Disclaimer: I do not now nor have I ever possessed any of the characters, locations, or buildings found in any of the famous The Cat Who… books written by Lillian Jackson Braun. I am merely a great fan of the series who thinks that the lack of a section on her work in the directory is a literary travesty and seeks to end this injustice, single-handedly if necessary. I do, however own the name of Marie Ingram and any part of Moose County as yet unfound in any pages written by Lillian herself. (Don't expect many, if any, of these to show up in this story.)

And now without further ado, I present:

THE CAT WHO HIT THE DECK

Written by: Reuai

Chapter One

It was a picturesque Spring Day in Moose County, 400 miles north of everywhere. Birds filled the air with shrill, merry melodies; small animals skittered about the forest floors; blossoms filled sprawling fields with Technicolor splendor, and in a century-old octagonal apple barn, the richest man in the Northeast Central United States was in a state of panic.

Jim Qwilleran (or Qwill, as his friends called him) was pulling at his hair and tugging at his oversized, drooping moustache as he frantically dialed the phone. Beside him, two seal-point Siamese were yowling in a bloodcurdling chorus that showed no sign of abating. Qwilleran glanced desperately at his watch as he heard the sound of distant ringing coming from the receiver.

Just as Qwilleran was about to collapse into a senseless heap, a harried voice said a beleaguered "Whozis?" into the phone.

"Nick!" Qwilleran said frantically. "Get Lori on the phone, pronto. There's a problem with the cats!"

"Qwill, is that you?" Nick Bamba said into the line. "Damn, I can barely hear you over that racket. What's going on is there a fire or something?"

"It's Koko and Yum Yum," Qwilleran replied through clenched teeth. "They've been doing this for nearly ten minutes and they don't stop! Get Lori on the phone!"

"Okay, okay." Nick said. "We were on our way out but I'll call her."

Qwilleran heard the woman's name being yelled away from the receiver, and waited impatiently as the phone changed hands.

"Qwill, what is it?" Lori asked. "Nick says there's something wrong with the cats. Is that them." It seemed like the wailing had gotten even louder, but that may have been Qwilleran's frayed nerves.

"Yes, that's them." Qwilleran said, trying to keep his calm. "They've been at it for over ten minutes, and I've tried everything!"

"It seems like they're overly stressed. You have to calm them down. Try covering their eyes and petting them wherever they enjoy it the most. If they don't calm down, try calling Dr. Constable and getting a sedative.(1) Now Qwill, I've really got to go. The kids are having a school picnic, and I'm in charge of the hot dogs and hamburgers."

Qwilleran thanked her profusely and hung up the phone. He turned and lifted Yum Yum, the dainty Siamese female, off the countertop she had been sitting on. As she yowled, he cupped his hand around her eyes and rubbed her fur gently, where he knew it was most appreciated. As the burly male, Koko, continued his tirade, Yum Yum gradually subsided in her howling and fell silent before drifting off to sleep. He repeated the process with Koko, with the same result. As the two brown-and-faun-colored bodies curled up in silent slumber, the six foot two, middle-aged newspaperman crumbled into an exhausted heap, sobbing with relief.

James Mackintosh Qwilleran was a former prize-winning crime reporter down below, as the residents of Moose County referred to the crowded, smog-ridden bulk of the United States south of the county line. He had relocated to the county seat of Pickax, population 3,000, when a bizarre inheritance from a near-forgotten family friend had changed him from a hand-to-mouth journalist to the wealthiest man in a county teaming with wealthy families.

Despite being an outsider, Qwilleran had created a name for himself among the Moose County elite. He had won the hearts of the populace by establishing the Klingenshoen Foundation, an organization based in Chicago that handled Qwilleran's massive inheritance, since he couldn't stand to deal with it himself.

Aside from the philanthropic fund, the people of Moose County adored Qwilleran's twice weekly column in the Moose County Something called, "Straight from the Qwill Pen." The sad, sympathetic eyes and drooping, dramatic moustache that appeared at the top of every installment gave men a sense of awe, and women a sense of romance.

Of course, it didn't hurt matters that Qwilleran had thrown himself into Moose County's eccentric norm. He lived alone in a hundred-year-old octagonal apple barn with two Siamese cats. He also maintained his bachelorhood, despite his well-known relationship with the woman who ran the local bookstore, Polly Duncan.

Finding himself unable to relax, much less do anything constructive, Qwilleran gently moved the Siamese to their cushion on top of the refrigerator, policed their commode, put a midday snack in their food dishes, and left the barn.

Feeling antsy, Qwilleran drove to downtown Pickax to visit The Pirate's Chest where he knew he would find Polly. He pulled up in front of the long building and walked inside. An iron chest was mounted on the wall just inside, and Qwilleran usually stopped to smile at it when he arrived. Today however, he was in no mood for fond recollections.

Suddenly, a melodious voice came from behind him. "Qwill, I didn't expect you today. I thought you said you were spending time with the cats." She paused, seeing the strained look on Qwilleran's face and said. "Oh my! Qwill what happened to you? You look positively traumatized!"

"Problem with the cats." Qwilleran explained. "I called Lori Bamba and sorted it out, but I'm still a little shaken up."

Polly, a doting owner of her own Siamese duo, furrowed her brow in concern and took Qwilleran's hand, leading him through the bookstore to a secluded area filled with plush, comfortable looking chairs.

"Here, Qwill." She said softly. "You stay here in the reading area, I'll get someone to cover my shift and be right over."

Qwilleran collapsed gratefully into the inviting plush chair, and looked around him. It seemed unnatural to be sitting there without a book in his hand, but he didn't feel like perusing the shelves for an interesting title so he just sat and waited. Seeing the freshly varnished shelves, the crisp, unbroken spines, and the cheery, well-lit rooms, Qwilleran found it almost impossible to believe that not long ago this had been the site of a dreary, dusty, gray used book store called Ed's Editions.

Edington Smith had sold used books out of a glimmering feldspar building for fifty years before his death. It had once been a smithy, belonging to his grandfather. Unfortunately, Ed's Editions had been destroyed in an explosion only days after the death of its proprietor, leaving Pickax devoid of a literary venue.

To solve the problem, the K Fund had commissioned a new store to be built on the old lot, complete with a room devoted to the memory of the city's beloved bibliophile, and the services of Pickax's former head librarian at the helm. Polly had been glad to leave her old position, though she had confessed that she would miss her friends and the "Dear Ladies", as she referred to the prim, aristocratic women on the library board. She was happy to have a new challenge, and for a while all she ever talked about was the science behind building, arranging and running a bookstore. (Impulse purchases count for 50 of all bookstore income.)

A small, orange ball of fur pounced on Qwilleran's lap, and broke him from his reverie. Dundee, the store's official Marmalade Mascot, was a favorite attraction. He seemed to have an eye for quality literature, and Polly was convinced that he was solely responsible for a large chunk of the store's daily sales, and should get a paycheck. Qwilleran never bothered to disagree.

Moments later, Polly walked in and took a seat across from him. Putting a gentle hand on his knee she said, "Now, dear, tell me what happened."

Qwilleran found himself eager to relate the morning's incident. He explained how the cats had suddenly started their howling without warning, how offers of food, books, and playtime had achieved nothing, and how finally he had managed to quiet them with some help from the charitable and patient Mrs. Bamba. He deliberately left out the part where he turned into a sobbing pile of mush. He still had his dignity.

Polly listened to all of this with a look of concern and sympathy. She reached across to pet Dundee, who was busily kneading at the fabric of Qwilleran's pants before saying, "What do you think was wrong with them?"

Qwilleran shrugged. It was unusual for him to be at a loss for words, but it was also unusual for the cats to act against their routine nature. Yum Yum, he knew, habitually followed Koko's lead, but what was Koko's motivation? The male never did anything without reason, and Qwilleran was constantly endeavoring to figure out Koko's unique modes of communication.

Qwilleran spent a few more minutes talking to Polly as his nerves gradually relaxed and he felt calm enough to function normally. Saying a fond farewell and making plans for dinner, he left Polly to handle affairs in the Pirate's Chest with her capable four-legged colleague, and headed home to check on the Siamese.

When he arrived, the cats were in a state of frenzy, jumping about, this way and that, knocking over anything that wasn't nailed down. Over the din, Qwilleran heard the phone ringing.

This was a form of feline behavior he could understand. Koko and his accomplice were telling him Answer the phone! It's important. Qwilleran obliged, and heard a haughty, aristocratic woman's voice saying, "James? James Qwilleran?"

"Yes," He replied, an uncomfortable sense of familiarity clung to the voice. "To whom am I speaking?"

"Oh good. It is you. We've had a devil of a time finding you. It's Edith, James. You remember? Miriam's mother?"(2)

Qwilleran dropped the phone.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(1) I am by no means an expert on cat behavior, and aside from the sedative I was completely making that part up.

(2) I know nothing of Miriam's family other than they were rich and disliked Qwilleran. If anyone has any further information (like a maiden name) I would be very grateful and will gladly make the necessary changes where they apply.