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Lilian Jackson Braun

Lilian Jackson Braun The Cat Who Saw Red

1

His depression had nothing to do with the price of mixed drinks, which had gone up ten cents. It had nothing to do with the dismal lightning, or the gloomy wood paneling, or the Monday mustiness that blended Friday's fish and Saturday's beer with the body odor of an old building that had once been the county jail. Qwilleran had been stunned by bad news of a more vital nature.

The prize-winning feature writer of the Daily Fluxion and the newspaper's foremost connoisseur of sixteen-ounce steaks and apple pie a la mode was reading — with horror and dismay — a list printed on a bilious shade of green paper.

Across the table Arch Riker, the Fluxion's feature editor, said: "What's everybody going to eat today? I see they've got potato pancakes on the menu. "

Qwilleran continued to stare at the sheet of green paper, adjusting his new reading glasses on his nose as if he couldn't believe they were telling him the truth.

Odd Bunsen, Fluxion photographer, lit a cigar. "I'm having pea soup and short ribs and an order of hash browns. But first I want a double martini. "

In silence Qwilleran finished reading his incredible document and stared again at the top of the list:

NO POTATOES

NO BREAD

NO CREAM SOUPS

NO FRIED FOODS

Riker, who had the comfortably upholstered contours of a newspaper deskman, said: "I want something light. Chicken and dumplings, I guess, and coleslaw with sour cream. What are you having, Qwill?"

NO GRAVY

NO SOUR CREAM

NO DESSERTS

Qwilleran squirmed in his chair and gave his fellow staffers a vinegary smirk. "I'm having cottage cheese and half a radish. "

"You must be sick," Bunsen said.

"Doc Beane told me to lose thirty pounds. "

"Well, you're reaching that flaky age," the photographer said cheerfully.

In a defensive gesture Qwilleran stroked his large black mustache, now noticeably flecked with gray. He folded his glasses and put them in his breast pocket, handling them gingerly.

Riker, buttering a roll, looked concerned. "How come you went to the doctor, Qwill?"

"I was referred by a veterinarian. " Qwilleran fumbled for his tobacco pouch and started to fill his voluptuously curved pipe. "You see, I took Koko and Yum Yum to the vet to have their teeth cleaned. Did you ever try to pry open the mouth of a Siamese cat? They think it's an outrageous invasion of privacy. "

"Wish I'd been there with a movie camera," Bunsen said.

"When Koko realized what we had in mind, he turned into something like a fur tornado. The vet got him around the neck, an assistant grabbed his legs, and I hung on to his tail, but Koko turned inside out. Next thing we knew, he was off the table and headed for the kennel room, with two vets and a kennel boy chasing him around the cages. Dogs barking — cats having fits — people yelling! Koko landed on top of the air conditioner, eight feet off the floor, and looked down and gave us apiece of his mind. And if you've never been cursed out by a Siamese, you don't know what profanity is all about!"