Free The Cat Who Could Read Backwards by Lilian Jackson Braun Page A

vacant, too. It's a nice quiet place except when the cat lets out a shriek."
     
     
"How was the food on Wednesday night?"
     
     
"When you taste Mountclemens' cooking, you forgive him for talking like a character in a Noel Coward play. I don't see how he turns out such dishes with his handicap."
     
     
"You mean his hand ?"
     
     
"Yes. What's wrong with it?"
     
     
"That's an artificial hand he wears," said Arch.
     
     
"No kidding! It looks real, except for a little stiffness."
     
     
"That's why he tapes his column. He doesn't type."
     
     
Qwilleran thought about it for a few moments. Then he said, "I feel sorry for Mountclemens, in a way. He lives like a hermit. He thinks a critic shouldn't mix with artists, and yet art is his chief interest - that and the preservation of an old house."
     
     
"What did he say about the local art situation?" Arch asked.
     
     
"It's a funny thing. He didn't say much about art. We talked mostly about cats."
     
     
"See? What did I tell you?" said Odd. "Monty's lining you up for part-time cat-sitting. And don't expect a tip!"
     
     
The unseasonable weather, warm for February, ended that week. The temperature plunged, and Qwilleran bought a heavy pepper-and-salt tweed overcoat with his first full salary check.
     
     
For most of the weekend he stayed home, enjoying his new apartment. It had a living room with bed alcove, a kitchenette, and what Mountclemens would call ambiance. Qwilleran called it lots of junk. Still, he liked the effect. It was homey, and the chairs were comfortable, and there were gas logs in the fireplace. The picture over the mantel, according to the landlord, was one of Monet's less successful works.
     
     
Qwilleran's only complaint was the dim lighting. Light bulbs of low wattage seemed to be one of Mountclemens' economies. Qwilleran went shopping on Saturday morning and picked up some 75's and l00's.
     
     
He had a book from the library on how to understand modem art, and on Saturday afternoon he was coping with Dadaism in chapter nine, and chewing on a pipeful of unlighted tobacco, when an imperative wail sounded outside his door. Although it was clearly the voice of a Siamese cat, the cry was divided into syllables with well-placed emphasis, as if the command were "Let me in!"
     
     
Qwilleran found himself obeying the order punctually. He opened the door, and there stood Kao K'o Kung.
     
     
For the first time Qwilleran saw the critic's cat in bright daylight, which streamed through the beveled glass windows of the hall. The light emphasized the luster of the pale fur, the richness of the dark brown face and ears, the uncanny blue of the eyes. Long brown legs, straight and slender, were deflected at the ends to make dainty feet, and the bold whiskers glinted with the prismatic colors of the rainbow. The angle of his ears, which he wore like a crown, accounted for his regal demeanor.
     
     
Kao K'o Kung was no ordinary cat, and Qwilleran hardly knew how to address him. Sahib? Your Highness? On impulse he decided to treat the cat as an equal, so he merely said, "Won't you come in?" and stood aside, unaware that he was making a slight bow.
     
     
Kao K'o Kung advanced to the threshold and surveyed the apartment carefully before accepting the invitation. This took some time. Then he stalked haughtily across the red carpet and made a routine inspection of the fireplace, the ashtray, the remains of some cheese and crackers on the table, Qwilleran's corduroy coat hanging on the back of a chair, the book on modem art, and an unidentified and almost invisible spot on the carpet. Finally satisfied with everything, he selected a place in the middle of the floor - at a carefully computed distance from the gas fire - and stretched out in a leonine pose.
     
     
"Can I get you something?" Qwilleran inquired.
     
     
The cat made no reply but looked at his host with a squeezing of the eyes that seemed to denote contentment.
     
     
"Koko, you're a very fine