Cat on the Scent

            As she walked through Miranda’s door she smelled freshly fried liver, not her favorite.

            Miranda sat at the table, the animals eating from places set for them. Sheepishly Harry’s hostess said, “They’re the only creatures I can get to eat fried liver with me.”

            “I’ll eat fried liver.”

            “You don’t really like it.”

            “I wouldn’t buy it in a restaurant but everything you make tastes good.”

            “I happen to have a piece left, smothered in my special sauce with caramelized onions. And I know you love brussels sprouts, a hint of molasses and lemon with them, but only a hint.”

            As Harry ate this unexpected feast, Miranda peppered her with questions to satisfy herself that Lifeline wasn’t leading people away from the Scriptures.

            “Didn’t mention the Bible. It’s about personal growth, not religion.”

            “The two are connected.”

            “Now, Miranda, I am not capable of a theological discussion. You take that up with Herbie. After all, the meetings are held in his church.”

            “People need the Good Book.”

            “Lifeline and Christianity are not mutually exclusive.” A brussels sprout melted in her mouth.

            “The essence of Christianity is forgiveness.”

            “I think in Lifeline they teach you to forgive yourself.”

            This thought hit Miranda like a Ping-Pong ball: It bounced off but left a small impression. She would have to ponder it. “Seems you got more out of Lifeline than you realize.”

            11

            Pewter, wild-eyed and puffed up, charged through the animal flap at the back of the post office. “Come quick!”

            Without arguing, Mrs. Murphy rushed outside, closely followed by Tucker. Pewter’s short, furry tail disappeared around the corner to the front of Market Shiflett’s grocery store. She leapt onto the fruit display outside the front door.

            Mrs. Murphy followed, finding herself amid the banana display. “Ever see a banana spider?” she hissed.

            She soon forgot about the furry spiders hiding among the yellow bunches because inside, Sir H. Vane-Tempest and Archie Ingram were shouting at the top of their lungs. A small crowd was gathered, including Market Shiflett, who stood beside the screened front door of his store. It was still too cool for air-conditioning.

            “You’ve forgotten—” Vane-Tempest sputtered.

            “I’ve forgotten nothing.”

            “You’ve forgotten who your friends are.” Vane-Tempest stepped closer to Archie, who suddenly hit him on the left cheek. He lashed out so quickly that Archie surprised both himself and the Englishman.

            Reeling backward, Vane-Tempest lifted a soft hand to cover the red mark.

            Still in a fury, Archie taunted the old man. “You’re the one who forgets, Vane-Tempest, and it will catch up with you!”

            Before the Englishman could lunge forward, a rattled Archie had backed out of the store, parting the gaggle of people.

            Harry stuck her head out of the post office, since the shouts had penetrated even there. She stuck it back in. The altercation was none of her business. Besides, people were soon pouring into the post office, all telling their versions of the tale.

            Mrs. Murphy moved over to sit on the apples. “Friendship is like a love affair. When it sours, pfff-t!”

            “Ours won’t.” Pewter rubbed her cheek against the slender tiger.

            “We’re cats. We’re smarter than people,” Murphy purred. She liked attention and she especially liked being groomed.

            “Don’t you wonder what’s happened?”

            “It’s the rock quarry,” Pewter said.

            “That was ages ago,” Mrs. Murphy remembered.

            “Some people are on slow fuses,” Pewter remarked.

            Tucker stepped away from the fruit stand to better see the cats. “Bet there’s a woman involved.”

            “Maybe,” Mrs. Murphy noted.

            “Who would go out with H. Vane-Tempest apart from his very expensive wife? A puff adder, that man!” Pewter likened people to animals.

            “Who said it was H. Vane?” Tucker winked.

            “Gross,” came the tiger’s tart comment.

            They walked over to the post office, going in by the front door as yet another resident opened it. Sir H. Vane-Tempest was loudly explaining his side of the story.

            “He’s become irrational. He thinks everyone is against him. Even Aileen has noticed it. I spoke to her last week about Archie’s personality disintegration.”

            Aileen was Archie’s wife.

            “It’s difficult being on the county commission when opinion in the county is so divided,” Miranda offered.

            “He asked for the job,” Big Mim tartly observed.

            “Won’t have it for long,” Little Mim said, which made her mother smile slightly.

            “Ever since the storms this winter when Sugar Hollow washed—the terrible flooding—he’s not been the same,” Vane-Tempest said.

            “It can’t be that,” Miranda shrewdly noticed. “You don’t think so either.”