1 The Cats that Surfed the Web Page 3

  “Yes,” she said.

  “I’m sorry if I’m being nosy. It’s just the lawyer in me.”

  “No, that’s okay. It’s a long way to Erie, so conversation would be nice.”

  “So, do you like living in Manhattan?”

  “Very much,” she answered. “I'm only a few blocks from my job.”

  “Lucky you. I spend so much on my car, insurance, gas. . .”

  Katherine interrupted, “Oh, I have a car. I pay big bucks to park it, but hardly ever use it. I’ve thought of getting rid of it. It’s an older model Toyota.”

  “Where does your friend live? The one taking care of your cats?”

  “Colleen lives in Woodside, Queens, with her mother and four brothers. Colleen and I both work in midtown Manhattan. She works for a pharmaceutical company on 42nd Street. She’s dying to move into the city because she hates riding the bus or taking the subway.”

  Mark turned off the airport access road onto the ramp to the interstate. The Honda roared into traffic. “I'd like to hear the rest of your story about the magician's cat,” Mark asked curiously. “How old was he when you got him?”

  “Her. Scout’s a girl,” she corrected.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  Katherine smiled. “Scout worked for two years for Harry's Hocus-Pocus Magic Show and was professionally known as Cadabra. Her sister was named Abra. When Scout, I mean Cadabra, was two, Harry was performing in a luxury resort in the Catskills. And while the Siamese were backstage in their traveling carrier, someone stole Abra. Harry called the police, who tried their best to find her, but their search was in vain. Abra had simply vanished. Harry and Scout never saw the other Siamese again.”

  “That's too bad,” Mark commented.

  “Scout was so traumatized by the loss of her littermate, she began slipping up in her performances, so Harry retired her.”

  “So that's when you came into the picture?” Mark asked.

  “Not exactly. Harry gave her to a co-worker of mine, Monica DeSutter, who is currently my boss. Monica didn't have a clue about how to take care of a cat, let alone a Siamese with a behavior problem. She was constantly calling me and asking my advice on what to do. I must admit Cadabra was a handful, and even I didn't have the answers to many of her questions.”

  “Did Monica throw in the towel and give her to you?”

  “Cadabra was with Monica for about a year when she called me, in the middle of the night, and begged me to take her. I could hear Cadabra shrieking in the background. She sounded like a wild animal. I said I wasn't sure. I’d have to think about it.”

  “I'm surprised,” he said. “I’d think that you would jump at the opportunity to have a Siamese, considering the fact you have three now.”

  “I explained to Monica that I had just moved into my apartment and I was afraid Cadabra’s shrieks would disturb my new neighbors.”

  “So how did Monica persuade you to take the Siamese?”

  “The next morning, the doorman to my apartment building buzzed my intercom and said I’d better get downstairs ASAP . . . .”

  As Katherine quickly sketched her first meeting with Scout for the inquisitive attorney, she gazed out the car window at the snow-covered fields, at the vague shapes of huddled trees in the distance, illuminated only by the cold winter moon and mercury vapor lamps hanging from barns and out buildings. With her voice telling the tale on autopilot, Katherine’s mind replayed all the details of that day in October 2009.

  “B-z-z-z-z.” The intercom blared from the end of the hall. Katherine rushed to answer. She punched the button, “Yes?”

  The doorman’s voice answered, “Ms. Kendall, it’s Mario. You’d better come downstairs right away. This lady dropped off a present for you, and it’s screaming.”

  She pressed the talk button, “A screaming present? That’s a first. Coming right down.”

  Katherine waited impatiently for the elevator, and when it hadn't come in what seemed like an eternity, she rushed to the stairwell and bolted down twenty-two flights of stairs. She flew out the service door leading to the marble-floored lobby, luxuriously decorated with colonial furnishings. Mario, the Italian doorman with jet-black hair and blue eyes, wore a concerned expression on his face.

  “What is it?” Katherine asked, out of breath.

  "I think it's a cat,” he said.

  Mario had placed the cat carrier right on top of his reception desk at the front entrance.

  Katherine peered inside. "It's a Siamese. Did a woman named Monica DeSutter bring this?” she demanded, hand-on-hip.

  "Hiss,” the cat inside the carrier snarled.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't get her name,” Mario apologized. “She did say the cat’s name was Cada . . ."

  "Cadabra,” Katherine finished.

  The Siamese began rocking the cat carrier back and forth and wailing in shrill, mournful cries.

  "I don't think it likes that name,” Mario suggested.

  “She,” Katherine corrected. “Cadabra is a girl cat.”

  The Siamese emitted a throaty growl.

  The elevator doors opened and the wealthy Mrs. Pendleton got off and bustled toward the front door. She made a dead stop in front of Mario’s desk.

  "Ah, Mrs. Pendleton, good morning. Your limo is waiting,” he said dutifully.

  "What is that creature, and what has possessed it to make that dreadful noise?” she sniffed haughtily.

  "I beg your pardon, but that creature is a Siamese,” Katherine said icily.

  Cadabra rolled onto her back and began kicking the top of the cat carrier. She crossed her eyes and began to salivate like a rabid animal.

  "I thought the board had a policy about permitting wild animals in the building,” Mrs. Pendleton huffed.

  Cadabra snarled fiercely.

  “Well, I never,” Mrs. Pendleton said indignantly. Mario held the door open for her and she stormed out of the building.

  Cadabra immediately turned over and nuzzled the metal gate on the front of the cat carrier. She began purring.

  Mario and Katherine burst out laughing. “This cat is a born actress,” Mario observed.

  “That was the best cat fit I've ever seen,” Katherine added.

  “Ms. Kendall,” Mark said, interrupting the reverie.

  “Oh, I'm sorry,” Katherine said, waking from her reverie. “What were you saying?”

  “When did you decide to name her ‘Scout?’”

  “A few days after I got her. At night she patrols my apartment like she’s on a reconnaissance mission. She’s prowled so much, she’s developed calluses on her paws.”

  “What other tricks does Scout do, besides answering phones?”

  “When you say Abracadabra, she arches her back and dances like a Halloween cat.”

  “You're kidding,” Mark said.

  “I don't say it very often because it seems to upset her.”

  “Maybe it brings back a sad memory.”

  “I also have a seal-point named Iris, and she’s my resident cat burglar. She steals my cosmetic brushes and stashes them under my bed. Lilac, my two-year-old lilac-point, fetches a three-inch, stuffed toy bear.”

  “Cats don't fetch,” he said skeptically.

  “Lilac does. She fetches until she drops in exhaustion. I have to put the bear away.”

  “You really like your cats,” he said. “I really like mine, too.”

  “You have a cat,” she asked, surprised.

  “I have a Maine Coon,” he answered proudly. “He's about four-years-old.”

  “Iris is four.”

  Mark said slyly, “He's been fixed.”

  “Iris has been spayed, but she loves to flirt.”

  “Is there any way we can convince you to stay longer than a weekend?” Mark asked, changing the subject.

  “I’ll be here two full days. My plane leaves at 6:00 p.m. on Sunday.”

  “That doesn’t give us very much time.”

  “I think it’s enough time. I’m pr
epared to give you my answer in forty-eight hours or less,” she said. “What’s on the agenda for me? Where will I be staying? When do I get to meet Abigail?”

  “Dinner with me tonight. You’ll be staying in Erie’s only bed and breakfast, the Little Tomato.”

  “Little Tomato,” Katherine interrupted. “What kind of a name is that?”

  “Indiana is known for its tomatoes. Have you ever had one?”

  “No, I’m afraid not, but I could have eaten one and not known it,” she snickered.

  “It’s possible,” he chuckled. “Back to the bed and breakfast . . . The building is over a hundred-years-old and is listed on the National Register.”

  “Does it have electricity?”

  “Yes. And heat and hot water,” he quipped, “The owner of the Little Tomato is a friend of mine. She also owns one of the antique stores downtown. If you think the name of her B&B is funny, wait until I tell you her name.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Carol Lombard.”

  “Like the movie actress?”

  “Yes. Doesn’t every town have one?”

  “Does the B & B have Wi-Fi? I brought my laptop so I can check my email.”

  “I think so, but don’t know how strong the signal will be. It varies.”

  “I guess I’ll find out,” she answered. “When do I meet Abigail?”

  “Tomorrow morning around nine. I’ll pick you up at a quarter ‘til, and we’ll drive out to the vet’s office so you can meet the little charmer. The vet’s name is Sonny Hunter, but everyone calls him Dr. Sonny.”

  “Why doesn’t he go by ‘Dr. Hunter’?”

  “Because his father is also a vet, and he goes by ‘Dr. Hunter’,” he answered. “After you meet Abigail, I’ll give you a tour of your great aunt’s house and introduce you to the two employees who are taking care of her—”

  “Her? My great aunt's house is a ‘she’?”

  “Orvenia called her house ‘Vicky’.”

  “Ah, for Victorian. What are the names of the two employees?”

  “Vivian Marston and Cokey Cokenberger. Vivian is the housekeeper, and Cokey is the handyman. Mr. Cokenberger also has his own general contracting business. He’s employed by the estate to maintain the house. He’s undertaking a major project right now, repairing masonry in the basement.”

  “I’m very anxious to meet Abigail and to see the house, but afterward can we visit my great aunt’s crypt?”

  “Yes, by all means. The mausoleum is about thirty miles from here.”

  “Thanks,” she smiled. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but my great aunt was my mother’s only aunt on the maternal side,” Katherine offered. “My mother passed away from cancer in 2009, and my father died a year later.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that you’ve lost both your parents.”

  She hesitated for a moment. “You mentioned that your parents own a farm.”

  “Oh, yes, but my dad wants to retire soon. Mom is a teacher at the elementary school. She’s eager to retire, also. I’ve got a sister in California, and a brother who lives in Minnesota. My grandmother lives in a retirement community close to Erie; she’s ninety-years-old.”

  “That's nice,” she smiled.

  They continued talking throughout the trip. Katherine thought he was very easy to talk to, and fun to be with. She was having such a good time, she hadn’t even noticed that an hour and a half had passed until she saw the sign: Erie Town Limits.

  “This is Erie,” Mark said, slowing down.

  “I wish it were light outside,” she complained. “I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to really get a good look at things.”

  Mark began pointing out key businesses. “Over there is the funeral home. There’s the ice cream stand.”

  “Granny Sleeps Here,” Katherine chuckled, reading the marquee. “I hope the ice cream is better than the name. Look’s boarded-up to me. Granny must be asleep?”

  “It’s seasonal. There’s the video store. There’s one of the local restaurants. We’re getting very close to Orvenia’s house.”

  “Is it on this street? Which side?” she asked anxiously.

  “It’s several blocks down on Lincoln Street.”

  “Can you drive by the house before we go to dinner? I’m dying to see it.”

  “Better yet,” he said. “Behind the grain elevator there’s a service alley that leads to Lincoln Street. This alley provides the best vantage point for viewing the front of the house. However, it’s so dark outside, I’m not quite sure you’ll be able to truly see the house,” he said. He turned the car, drove a short distance, then stopped in front of a large Victorian house. “There she is,” he announced. “Vicky is the most exquisite house in Erie.”

  Katherine was momentarily speechless. The house seemed larger than she’d imagined. “This is the house,” she finally said. “I’ve never seen a house so big. I am to live here? I’d get lost.”

  Mark pulled out onto the street. “You’ll get to see the inside tomorrow,” he said, pulling back onto the main highway. “Most of the houses on this street are in the historic district. It's one of the few remaining tree-lined streets. Most of the trees are maples, and at least a hundred years old. During the fall, many locals and out-of-towners walk down Lincoln Street, snapping photos of the autumn leaves. There’s a walking guide that’s printed by the State Division of Tourism. Oh, yes, there’s a park nearby, with walking and hiking trails. Near the parking lot, there’s a gazebo that was built in the 1890s. In the summer, visiting bands come and perform on Saturday evenings.”

  “I'm fascinated,” she said. “What about crime here?”

  Mark laughed. “Our last murder was eleven years ago, and theft or burglary are virtually non-existent. Driving while intoxicated is a problem, which doesn't surprise me because there are more bars in Erie than there are churches.”

  “I never thought of comparing the two,” she said.

  “Suffice it to say, there are seven taverns for four thousand people,” he said almost apologetically. “Here we are.” He parked outside the restaurant and got out of the car.

  Katherine waited for him to open her door.

  “Welcome to downtown Erie,” he said, helping her out of the car. “The restaurant is in a hotel that was built in 1888.”

  She gazed up at its blue and lavender-painted corbels.

  “Let’s go inside. It’s freezing out here,” he said, slapping his gloved hands together.

  “No, just a second.” Katherine adjusted the collar on her wool coat and slowly peered down the street. The town seemed to be a mecca of antique shops, in well-maintained Victorian-era storefronts, constricted to a two-block area. She was enchanted. Finally she said, “This town looks like a miniature model railroad town.”

  “Except our trees have leaves and not lichens,” he joked. “Seriously, the town is unique because so many townspeople are restoring old homes.”

  Mark opened the heavy wooden door of the hotel.

  Katherine walked inside and observed the antique shop on the left and the restaurant on the right. Several people were browsing in the antique shop.

  “This way,” he directed. He led her to a foyer outside the main serving room. The room was dimly lit by the glow of a gas log burning in the fireplace. Every available wall space was covered with old family portraits framed in vintage gold frames.

  “Allow me to take your coat,” he said. “I must warn you. If you order the prime rib, you must wear a bib.”

  “A bib—like a baby’s bib?” she asked.

  “Yes, but much bigger. It’s a tradition here.”

  “Okay. Why not,” she said. “But you wouldn’t catch me dead with one of those things in Manhattan.”

  The hostess entered the room and smiled. “Hello, Mark. Is this Orvenia’s niece?”

  “Yes,” Katherine smiled. “I’m Katherine Kendall.”

  “Welcome to Erie Hotel,” the hostess smiled and extended her hand. “My name i
s Velma Richardson.”

  Katherine shook her hand.

  “I’m so sorry to hear about dear Mrs. Colfax. It was a great shock to all of us. We thought that she’d live forever.”

  The woman escorted them to their candlelit table.

  “Were you a friend of my great aunt’s?” Katherine inquired.

  “No, just an acquaintance. We were part of the same church congregation,” she said. Velma turned to Mark. “I’m helping Patricia out with the drinks tonight—she’s your server this evening, but is busy with that large table over there,” she motioned. “What would you like to drink?”

  “I’ll have a seltzer, please,” Katherine said.

  “I think I might have an antacid in my pocket-book,” the hostess answered.

  “Seltzer,” Katherine grinned. “Sparkling water. Do you have any?”

  “We have town water,” the hostess said slowly. “And nearby there’s a spring where they still cap the water.”

  “It's called Mudlavia Springs,” Mark said. “It’s a national company.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard of it. Okay, I’ll have a glass of that, and also a glass of Cabernet.”

  “Caber-what?” the hostess seemed perplexed.

  “Wine,” Katherine answered.

  “We have white wine, merlot—”

  Katherine interrupted, “Merlot is fine.”

  “And you, Mr. Dunn?” the hostess asked.

  “I’ll have some of that wonderful town water with a slice of lemon.”

  The hostess winked at Mark and left. He tipped his head back and laughed. His green eyes sparkled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I’m sure there’s a lot of things this town can learn from you. Your presence would be an asset to the town.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere,” she scoffed.

  The drinks arrived and the couple toasted the future.

  Mark said, “May you move to our fine town and live happily ever after.”

  Katherine countered, “May I move to this fine town and my cats have nine lives.”

  Their glasses clinked.

  The server came over to the table, said hello to Mark, then introduced herself to Katherine. “My name is Patricia Marston. I’m the daughter of your great aunt’s housekeeper—Vivian’s daughter.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you.”