Lilian Jackson Braun
Excerpts From The Cat Who series

 

 

From The Cat Who Went into the Closet

Returning home from a luncheon with a foil-wrapped chunk of turkey scrounged from Lois's kitchen, Qwilleran was greeted by his two Siamese, who could smell turkey through an oak door two inches thick.   They yowled and pranced elegantly on long brown legs. And their blue eyes stared hypnotically at the foil package until its contents landed on their plate under the kitchen table.

With bemused admiration Qwilleran watched them devour their treat.   Koko, whose legal title was Kao K'o King, had the dignity of his thirteenth-century namesake, plus a degree of intelligence and perception that was sometimes unnerving to a human with only five senses and a journalism degree.   Yum Yum, the dainty one, had a different set of talents and qualities.   She was a lovable bundle of female wiles, which she employed shamelessly to get her own way.   When all else failed, she had only to reach up and touch Qwilleran's moustache with her paw, and he capitulated.

The three of them gathered in the library for their read, a ritual the Siamese always enjoyed.   Whether it was the sound of a human voice, or the warmth of a human lap and a table lamp, or the simple idea of propinquity, a read was one of their catly pleasures that ranked with grooming their fur and chasing each other.   As for Qwilleran, he enjoyed the company of living creatures and - to be perfectly honest - the sound of his own voice.

 

From The Cat Who Tailed a Thief

And then he said, "That was an interesting column on naming cats.   We have two gray ones, Misty and Foggy, and our daughter in New Hampshire has a kitten called Arpeggio.   It runs up and down the piano keys."

"The things you hear when you don't have a pencil! Qwilleran said. "Send the names on a postcard."

"No!" Arch Riker protested. "No more postcards!   The mailroom is swamped! What are we supposed to do with them all?"

Mildred said, "My grandkids have a tomcat called Alvis Parsley.   He likes rock and roll."

"I believe they tune in to a rhythmic beat," said the choir leader from the church.   "Ours sits on the piano with her tail swinging to the music.   We call her Metro, short for Metronome."

Everyone joined the game.   Everyone knew an aptly named cat: a tom named Casanova; a shrimp addict called Stir Fry; a pair of Burmese known and Ping and Pong.

"Send postcards!" Qwilleran reminded them.

Polly said to him.   "You've opened a Pandora's box.   Is it going to be a blessing or a curse?"

He drew a folded paper from his pocket.

In Moose County, with its large population of barn cats as well as house pets, a large percentage are named after edibles:   Pumpkin, Peaches, Sweet Potato, Butterscotch, Jelly Bean, Ginger, Huckleberry, Pepper, Marmalade, Licorice, Strudel, Popcorn, and so on.

Names are not always complimentary: Tom Trouble, Stinky, Lazy Bum, Hairball.

Cats named for famous personalities, real or fiction, are so named as a compliment to a namesake: babe Ruth, Socrates, Walter Mitty, Queen Juliana, Maggie and Jiggs, Eleanor Roosevelt, George Washington.

Cats in the same family often have names that rhyme: Mingo and Bingo, Cuddles and Puddles, Noodle and Yankee Doodle.

 

From The Cat Who Sang for the Birds

Also on page one was his own tongue-in-check report on the dedication ceremony at the Farmhouse Museum:

On Saturday afternoon at the Goodwinter Museum in North Middle Hummock a throng of 310 visitors drank 450 cups of tea and viewed a collection of 417 historic artifacts in the 1,800 square-foot-steel barn, where 83 volunteers have spend a total of 2,110 hours cataloguing and storing items donated by 291 residents of Moose County.

... Accompanying the museum story was an anonymous poem of sorts in decorative border:

Nostalgia

Twenty-four chairs with legs,
Ten chairs with one leg missing,
Gramophone with Caruso records,
Seven flags with 48 stars.
Doctor's folding operating table.
   And four white enamel bedpans.
Thirty-seven pieces of china, cracked.
Five handmade quilts, stained.
Two wooden washboards, mildewed.
Woman's hat with ostrich plumes, molted.
Nurse's uniform circa 1910.
    And three bedpans in gray graniteware.
Two pearl-handled buttonhooks.
Box of 207 handwritten postcards,
Five school desks carved with initials,
Six-and-a-half pairs of high-buttoned shoes,
Hot-water bottle without a stopper.
    And two bedpans in blue spatterware.
Box of 145 photographs, unidentified.
Three straight razors.
Pair of men's gray suede spats.
Fur-lined sleighcoat, moth-eaten.
Set of surgical saws and scalpels.
    And one genuine Bennington bedpan.

From The Cat Who Sang for the Birds

At this moment there were three books on the table:   one on baseball history, one on Andrew Wyeth.   The book that Koko was keeping warm was Mark Twain A to Z , a reference work with a jacket photo of the great American writer and his great moustache! Qwilleran slapped his forehead as the truth struck him;   Koko had done it again!   It was happening more and more in recent months. Qwilleran thought,   "Mine not to question how - or why; just accept it and be grateful."

 

From The Cat Who Went Into the Closet

Purple Point.   It was a long narrow peninsula curving into the lake to form a natural harbor on the northern shore of Moose County.   Viewed across the bay at sunset it was a distinct shade of purple.

In the boom years of the nineteenth century Purple Point had been the center of fishing and shipbuilding industries, but all activity disappeared with the closing of the mines and the consequent economic collapse.   Fire leveled the landscape, and hurricanes narrowed the peninsula to a mere spit of sand.   Sport fishing revived the area in the 1920's as affluent families from Down Below built large summer residences, which they called fish camps.

By the time Qwilleran arrived in Moose County, these dwellings were called cottages but were actually year round vacation homes lining both sides of the road that ran the length of the peninsula -

What the Lanspeaks called their cottage had a tall-case clock in the foyer, a baby grant piano in the living room, a quadraphonic sound system, and four bedrooms on the balcony.   The only reminder of the original fish camp was the cobblestone fireplace.

 

From The Cat Who Went Up the Creek

He was no backwoods journalist.   He was James Mackintosh Qwilleran, former crime writer for major newspapers Down Below, as the locals called all states except Alaska.   A freak inheritance had brought him north to Pickaxe, the county seat (population 3,000). It also made him the riches man in the northeast central United States. (It was a long story).

His moustache was recognized everywhere, of course.   As goodwill ambassador for the Moose County Something, he responded to women's admiring looks with a courteous nod and to men's greetings with a salute.   He knew he looked good in a baseball cap.

And yet, as a newcomer to the north country, he had wondered about the great number of visored caps on males in all walks of life.   Then an agricultural agent told him, "Things fall off trees and out of the sky (don't ask what), and a wise head keeps covered."

 

From The Cat Who Went Up the Creek

An amazing young fellow name Cyril
was ingenious, agile and virile.
He ran up and down trees
On his hands and his knees
And eventually married a squirrel.

From The Cat Who Said Cheese

Straight from the Qwill Pen -

Emily Dickenson, we need you!

"I'm nobody.   Who are you?" said this prolific American poet.

I say, "God give us nobodies!   What this country needs is fewer celebrities and more nobodies who live ordinary lives, cope bravely, do a little   good in the world, enjoy a few pleasures, and never, never , get their names in the newspaper or their faces on TV."

We crave heroes to admire and emulate, and what do we get?   A parade of errant politicians, made exhibitionists, wicked heiresses, temperamental artists, silly risk-takers, overpaid athletes, untalented entertainers, non-authors of non-books ...

Collecting nobodies makes a satisfying hobby.   Unlike diamonds, they cost nothing and are never counterfeited.   Unlike first editions of Dickens, they   are in plentiful supply.   Unlike Chippendale antiques, they occupy no room in the house.

How do you recognize a nobody?   You see a stranger performing an anonymous act of kindness and disappearing without a thank-you.   You hear spontaneous words of wit or wisdom from an unlikely source.   I remember an elderly man walking with a cane in downtown Pickaxe when the wind velocity was forty miles an hour, gusting to sixty.   We sheltered in a doorway and he said, "The wind knocked me down in front of the courthouse, but I don't mind because it is part of nature."

I began my own collection of nobodies Down Below, my first being a thirteen-year-old boy who did all the cooking for a family of eight.   The next was a woman bus driver who set her brakes, flagged down another bus, and escorted a bewildered passenger onto the right one.

One word of caution to the novice collector of nobodies; avoid mentioning your choice collectibles to the media.   If you do, your best examples will become celebrities overnight, and there's no such thing as a prominent nobody.

All quotes with permission from Lilian Jackson Braun