distracted the boys’ attention wonderfully if we gave it a full military funeral. Matron,” he added hopefully, “always sewed a nice black velvet shroud for it.”

  “You can forget that one,” Freddie said, returning. “I wouldn’t even sew for myself, let alone a dead rat. And neither would Lorinda.”

  “Who was it?” Lorinda asked.

  “Nemesis!” Freddie rolled her eyes heavenwards.

  “We’ve just paused to blow our little nose and dry our tears. They’ll be with us in a minute.”

  Had-I, with a thoughtful look, got up and strolled away. But-Known had already disappeared. The abandoned corpse lay in the centre of the kitchen floor.

  “BOSWELL!” The agonized cry tore through the air, propelling Clarice into the room and to her knees by Boswell’s side. She burst into noisy anguished sobs.

  Rhylla came into the room more slowly, a long-suffering look on her face. She watched her granddaughter’s histrionics with a certain wry amusement.

  “You wouldn’t think, would you,” she remarked sotto voce, “that she’s only had the thing three weeks? She originally wanted a Gila monster, but her mother, I’m happy to say, put her foot down.”

  “Boswell ... Boswell ...” The broken-hearted wail rose and fell. “My poor little Boswell.” The scene was rather marred by a sudden sidelong glance from Clarice to gauge the effect she was having on her audience.

  “Is she going into the theatre when she grows up?” Freddie asked with interest. “She’d do a smashing Lady Macbeth.”

  “More of a touch of East Lynne there,” Macho observed critically. “ ‘Dead, dead, and never called me Mother’ – you know. The Drama Society did it at school one year.”

  Two small furry faces peeked around a corner and wisely decided to withdraw again. The sobbing continued unabated.

  “Would she like a glass of water?” Lorinda offered diffidently.

  “Fortunately, she’s too young for anything else,” Rhylla said. “I, however, am not – and I would appreciate a large measure of the strongest liquid you have on hand. Or perhaps Macho would donate one of his slugs of tequila.”

  “That isn’t funny!” The colour drained from Macho’s face, his eyes blazed.

  “Well, I’m sorry.” Rhylla was taken aback. “I meant Macho, your character. I know you wouldn’t have the stuff in your house.”

  “Who told you that?” His face burned with hostility.

  “You did.” Rhylla was affronted. “Often.”

  They glared at each other wordlessly for a moment, while Clarice’s sobs dwindled to an occasional hiccough as she became distracted by the sudden inexplicable animosity between the two adults. Lorinda took advantage of her distraction to slide a paper towel over the small corpse.

  Clarice did not seem to notice. She rose slowly to her feet, seemingly absorbed in some new thought. She raised her head and faced her grandmother challengingly.

  “Now can I have a Gila monster?” she demanded.

  “Over my dead body!” Rhylla snapped.

  For an instant, something nasty flashed in the depths of Clarice’s eyes. If looks could kill, that Gila monster would have been riding on her shoulder in the morning.
/>   “Keep looking at me like that, young woman, and you won’t get your pocket money, either!” Already in a bad mood from Macho’s unwarranted attack, Rhylla was not prepared to tolerate dumb insolence.

  Not for the first time, Lorinda envied the cats. How nice, how wonderful, how peaceful to be able to melt away at times of strife and not reappear until the atmosphere cleared and the world was calm again.

  While Clarice seethed, trying to settle on a form of mutiny that would not bring reprisals, Macho had recovered his composure. With a conspiratorial nod to Lorinda, he slipped behind Clarice, scooped up the remains of the late Boswell and made an inconspicuous exit through the back door, closing it silently behind him.

  He need not have bothered. The battle order had changed and Clarice moved forward without a backward glance at her erstwhile pet. The threat to her pocket money outweighed all lesser considerations.

  “I’ll tell my mother,” she threatened.

  “Go right ahead,” Rhylla said. “You can also tell her that I now recognize some of the mistakes I made with her husband and I am not about to repeat them with you.”

  The one consolation was that they were moving steadily toward the front door. If nothing impeded their progress, they would soon be gone.

  “Who was it,” Freddie murmured, “who said that children keep you young?”

  “Someone who never had any!” Rhylla snapped, slamming the door behind them.

  “All this,” Freddie said into the silence, “and Dorian’s party tomorrow night, too.”

  “I think I’ll go back to London,” Lorinda said.

  As though in protest, Had-I and But-Known reappeared. After a quick, almost disinterested, glance at the empty spot on the kitchen linoleum, they cut their losses and followed Lorinda and Freddie into the living room where they made it clear that it was time for laps and loving. They barely contained their impatience while Lorinda poured drinks.

  “I don’t know,” she sighed, as Had-I sprang into her lap and curled up. “I suppose Dorian meant well, but I don’t think this was one of his better ideas.”