with gold lettering. I whooped, causing my broken rib to twinge, and pelted over. “It’s beautiful!”
Maury beamed, fanning himself with his baseball cap. His bald spot glowed. “I’m glad you like it. Your cousin Jack donated the funds. Good man, for a Littlepage.”
I should point out Morses are traditionally inclined to the Ellers in the Great Crazy Feud.
I ran my fingers along the car, examining the town seal and the glittery gold letters of “SHERIFF”. I popped the trunk and the hood, sighing with delight. “Oh, wow. A real honest-to-God brand-new prowler. God bless Henry Ford.”
“Him too,” said Maury. “Take a look.”
I looked inside. There was a state-of-the-art cat car seat, with mesh over the window so Boris couldn’t fly out if it was rolled down, and a litterbox bolted into the foot well. Maury snickered. “You should’ve heard the phone calls I got about that one.”
I barely heard him. I retrieved Boris from my car and he sniffed long and cautiously before he started slinking through the new cruiser. He was as plainly delighted as I was, eyes bright, whiskers bristling. I went back to the engine, so new it was as shiny as the rest of the car, and sighed. Then I hugged Maury. “This is the best ever,” I told him. “Just the best. Wow.”
“We’ll try to scrape up one for Tom,” Maury apologized, twisting his hat a little. “But the council isn’t about to do that if they can help it.”
For once, the town’s council couldn’t bother me. Besides, Tom’s cruiser was fine, and at least was new to him. He’d only had it three months. I didn’t ask how long the state boys had been driving it before we got it.
Maury tossed me the keys and ambled down Main, along the cracked and weed-grown sidewalk. Morse Sanitation and Disposal was nearly at the other end of town—figure a mile—but Town Hall was across Spottswood Lane from my office, and he’d be headed for air-conditioned joy on such a day. As for me, I forgot about lunch and started my new cruiser. It practically sang.
I was giddy as a teenager with her first car, and as proud. I rolled down Main, past the churches and the Emergicare, Shiflet Hardware, Joe Brady’s Hunt & Fish, the liquor store, Blue Quartz Pottery, Shiflet Realty, on down past the library and WCZY. Then the road veered more or less east, became Piedmont Road, and we paraded past the veterinarian, the mini-plaza, out to the Elk Creek Apartments and back. Even Boris was preening as we went up and down the town’s side streets. Seventh through First, then Littlepage Road—aptly enough, leading up to the Littlepage estate—and Spottswood Lane. When I was done, I ran out to the animal shelter on Turner Gap Road to show off the cruiser to Aunt Marge and Roger.
The adoption fair was going well. Even though not many animals were being adopted, Aunt Marge confided, people had come just to see the facility, and to check out the bouncy-play inflatables outside under a big tent. “We’ve gotten lovely donations,” said Aunt Marge, “and at least a dozen applications for volunteers. Oh, and there’s a shelter up by DC that is going to take some of the animals, since they’ve gotten more requests for dogs than they can handle.”
“Poor cats,” said Roger. He had a trio of kittens cuddled asleep in his arms, and seemed perfectly content. I wondered how long before Aunt Marge’s pampered Natasha got more roommates. “But at least the guinea pig got a home.”
They exclaimed over the new cruiser, but I left pretty quickly. Boris was still feral enough to not like the idea he’d have competition, and I’d been too close to those other cats for his comfort. It really wasn’t much wonder I didn’t feel a need for a man in my life. I already had someone to feed, clean up after, and constantly reassure of my affections.
I drove up to the Littlepage house on the chance Cousin Jack would be there. He was standing on the front walk
Maury beamed, fanning himself with his baseball cap. His bald spot glowed. “I’m glad you like it. Your cousin Jack donated the funds. Good man, for a Littlepage.”
I should point out Morses are traditionally inclined to the Ellers in the Great Crazy Feud.
I ran my fingers along the car, examining the town seal and the glittery gold letters of “SHERIFF”. I popped the trunk and the hood, sighing with delight. “Oh, wow. A real honest-to-God brand-new prowler. God bless Henry Ford.”
“Him too,” said Maury. “Take a look.”
I looked inside. There was a state-of-the-art cat car seat, with mesh over the window so Boris couldn’t fly out if it was rolled down, and a litterbox bolted into the foot well. Maury snickered. “You should’ve heard the phone calls I got about that one.”
I barely heard him. I retrieved Boris from my car and he sniffed long and cautiously before he started slinking through the new cruiser. He was as plainly delighted as I was, eyes bright, whiskers bristling. I went back to the engine, so new it was as shiny as the rest of the car, and sighed. Then I hugged Maury. “This is the best ever,” I told him. “Just the best. Wow.”
“We’ll try to scrape up one for Tom,” Maury apologized, twisting his hat a little. “But the council isn’t about to do that if they can help it.”
For once, the town’s council couldn’t bother me. Besides, Tom’s cruiser was fine, and at least was new to him. He’d only had it three months. I didn’t ask how long the state boys had been driving it before we got it.
Maury tossed me the keys and ambled down Main, along the cracked and weed-grown sidewalk. Morse Sanitation and Disposal was nearly at the other end of town—figure a mile—but Town Hall was across Spottswood Lane from my office, and he’d be headed for air-conditioned joy on such a day. As for me, I forgot about lunch and started my new cruiser. It practically sang.
I was giddy as a teenager with her first car, and as proud. I rolled down Main, past the churches and the Emergicare, Shiflet Hardware, Joe Brady’s Hunt & Fish, the liquor store, Blue Quartz Pottery, Shiflet Realty, on down past the library and WCZY. Then the road veered more or less east, became Piedmont Road, and we paraded past the veterinarian, the mini-plaza, out to the Elk Creek Apartments and back. Even Boris was preening as we went up and down the town’s side streets. Seventh through First, then Littlepage Road—aptly enough, leading up to the Littlepage estate—and Spottswood Lane. When I was done, I ran out to the animal shelter on Turner Gap Road to show off the cruiser to Aunt Marge and Roger.
The adoption fair was going well. Even though not many animals were being adopted, Aunt Marge confided, people had come just to see the facility, and to check out the bouncy-play inflatables outside under a big tent. “We’ve gotten lovely donations,” said Aunt Marge, “and at least a dozen applications for volunteers. Oh, and there’s a shelter up by DC that is going to take some of the animals, since they’ve gotten more requests for dogs than they can handle.”
“Poor cats,” said Roger. He had a trio of kittens cuddled asleep in his arms, and seemed perfectly content. I wondered how long before Aunt Marge’s pampered Natasha got more roommates. “But at least the guinea pig got a home.”
They exclaimed over the new cruiser, but I left pretty quickly. Boris was still feral enough to not like the idea he’d have competition, and I’d been too close to those other cats for his comfort. It really wasn’t much wonder I didn’t feel a need for a man in my life. I already had someone to feed, clean up after, and constantly reassure of my affections.
I drove up to the Littlepage house on the chance Cousin Jack would be there. He was standing on the front walk
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