Catch As Cat Can

                "So are Argentina and Paraguay and, for that matter, the United States. After the war didn't our government spirit out any German who had knowledge we needed or wanted? And furthermore, that was over fifty years ago. Somehow I think most of those dudes are dead. Now you're an expert on Uruguay?"

                "Can't blame a guy for trying."

                "Yeah, yeah. To change the subject, are you going on the coon hunt tonight?"

                "Thought I would."

                The best time to hunt coons is the fall but sometimes a hunter would train his young hounds with an older hound before then. Summer was too hot so spring often was a good time to work young hounds. The female coons, "heavy," usually gave birth in April through May to litters of between one and eight. They'd only be hunting males.

                She filled the cleaned-out bucket with clean sponges, placing the bucket under the sink."I wonder when Roger's funeral will be."

                "Wednesday or Thursday. Unless Sean thinks he'll have to wait for the weekend because of out-of-towners. I doubt it though. Herb will know. Brings death a little closer, doesn't it?"

                "Nah." She shook her head."Can't think about it. It doesn't do my good. You can the at four years of age or one hundred. But you can't think about it."

                "Sounds like your dad."

                "It's true, though."

                "I suppose, but Roger's death makes me think about it. One minute he's sitting in the chair and the next minute he's on the floor with Little Mim pulling on his arm and Lottie screaming."

                "Been quite a weekend. Lottie falls off the float. Oh, wait, it started with Miranda's hubcaps getting stolen and winding up at O'Bannon's. Then Lottie bounces off the float. Given the hoopskirt :'m surprised she didn't bounce right back or she could be our own living Taco Bell symbol. Then Roger goes to his reward. The perp who stole Miranda's hubcaps shows up parking cars at Big Mim's party. Tracy tackles him. Then the storm from hell rips through Albemarle County. And you're worried that I'm going to sleep with someone other than you? Isn't there a Chinese curse, May you live in interesting times'?"

                17

                Diego and Thomas spent the day at Windy Ridge, an estate owned by the retired Ambassador to the Court of St. James's. Since she didn't need to be a tour guide for the visitors, Harry worked, suppressing her excitement about the coming evening's coon hunt. She loved to hunt. Picking up the debris around her house took two hours. Then she walked her fence lines to make certain they weren't torn up. Blair Bainbridge's cattle loved to amble over onto her lush pastures. Not that she minded herding them back but she didn't always have the time to drive them across the creek, repair the fence, check for injuries. Also, her three horses, Poptart, Tomahawk, and Gin Fizz, disliked the cattle. They'd pin back their ears, bare their teeth, hurl crude insults usually involving the fact that cows have four stomachs.

                Mrs. Murphy and Tucker accompanied Harry on her rounds. Pewter declared the storm frayed her nerves; she needed to rest in the house. The offending blue jay swooped around the kitchen windowsill. Seeing Pewter asleep on the kitchen table, he unleashed a torrent of abuse.

                After a day's work the tiger cat and Tucker felt entitled to participate in the coon hunt. Both waxed furious when Harry shut them in the house, closing off the animal door, then driving off in her 1978 blue Ford pickup.

                "You'll pay for this!" Murphy threatened as the red taillights receded into the gathering twilight.

                "Pipe down." Pewter rolled over.

                "You've slept oil day. Don't tell me you're tired."

                "I didn't sleep all day. That horrid blue jay perched on the windowsill. He called me a fat gray sow, a sea cow, a ponderous pachyderm. I'll kill him!"

                Mrs. Murphy walked back from the door, jumped onto the kitchen counter, trotting to the window over the sink."I can't believe he left me! We worked today. We deserve a party."

                "We were invited to Aunt Tally's tea party. Of course, that didn't turn out so good, did it?" Tucker thoughtfully added.

                "That's not the point." Mrs. Murphy batted at the windowpane.

                Pewter jumped up on the counter, too. She headed for the large jowl of crunchies, stuck her head in, and munched away.

                "Noisy eater." Tucker giggled.

                "Tailless wonder." Pewter flicked a nugget on the floor for the dog. 'I've endured enough insult for one day."

                "It's a dumb time to coon hunt." Murphy hoped to find a way to make her loss less. She adored any form of hunting, even if only to watch from the bed of the pickup. After all, she was the best hunter in central Virginia, maybe all of Virginia.

                Put out as she was, she should have been grateful to be left behind.

                The sodden ground sucked the boots right off the hunters' feet, 'he bushes and branches, loaded with droplets, soaked each person who brushed by. Durant Creek, a tributary of Beaver Creek, roared like a diesel dump truck on full throttle.