Cat of the Century (17 page)

“Boy, the roof is sagging on Mitch’s hay shed,”
she noted as they passed a neighbor’s house.

Fair commented, “How long do you give it?”

“Two more years.” Harry laughed.

“Three.”
Mrs. Murphy knew they weren’t responding to her observation, but she felt the process of communicating with humans might lead them in the correct direction.

“A roof that size, shingles, eight thousand,” Fair figured.

“Given the Depression, I bet he could get it for six, if he shops around. People added a lot of fat to their labor over the years. Squeezed out now,” she ruefully noted. “That’s the nature of capitalism. I’m a believer that it’s the best system, even when it’s painful. If you shave off the valleys, then the peaks are shaved, too. Government intervention is destructive and antithetical to capitalism. Either you’re a capitalist or you’re not.”

“People don’t have the stomach for it anymore.” Fair said this without malice.

“Honey, all people know is the nanny state. The point being, those in government think they know better than we do how to take care of ourselves. The arrogance is horrifying to me.” Harry bit her lip slightly. “I guess to a lot of people, in government or out, things are black and white. Life really is shades of gray, isn’t it?” Harry mused.

“I think maturity is the ability to tolerate ambiguity.”

She turned to face him, stroking Mrs. Murphy, who purred like a Mercedes on full throttle. “You’re a more philosophical person than I am. It’s one of the things I love about you. I learn something from you every day. You know me, honey: I’m nuts and bolts, bread and butter.”

“Nothing wrong with that. I learn something from you every day, too, you know.”

“I can’t imagine.”

“The different types of sunflowers, the oil content in the seeds. What birds like to eat—some seeds, some bugs, and some fruit. You’re a true farmer. I’m not. I mean, I can tell you the nutritional value of alfalfa versus endophyte-free fescue, but that’s about it.”

“That’s okay. Your brain is crammed with scientific data: patients, their owners. You don’t need to know the stuff I do. That’s really why you picked me, isn’t it? You needed someone to identify a thrush’s call, tell you the ‘hello’ chirp from the true birdsong. And all this time I thought it was me.”

“Your body. I worship and adore your body.” He smiled broadly.

“Tell me again.”

“For Christ’s sake,”
Mrs. Murphy grumbled.

“I worship and adore your body.” He laughed, and Mrs. Murphy had to laugh, too.

A silence followed this lovely interlude, then Fair said, “Dammit, I forgot to bring the orange-blossom honey. You know how Inez loves it.”

“There’s Trader Joe’s at the Short Pump shopping center. We can get orange-blossom honey there.”

He checked the time on the clock. “Okay.”

“There are so many different honeys. The lavender one from France is divine.” Harry respectfully paused following this delicious memory.

Fair, negotiating traffic, grumbled, “The shopping center takes up half of Short Pump.” He hadn’t been this far east in a year.

“Another five years and the sprawl will be all the way to Charlottesville.”

He breathed in. “Where do the people come from?” Then he switched subjects. “Worries me. Inez being chair of the alumnae board.”

“I know, honey, I know.”

After the taunting emails last night, Inez had called Jahnae and learned that she, too, had received one. She also called Aunt Tally, who had not.

Liz, in a panic, had called Jahnae, then Inez.

Taking time to consider all the angles, Inez then called Harry and Fair. Fair, taking charge, told her he’d be at her door tomorrow at one in the afternoon. He was taking her and Erno back to his and Harry’s farm, where Inez would be safe.

When she protested this all had nothing to do with her, he’d have none of it. Fair said she’d still be close to Aunt Tally and they could visit, but Inez was going to be under his roof and sometimes with him on calls.

Inez finally gave up. She was grateful for his concern.

Every now and then last night and then today, Fair would mutter, “Worries me.”

Worried Harry, too.

“The world looks different when your parents are gone,” he said out of nowhere.

She nodded. “Does.”

“She’s a remarkable woman. She really is a second mother to me. I’m glad Inez is still strong. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

Fair’s parents had lived much longer than Harry’s, but his mother passed away five years ago, one year after his father had died.

“God sends us things in our life.” Harry leaned closer to Mrs. Murphy. “Sent me you, too.”

“The feeling is mutual.”
Mrs. Murphy put a paw on Harry’s hand.

“Jesus, the traffic,” Fair commented as they drove down the Short Pump exit, turning right on Route 250.

Within minutes, they pulled into Trader Joe’s parking lot.

“Want to come in or you want me to do it?” Harry asked.

“I’ll keep the animals company.” As she closed the door, he fiddled with the radio to get NPR.

Fair, a dedicated NPR listener, soaked up everything. He liked Terry Gross in particular. Harry, on the other hand, was bored stiff. She wanted her country-and-western music, which she used to disdain. If they got into an argument—which was infrequent—it was over who would control the radio. They settled it by the driver having the choice. If they didn’t change positions for relief after three hours, the passenger handled the dial.

Pewter called out from her burrow in the blanket,
“Are we there yet?”

“What do you want, Pewts?” Fair called back.

“Out of this car. I want to play,”
she responded.

“Ignore her. She probably has to go potty,”
Tucker teased.

“If I did, I’d poop on you,”
came the discourteous retort.

“We’re at Trader Joe’s.”
Mrs. Murphy stood on the passenger seat to face backward.
“That’s a fancy food store. Good stuff. I’ve heard Harry talk about it.”

“Food! Why didn’t you tell me?”
Pewter leapt into the front seat to stand next to Mrs. Murphy.

Both cats, paws on the dash, faced forward.

“See?”
Mrs. Murphy noted all the people emerging from the store, bags overflowing with edible treasures.

“I hope she remembers,”
the gray cat said wistfully.

“You’re getting a little heiferous,”
Tucker called from the back, staying snuggled in the blanket.
“You need a kitty diet, not more food.”

Harry came out of the store with two full shopping bags.

“Cross your claws.”
Pewter was the soul of animation when Harry opened the door.
“Mom! Anything for me?”

A muffled moan emanated from the back.

“Don’t start, Tucker. I’ll scratch your eyes out.”

“Kitty babies. Treats.” Harry moved both cats to the center console for a moment to take her seat after putting both bags on the backseat. She’d bought more than she intended.

She carried a small container in the shape of a cat. The top of the head and ears were yellow plastic.

“Me!”
Pewter yowled.

Harry popped a treat in Pewter’s open mouth, glad her fingers weren’t chomped.

Mrs. Murphy, ever the lady, waited.

“Here.” Harry gave her one of the multicolored treats.

“This is good.”
The tiger savored the flavor.

“More!”

“That’s enough, Pewter. More when we get to Inez’s.”

“How far?”
The gray cat was insistent.
“I could go into a coma from hunger.”

“Enough,” Harry said. “Tucker, there’s a rawhide chew for you later.”

“Good.”

Fair was still fiddling with the radio knob when Harry appeared. “Shall I assume that both those bags aren’t full of honey?”

“You may.” She leaned back in the comfortable seat. “Saw you hit the off button. NPR fix again?”

“Can’t hide anything from you, can I?”

“Sure you can, but you have to get up early in the morning to do it.”

He backed out. They headed west on Route 250. A half hour later, they turned down Inez’s driveway. What should have been a fifteen-minute drive had taken twice as long, thanks to relentless traffic. The crushed pea rock crunched under the tires.

“Looks like her weather has been the same as ours,” Harry said.

Tucker saw puddles of water in low spots.

“Yeah, it does,”
Mrs. Murphy agreed.

As both Harry and Fair were Virginians, there was no need to discuss that they lived in the Piedmont while Inez lived at the edge of the Tidewater, an expanse of plain with a slight roll to the land as one moved west. Technically, the Tidewater ended at the fall line—the waterfalls all up and down the state. The weather was hotter here than in Crozet; springs arrived earlier, winters later. Sometimes the rains pounding on the Blue Ridge never made it this far east.

The years Fair spent here were some of the happiest times of his life. He was actually practicing medicine, and the little guesthouse in
which he lived was perfect for a bachelor. Harry, whom he had known since high school, would visit. He dated some Richmond girls, West End types, some of whom could be high maintenance. Inez was the one who told him he should have his head examined if he didn’t marry “that good-looking country girl from back home.”

He did. Years later, after he became restless in his marriage and had an affair, he and Harry separated. Inez tore him a new one. The divorce upset her terribly, but she loved Fair and endured what she called his “searching time.” He learned, grew, worked hard to win back Harry, and did. He knew he was lucky to have had Inez’s honesty and love throughout it all.

Now Fair knocked on the door of the simple taupe-colored clapboard house, the shutters a brighter green than the Charleston green Harry liked. Each shutter had a cutout of a trotting horse. The door matched the shutters and had a large pineapple brass knocker in the center.

“Come in,” Inez called when Erno barked, announcing company.

Harry, who had been rummaging in the food bags, pulled out the honeys. The two cats and dog shot out onto the gravel the minute the hatchback was raised.

“Don’t you go on the lawn. It’s sodden. You’ll make a mess of her rugs.”

Too late: Tucker had already relieved herself on the lawn.

Fair opened the door and made his way down the short, wide hall to the living room on the right.

He embraced Inez, who had stood up. “How’s my best girl?”

“Perfect now that you’re here.” She gave him a big kiss just as Pewter scuttled across the floor.

Inez’s vizsla, ever attentive, remarked,
“Fatty’s come to pay a call.”

“Hungarian asshole.”

“Pewter, how you talk.”
Tucker came in and immediately touched noses with Erno.

Mrs. Murphy entered at a stately walk, Harry closing the door behind her against the bitter cold. Four honeys, two in each hand, didn’t prevent her from kissing her hostess on the cheek.

“For you.” She presented the prizes.

“Orange-blossom honey from Florida. Lovely. What’s this?” Inez took a perfectly round glass bottle with a flattish bottom. “Italian. Chestnut honey. I’ve never had that. Look how amber the color is. Lavender honey from France, my second favorite, and, of course, good old clover honey. How can anyone live without honey? Thank you.”

“I’ll put them in the kitchen for you. Well, actually, I’ll take them back out to the car and put them in the shopping bags,” Harry offered.

“Later. I’ve made us a light lunch. Come on, Fair. Won’t take but a minute, and I know you can eat.”

“Now, Inez, you shouldn’t be making lunch for us.”

“Fair, I’d rather wear out than rust out.” She had a lilt in her voice.

“Light lunch?” Harry exclaimed as a poached salmon was removed from the oven.

“What we need on a cold day.”

Harry put out the plates as Inez sliced the fish. The escaping aroma of hollandaise made her hungry. An endive salad and new potatoes with parsley completed the meal.

Fair fed the animals, putting chewies next to the dogs’ dishes. He knew where everything was in this house. Better to have their noses in food bowls than have them bedeviling you for food while you ate.

The humans ate while reviewing the amazing events. Comments on the incredible weather inevitably crept into the conversation. Harry talked about her plans for her second-year Petit Manseng grapes, her sunflowers, and the corn Bubba Wickham had told her to plant this year.

“Ambrosia, a better corn than Silver Queen?” Inez was incredulous.

Bubba and Donna Wickham farmed right outside Montpelier—not Montpelier Station, which was up in Orange County and home of the Madisons, but Montpelier in Hanover County, not far from Richmond. Even Virginians not from Hanover County and counties close by could get confused. Everybody knew Bubba and Donna. The two were the local sitcom: funny, occasionally outrageous, and plain good people.

“You know his exact words when I told him I was going to plant Silver Queen?” Harry ate so much salmon she could feel her waist expanding. “‘Don’t dirty your mouth with Silver Queen. You put in Ambrosia. Now, you listen to Bubba, you hear?’”

She did, too. He was one of the best farmers around, and Harry admired a good farmer the way a suburban teenager admired the rock star of the moment.

Fair and Inez repaired to the living room while Harry stacked the dishwasher and turned it on. She entered the living room to find her husband and Inez smoking contraband Cuban cigars. Diplomaticos was the brand.

“Would you like one?” Inez offered.

“No thanks.”

“Nothing like a good smoke after a meal. I so look forward to it,” Inez confessed. “Didn’t bring any to William Woods because I knew Big Mim would get her nose out of joint. As it was, Tally and I had to sneak cigarettes. Tally won’t smoke a cigar, either. I tell her she’s a wimp.”

Fair tilted his head back and blew three consecutive smoke rings. “If I could blow five I’d have the Olympic symbol.”