there are some leftovers?”
“Lasagna,” Charlie said cheerfully. “Not ours, we picked
some up on the way home.”
“Why? I mean you were going to stay—”
“The news, dear,” Aunt Gerda explained. “We picked up a
broadcast after the matinee, all about that man who stole the funds last year
being found dead at the fairgrounds. And right when you were trying to launch
your event. Has it been complete chaos for you?” Her sympathy wrapped around
me, as warm and comforting as a purring cat.
I trailed her into the kitchen where she brought a huge foil
pan from the refrigerator and scooped out a generous portion from the already
depleted contents. While I popped it into the microwave to nuke it for a few
minutes, she added dressing to the remainder of their salad and placed it into
a bowl. The loaf of herb bread I’d put in the machine before I’d left home that
morning now sat on the counter, a huge chunk missing but still fragrant in
spite of no longer being warm. I cut a small slice then retrieved the lasagna
and settled at the table with a glass of wine.
Almost at once a heavy weight settled on my feet. The
Siamese Olaf, judging by the bulk and the fur that now tickled the top of my
ankle. A set of fangs were lovingly inserted into my other ankle, announcing
the presence of Furface. Ah, the comforts—and sometimes discomforts—of home. I
wouldn’t trade them for anything. Except maybe an undisturbed evening with
Sarkisian.
“We checked on Vilhelm, gave him a new seed treat and
covered his cage,” Aunt Gerda assured me. She caught the gray and white Dagmar
who tried to climb her way into my lap, the better to reach my dinner.
“Who’s handling the investigation?” Charlie called from the
living room.
“Owen arrived just in the nick of time,” I called back
between mouthfuls. I still thought of him as Sarkisian most of the time—some
habits are hard to break—but I’d finally adjusted to calling him by his first
name.
Charlie’s contagious chuckle sounded. “Lucky him.”
They both asked a lot of questions and I answered as best I
could but really not much had emerged yet. I hoped Sarkisian was making
progress. He had to return to school after the holiday and I wanted to spend at
least a few minutes with him when he wasn’t immersed in an investigation. Hell,
I wanted to spend a few minutes with him when I wasn’t immersed in an event.
Another of the cats launched a successful assault on my lap
from the other side and I looked down to see the tiger-striped manx Hefty
settling in for the duration. I caught his front feet as he began to knead my
legs and repositioned him. He curled up purring.
Not for long though. I finished my dinner and dislodged the
entire group as I stood to carry my dishes to the sink. Aunt Gerda headed me
off, saying I looked too tired to stay on my feet and for once I allowed her to
shoo me off to bed and leave the clean-up to her. And the cats. I spotted the
black tom Clumsy living up to his name as he knocked over a wooden spoon and
upended a saucer on his way to investigate what I might have left. The cats
could lick the plates so clean I’d joked with my aunt about being able to put
them away in the cupboard after their ministrations. Not that we’d ever
actually done it of course, though I was tempted to try it some night when we
had guests over just to see their faces.
As Aunt Gerda had said, Vilhelm’s cage was covered and not
so much as a single cheep greeted my arrival. I missed the parakeet’s normally
verbose greeting but it was way past his bedtime. Mine too for that matter.
He made up for it in the morning with a raucous reveille.
His cage might still be dark but that never stopped him when he was in a cranky
mood. And being locked in his cage all day without any company other than the
bird in his mirror always ruffled his little green feathers. I let him out for
a flap around the room while I headed toward the bathroom for a quick shower.
Four
“Lasagna,” Charlie said cheerfully. “Not ours, we picked
some up on the way home.”
“Why? I mean you were going to stay—”
“The news, dear,” Aunt Gerda explained. “We picked up a
broadcast after the matinee, all about that man who stole the funds last year
being found dead at the fairgrounds. And right when you were trying to launch
your event. Has it been complete chaos for you?” Her sympathy wrapped around
me, as warm and comforting as a purring cat.
I trailed her into the kitchen where she brought a huge foil
pan from the refrigerator and scooped out a generous portion from the already
depleted contents. While I popped it into the microwave to nuke it for a few
minutes, she added dressing to the remainder of their salad and placed it into
a bowl. The loaf of herb bread I’d put in the machine before I’d left home that
morning now sat on the counter, a huge chunk missing but still fragrant in
spite of no longer being warm. I cut a small slice then retrieved the lasagna
and settled at the table with a glass of wine.
Almost at once a heavy weight settled on my feet. The
Siamese Olaf, judging by the bulk and the fur that now tickled the top of my
ankle. A set of fangs were lovingly inserted into my other ankle, announcing
the presence of Furface. Ah, the comforts—and sometimes discomforts—of home. I
wouldn’t trade them for anything. Except maybe an undisturbed evening with
Sarkisian.
“We checked on Vilhelm, gave him a new seed treat and
covered his cage,” Aunt Gerda assured me. She caught the gray and white Dagmar
who tried to climb her way into my lap, the better to reach my dinner.
“Who’s handling the investigation?” Charlie called from the
living room.
“Owen arrived just in the nick of time,” I called back
between mouthfuls. I still thought of him as Sarkisian most of the time—some
habits are hard to break—but I’d finally adjusted to calling him by his first
name.
Charlie’s contagious chuckle sounded. “Lucky him.”
They both asked a lot of questions and I answered as best I
could but really not much had emerged yet. I hoped Sarkisian was making
progress. He had to return to school after the holiday and I wanted to spend at
least a few minutes with him when he wasn’t immersed in an investigation. Hell,
I wanted to spend a few minutes with him when I wasn’t immersed in an event.
Another of the cats launched a successful assault on my lap
from the other side and I looked down to see the tiger-striped manx Hefty
settling in for the duration. I caught his front feet as he began to knead my
legs and repositioned him. He curled up purring.
Not for long though. I finished my dinner and dislodged the
entire group as I stood to carry my dishes to the sink. Aunt Gerda headed me
off, saying I looked too tired to stay on my feet and for once I allowed her to
shoo me off to bed and leave the clean-up to her. And the cats. I spotted the
black tom Clumsy living up to his name as he knocked over a wooden spoon and
upended a saucer on his way to investigate what I might have left. The cats
could lick the plates so clean I’d joked with my aunt about being able to put
them away in the cupboard after their ministrations. Not that we’d ever
actually done it of course, though I was tempted to try it some night when we
had guests over just to see their faces.
As Aunt Gerda had said, Vilhelm’s cage was covered and not
so much as a single cheep greeted my arrival. I missed the parakeet’s normally
verbose greeting but it was way past his bedtime. Mine too for that matter.
He made up for it in the morning with a raucous reveille.
His cage might still be dark but that never stopped him when he was in a cranky
mood. And being locked in his cage all day without any company other than the
bird in his mirror always ruffled his little green feathers. I let him out for
a flap around the room while I headed toward the bathroom for a quick shower.
Four
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