The Big Cat Nap (19 page)

S
aturday, cool at 6:00
A.M.
, promised to turn up the heat and humidity as the hours wore on. Rising at her usual 5:00
A.M
. in the summer, Harry patted herself on the back for mowing and weed-whacking at St. Luke’s yesterday morning, as the day was cooler.

After drinking her first cup of coffee and feeding Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker, she returned to the bedroom. Fair, on his side, head nestled in a goose-down pillow, remained sound asleep.

“Poor guy,” she whispered to herself.

He’d gotten a midnight call from a frantic horse owner. The big expensive dressage mare she’d purchased a month ago was colicking. He finally got back home at 2:00
A.M
. She heard him take a shower. When he crawled into bed, she’d rolled over and he told her all was well.

Tucker, always wanting to be beside Harry, said,
“He’ll be awake in a little while.”

Harry looked down at the small dog she loved so much and smiled. Although she hadn’t a clue as to Tucker’s prediction, she knelt down, kissed her friend, then returned to the kitchen.

Tucker really did know when Fair would awaken. As Fair’s skin cooled down or heated up, the dog detected changes in his scent. No matter the season, Fair usually woke up sweating slightly.

“How come you got the beef?”
Pewter paid no attention to Harry returning to the kitchen.

“I don’t know. How come you got chicken?”
Mrs. Murphy responded to her peevish friend.

“I want some.”

“Pewter, go ahead.”
The tiger cat backed away from her dish, and Pewter dove right in.

“Hey! Hey, what are you doing?”
the gray cat yelled, mouth full so she dropped food on the counter.

“You’re eating my food. I’m eating yours.”

“I didn’t say that you could eat my chicken!”

Early it may have been, but Mrs. Murphy’s patience was already thin as a bee’s wing. She hauled back, giving Pewter a real swat—claws out, too.

Pewter, no wimp, stood on her hind legs to box. Terrible words were spoken. Neither cat would back down. Tufts of fur flew all over the kitchen counter.

Harry fed them breakfast up there because, when she turned her back, Tucker would steal the cat food. Good as Tucker was, she loved cat food. It contained a higher fat content than did dog food. Supper, however, was different. They all ate a light supper on the floor because Harry, preparing food, remained in the kitchen. Mornings had the pretty woman rushing all over the place.

Now it looked like a fur blizzard.

“Stop it!”

The opponents ignored Harry.

Fair, with a towel wrapped around his waist, bed head, and slippers on his feet, more or less stumbled out. “Jesus, sounds like the cat house at the zoo.”

“I am a lion.”
Pewter whacked Mrs. Murphy on her side as the tiger whirled around.

“A lion of lard!”
Mrs. Murphy shot back.

The combat escalated. Harry grabbed the kitchen broom. With a sweep over the floor, she caught the tiger cat under the butt, pushing her out the door to the screened-in porch.

Pewter flew after Mrs. Murphy, but Harry stood in the doorway, greeting her with the broom face. Pewter, moving fast, smashed right into it.

“Ha!”
Mrs. Murphy gleefully observed.

Once back on her feet, Pewter leapt over the bottom of the broom. Mrs. Murphy blasted out the animal door in the outside porch. Pewter got caught with the flap swing back and fell backward. This so enraged the gray cat that she spit like a llama.

Tucker, dumbfounded at the vehemence of the fight, sat on her rear end.

Even Fair was impressed. He walked to the screened-in door.

Harry joined him. “They’re totally nuts.”

“I’m not going out there to stop it,”
Tucker declared.

The two cats ran in big circles. Then they ran through the barn. The horses stopped eating in the pastures to observe the kitty NASCAR races.

Shortro, hay still in his mouth, said,
“I didn’t know cats could move that fast.”

Tomahawk shook his gray head.
“Especially the fat one.”

The fat did tell on Pewter. Finally, she slowed down. Mrs. Murphy sat about thirty yards distant from her on a fence post. They glared at each other.

At the top of her lungs, Pewter bellowed,
“I hate you. I hate everybody. I hate the whole world!”

She turned, thumping back to the house, each determined step heavy on the ground. She reached the walnut tree, paused for breath, and saw Matilda hanging by her tail, looking straight down at Pewter.

“You don’t hate me, do you?”
The blacksnake laughed mischievously.

Pewter’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. She hit her turbo, zooming into the house, where she collided with Fair, his towel falling off.

“Speaking of being nuts.” Harry put her hand over her mouth, laughing so hard her sides hurt.

“I am not nuts. I just happen to have them.” He laughed, too.

“For which I am grateful.” She handed him his towel and, as he wrapped it around his waist, she gave him a hug.

Still laughing, they sat down at the table. She poured him coffee.

“Eggs, cold cereal? This short-order cook is taking orders.”

“Hmm, cold cereal.” He smiled at her. “We’ve had our entertainment. Flag Day can’t possibly top the cats.”

Later, the cats managed a truce. If they hadn’t, Harry would not have taken them along for the day. They sat in the back of the Volvo station wagon. Silent.

Tucker curled up in her riding bed. She, too, shut her mouth, feeling that sooner or later the feline tinderbox would explode.

As they approached the church, Fair noticed the hydrangeas along the drive. “Honey, the place looks beautiful.”

“We all did it. St. Luke’s needed a pick-me-up. Dee Phillips created such a lovely plan.”

“Isn’t she Episcopalian?”

“Kissing cousins, Episcopalians and Lutherans.”

Fair twisted around and checked on their passengers. “Not a peep.”

“Good.” Harry parked on the lower level.

As the humans walked up the terraced path to the interior quad, the two cats and Tucker followed. The Very Reverend Jones loved animals, so anyone’s animals who behaved were welcome.

Once inside the inner quad, both Harry and her husband stopped.

“Fabulous!” Harry exclaimed.

As promised, Craig had hung the flags from the roofs. The various numbers of stars bore evidence to our growth as a nation. At one end of the quad—the administrative end—he’d also hung flags from the nations that first gave us colonists: England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, France. Since Germany did not become one nation until under Bismarck in the nineteenth century, there wasn’t room to hang the flags of all the various small German states. Craig did, however, hang the flag of the Austrian dual monarchy, as well as the flag that now represented all of Africa to African Americans.

“How smart he is.” Fair rubbed his chin.

“I would have never thought of the parent nations, for lack of a better word.” Harry enjoyed watching the slight flutter of the flags.

The pyracanthas stood out from the stone building that Herb could see from his office. Clear fishing line had been set up so the branches would grow on it, creating straight horizontal lines. The church side of the quad, covered in wisteria that had already bloomed, offered deep shade. In glorious symmetry, St. Luke’s looked especially beautiful today.

Elocution, in her office window, looked out. None of the cats appeared eager to mix with screaming children all waving their little flags.

Pewter stopped under the window.
“I’ve had a horrible day.”
Whether or not any of the other cats wished to hear Pewter’s lavish lament wasn’t going to stop the gray fatty from going on and on.

Mrs. Murphy, in contrast, stuck with Tucker, who loved children. This canine affection was returned. One little boy gave Tucker his flag. The dog patriotically ran all around the quad, flag in mouth.

On long wooden picnic tables in the middle of the quad was true summer picnic fare. Miranda, although not a Lutheran, had helped with all that. Everyone attended this gathering: Catholics, Baptists, Jewish families from the temple in Charlottesville. Flag Day at St. Luke’s was not to be missed.

The veterans saluted the flags at a short ceremony before food was served. Victor Gatzembizi was an Air Force veteran, though he had not seen combat. However, heroically enough, he now paid for transportation for those elderly vets who might otherwise have difficulty attending. Mostly their families brought them, but some lived in nursing homes.

Sipping a cold one after the ceremony, Fair slapped Victor on the back. “Thanks. Having those World War Two veterans here is an inspiration for the rest of us.”

Latigo strolled over. “Vic, I’ll be sending you more work after the holiday.”

Fair wasn’t sure if Latigo was joking or not. “What do you mean? You think there’ll be more accidents from Flag Day? It’s not a drinking holiday. Not like Memorial Day,” Fair remarked.

“Any holiday is an excuse,” Latigo replied in an even tone. “I was
actually thinking about the Fourth of July. Always a lot of accidents then.” He asked Fair, “You didn’t serve, did you?”

“No, I headed straight to vet school after undergraduate. I often think I missed one of life’s central experiences—for men, anyway.”

“All I heard was ‘central experiences.’ ” Yancy Hampton joined them.

“Didn’t serve in the military.” Fair drained his longneck.

“Navy,” Yancy stated. “I’ve even been thinking about going back in. They’re offering tempting packages to those of us who made captain or above.”

Victor’s eyebrows raised. “I learned a hell of a lot in the Air Force. I was in transport and they taught me about engines. But you’d go back? Why leave a thriving business? And, hey, it’s the assholes above you and the idiots below.”

“That’s anywhere.” Yancy waved his hand dismissively. “I’d go back to get away from home. Next weekend is my daughter Stephanie’s wedding. Around my house there’s been just about as much estrogen drama as I can handle.”

Latigo’s daughters were the same age as Stephanie, all the girls having attended St. Anne’s. “Stephanie’s pretty reasonable.”

“It’s Barbara.” Yancy mentioned his wife.

“Ah, yes, mother of the bride.” Victor whistled, then added, “Good luck, Yancy. Fair, I’m going to tempt your wife.”

Harry had walked by with a few other vestry-board members.

“She tempts me daily.” Fair smiled.

“WRX STI. Great deal.” Victor started to move in Harry’s direction.

“You’ll torture her,” Fair rejoined.

“I know.” Victor left as the three other men watched.

Yancy turned to Latigo and got down to brass tacks. “Do natural disasters greatly affect your business?”

“Yes,” Latigo replied seriously. “Any disruption affects insurance, but I don’t have the kind of massive claims that life insurers or property insurers do in situations like floods or tornadoes. In ways, auto insurance is pretty cut-and-dried because we have the blue book to value our cars and trucks.”

Yancy, drink in left hand, slid his right hand into his pants pocket, jingled keys. “Because I buy some crops ahead of harvest, like futures trading, I factor in weather. Not that you can predict anything with accuracy, but large changes like El Niño, stuff like that, I factor it in. Every little thing can affect harvest for good or for ill. ’Course, I don’t think there ever was insurance for corn worms.” He took a sip.

Fair listened with interest to Latigo’s reply. “As you know, the government does offer some insurance for crops—”

Yancy interrupted. “Better than nothing, I suppose, but I’d hate to depend on it.”

“Me, too. The payment is always inadequate to the damage, and there’s plenty of people who will tell you the same thing about auto insurance. We undervalue their cars, undervalue repairs, use less-skilled labor. The funny thing is, NHTSA—the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration—hasn’t had an update on wheels since 1974. Back then wheels were steel. So we’ve got some seriously outmoded standards.”