The Cat Who Came To Breakfast

"I've never cared about joining clubs," she said. "What I enjoy js a leisurely drive down a country lane. I would have my favorite horse shipped to Pickax; I suppose he could be stabled there. And my brother William would let me have the physician's phaeton."

Lori said, "If you like country lanes, you'll love Moose County. It has very picturesque countryside."

Shut up, Lori, Qwilleran thought. He said, "I don't know whether picturesque is the right word. The terrain has a ravaged look because of the strip mining and over-cutting of forests earlier in the century. Abandoned mines and abandoned quarries are everywhere. They can be an eyesore."

"Yes, but the abandoned shafthouses are like romantic monuments to the past," said Lori, her eyes sparkling. He wanted to kick her under the table, but even his long legs couldn't reach.

Nick, noticing his scowl and sensing his purpose, said, "There's a lot of industry coming into Pickax—like plastics, auto parts, and electronics—but the major industry is the federal prison covering hundreds of acres and housing ten thousand convicted felons."

Lori said, "Yes, but the prison is famous for its flower gardens, tended by inmates. People come from all over to photograph them."

Oh, God! Qwilleran thought. He said, "Does anyone play dominoes? We may have to play a lot of dominoes before this storm is over."

Thunder claps were coming closer, and lightning bolts made themselves felt like electric shocks. Even the solid wood shutters couldn't keep the flashes from outlining the windows like blue neon.

After dessert—ice cream on a stick—Qwilleran excused himself and went upstairs to the bridal suite, intending to remain in seclusion until the rains came. Then he would go downstairs to offer help and moral support to the Bambas and the uninvited guest. He tried to read, but thoughts of the present dilemma crowded the words from the page. He felt burdened with a sense of failure. In his search for clues and evidence he had nothing to show but hunches, suspicions, and a hack saw blade.

The air was heavy with portent, and the cats, huddled close to him, kept looking at the ceiling. Suddenly there was a clap of thunder directly overhead, like the crack of doom. Koko jumped two feet in the air and went into orbit. Circling madly around the suite he kicked a table lamp, sent knickknacks flying, terrorized Yum Yum, and sideswiped one of the leather masks over the sofa.

"Stop!" Qwilleran bellowed as he rescued the expensive artwork—it was the tragedy mask—but Koko was wound up and continued the rampage until his internal springs ran down. Then he flicked his tongue nonchalantly over random patches of fur. At one point he stopped and, with tongue hanging out and one hind leg held aloft, he stared at Qwilleran's forehead.

"Let's play dominoes," Qwilleran said, stroking his moustache.

At the same moment there was another shattering thunderbolt. The rain slammed into the building, and the lights flickered momentarily, but they played the game. Koko's penchant for white spots resulted in words like click, balked, jack, deckle, ilk and the ubiquitous lake. Just as Qwilleran was trying to make a word out of 4-4, 5-6, 3-5, 0-1, 5-5, 3-6, 6-6, and 2-3, there was a light tap on the door.

There stood Liz in her caftan, carrying an oil lamp. "I'm sorry to trouble you," she said, "but would you show me how to light this lamp, in case there's a power failure?" She handed him a box of kitchen matches. "These were with the lamp."

"Come in," he said brusquely, "and close the door to keep the cats from escaping. In stormy weather they sometimes go berserk." He removed the glass chimney, turned up the wick, and tried to strike a match. "These are no good. They're damp. Let's try mine. Islands are always damp. Shoes mildew, nails rust, crackers get soggy, and matches don't strike. You should know about that; you've spent summers here."

"There was never any problem," she said. "The air-conditioning controlled the humidity."

The matches in the bridal suite were equally damp. "It will be a joke," he said, "if there are thirty oil lamps on the premises and no matches."

"Would anyone have a cigarette lighter?"

"Not at the Domino Inn! No cigarette lighters, no automatic weapons, and no illegal drugs. Did you hear about the fire last night?"

Liz nodded sadly. "The woman who died was the daughter of our steward. The poor man is almost out of his mind. When we were growing up, she was like my big sister, and I heard something this morning that was very upsetting." She moistened her lips and lowered her eyes.

"Please sit down," Qwilleran said. "Would you like a glass of water? That's all I can offer."

She perched on the edge of a chair and took a dainty sip.

"Where did you hear this upsetting news?"

"I was in the stable, giving Skip his daily dose of affection in his stall. He's such a loving animal! And I heard two men in the tack room, having a very heated argument. I knew the voices. One was my brother, and the other was our steward. They've always been friendly, and it was a shock to hear them shouting at each other. I know it's bad form to eavesdrop, but Jack has never had any respect for me, so I didn't feel guilty about listening."

"Did you learn what the trouble was?"

Before she could reply, there was another violent crack of thunder overhead. A purple flash seeped into the room, and the lights went out! Liz uttered an involuntary cry.

"Well, I guess that's it!" he said. "We'd better go downstairs. I have a flashlight. We'll go across the hall and get the one in your room—and hope the Bambas have dry matches."

Nick met them at the foot of the stairs. "Come into the family room. We're lighting lamps. Sorry about this. We should have a generator, but there've been so many other things to do and buy."

"Qwill," Lori called from the office door, "why don't you bring Koko and Yum Yum down?"

For the next five hours, four persons and two animal companions huddled together as sheets of rain assaulted the building and the wind screamed through the treetops like a hundred harmonicas. At the storm's apex, when the turbulence was directly over the island, the thunder was a series of explosions, each louder than the last, making the ground shudder. There were moments when the building quaked enough to rattle glasses and tilt pictures. At such moments Lori sat quietly with eyes closed and lips moving as she hugged Koko for security. Qwilleran held Yum Yum, mumbling reassurances. Both cats were wide-eyed, and their ears swiveled wildly.

Nick produced a jug of red wine, saying, "We might as well be drunk as the way we are."

Qwilleran had to exercise intense willpower to refuse. "How long can it last?" he shouted above the din.

"It's passing over."

Now there were several seconds or even a full minute between thunderclaps, and the purple flashes were weaker, but the rain still bombarded the building. Occasionally there was a loud crack as a tree limb snapped off, followed by a jarring thump as it landed on the roof. No one mentioned it, but all must have been thinking, What if a tree comes through the roof? What if tons of water pour into the building?

Now at least it was possible to talk and be heard, although there was no conversation as such—merely .spoken thoughts:

"It still sounds like a locomotive roaring past!" "The ancient gods of the island are snarling and gnashing their teeth."

"Thank God we sent the kids to the mainland." "They'll be getting it over there, too." "Have you ever seen one as bad as this?" "The cats are very good. Koko is tense, though." "Yum Yum has been trembling nonstop." "Did you look at the wind gauge, Nick?" "It broke the gauge. Must've reached a hundred." "Wonder how high the lake is." "If it reaches road-level, we could have a washout." "Did anyone ever read High Wind in Jamaica?" Sometimes the wind stopped for one blessed moment, then resumed its attack from another direction. When> in the small hours of the morning, the tumult ceased, there was stunned silence in the small room. Everyone claimed to be weary.