When it was time to move to the cabin, the porter came up to help with the luggage.
Koko jumped into the carrier, ready to go, but Yum Yum never likes a change of address. She disappeared under the bed. Lying flat on the floor, I tried to grab her, but it was a queen-size bed, and she was positioned under the exact center, beyond reach.
“No problem,” said the porter. “The bed’s on rollers. I’ll pull it to one side, and you grab her.”
He pulled, and I grabbed. But Yum Yum moved with the bed, staying under its exact center. He quickly rolled it back into place, and Yum Yum just as quickly stayed in dead center.
“Ignore her,” I said. “Start taking the luggage out . . .”
Immediately Yum Yum wriggled out of her hiding place and jumped into the carrier with Koko.
That’s what I mean about cats. They’re always trying to make fools of us humans.
Although he has never owned a wristwatch, Koko is keenly aware of time. At eight A.M. sharp he expects breakfast. At twelve noon his midday treat is scheduled—something crunchy, good for his teeth. At six P.M. dinner is served, and it had better be on time. At eleven P.M. it is bedtime snack and lights out.
Occasionally, I invite a friend or two in for drinks and music in the evening. The cats are not in evidence, but at quarter to eleven Koko becomes nervous and parades back and forth through the area where they are seated. If they are not gone by eleven o’clock he presents himself briefly, then turns and walks to the front door, looking back once or twice to see if anyone is following. Two or three of these maneuvers deliver a telepathic message to the guests, who say, “Well, it’s time I headed home” or “Thanks for a pleasant evening, Qwill. “
At nine o’clock the guests arrived by jitney and gasped at their first view of the barn floodlighted and resembling a medieval castle. Indoors the uplights and down-lights dramatized the balconies and ramps . . . the huge fireplace cube in the center of the space, with white stacks rising to a roof forty feet overhead . . . the living areas that surrounded the cube in one breathtaking flow of space.
The guests themselves glittered: the women in family jewels or beaded evening dresses; the men in dinner jackets and diamond studs. They drank amber punch and sampled cheeses from all over the world. Their small talk was witty.
Yum Yum watched from a safe distance, but Koko paraded among the guests, accepting their lavish compliments as his due. If he had owned a wristwatch, he would have been consulting it nervously. Eleven o’clock was approaching, and no one wanted to leave.
Suddenly there was a strange commotion in the kitchen, followed by a thumping and a growling and a loud shattering crash! Conversation stopped abruptly, and I rushed to the kitchen. When I tried to intervene the cat leaped over the bar and crashed into a lamp, sending the shade and the base flying in opposing directions. Women screamed and men yelled as Koko zipped around the fireplace cube and headed for the cheese table, scattering platters of cheese before leaping to the punch table and knocking over the lighted candles.
“Fire!” someone yelled.
“Grab him!”
Three men tore after the mad cat as he streaked around the fireplace cube with fur flying!
They bumped into furniture and each other.
“Somebody go the other way!”
Somebody did, but the trapped animal only sailed to the top of the fireplace cube and looked down on his pursuers.
“We’ve got him!”
A moment later Koko swooped over their heads and pelted up the ramp, not stopping till he reached the roof, where he perched on a beam and licked his fur.
I was embarrassed. “My apologies,” I said. “The cat went berserk. I don’t know why.”
Truthfully, I suspected that he wanted everyone to go home. It was, after all, eleven o’clock.
It was opening night of the new play at the K Theatre, and I was there as the drama critic of the newspaper. During intermission I met Nick and Lori Bamba in the lobby and suggested they come to my place for drinks after the show.
Nick, who had connections with the sheriff’s department, said, “There’s a stranger in town who’s wanted by the police for breaking and entering. He steals radios, cameras, things like that, that he can sell to support his habit, they think. People who’ve seen him say he wears a beard and drives a purple car. . . . Keep your eyes open!”
“There are quite a few purple cars around here,” I said, “and quite a few beards.”
After the final curtain, I left the theater before the applause and went home to turn on the lights and prepare for my guests. What I found was the most sickening shock I’ve ever had! The glass in the back door was broken! Koko’s wailing was gut-wrenching, and Yum Yum was missing.
The Bambas arrived, and Nick said, “That’s him! That’s the suspect. We saw a purple car turning into the shantytown road when we were driving to the theater. Come on! We’ll find Yum Yum! I’ve got a gun in the glove compartment!”
Shantytown was a slum of junk housing, and a purple car was parked alongside an old trailer home. Through the window we could see a bearded man on a cot and stacks of obviously stolen goods. We barged in.
“Freeze!” Nick said, waving the handgun.
“Where’s the cat?” I demanded.
“N-n-now!” came a pitiful cry from what looked like a closet.
It was a toilet, and Yum Yum was cowering in the rusty bowl.
While I wrapped her in my jacket, Nick kept the befuddled suspect covered and barked over his shoulder, “Call the police from my cell phone!”
Poor little Yum Yum! What a terrifying experience it must have been. There were bloody scratches on the man’s face. Were they her claw marks? Or Koko’s?
I slept poorly, following the ghastly incident. Rather than relive the harrowing emotions of the night, however, I purposely envisioned the pleasures and chuckles of life with Yum Yum. Koko was such a remarkable cat that I tended to let him dominate the scene. Now, I reviewed Yum Yum’s contributions like a series of brief film clips:
Yum Yum on a serious mission: She would walk through the room in a straight line with a resolute step, looking neither to left nor right, ignoring questions and friendly greetings. Her back was as straight as a shelf, and her tail was perfectly horizontal. She knew where she was going, and she went there. She was going to the kitchen for a drink of water.
Yum Yum in a playful mood: She would flop over on the floor and play dead, and I would give her soft underside a gentle nudge with the toe of my shoe. Instantly, she would galvanize into fierce action: coiling around my shoe, grabbing my ankle with her forelegs, and kicking with her hind legs. It was her favorite game.
Yum Yum being amiable: She had several lovable tricks, above and beyond the rubbing of ankles and soulful stares (the little hoyden!). She would snuggle close to my rib cage when I read aloud, purring at the vibrations.