Short Stories: Long Way Around the Short End. James Hill
come on in our bedroom. That’s when the second scream sounds out and yellow eyes appear from the gold mine path. The fighting stops, and everything that can run does.
It’s a large bobcat, and he’s coming through the yard to the porch. I don’t know if the cans under the steps are attracting him, if he enjoys white wine, or if he wants to meet the organizer of this event, but I’m not waiting around to find out. I slip through the backdoor to get my rifle behind it. When I turn back around, my foot hits the wine bottle spilling it. My other foot rolls over, causing my arm to come up and fire a shot through the roof of my porch.
The shot sends the bobcat on its way.
Edith comes out, snatches the gun from my hand, and breaks the stock over the porch railing. “It sounds like a damn saloon brawl out here.” She surveys the aftermath. “You’re on probation, mister!” And she storms back into the house.
A little while later, I peek my head around the bedroom door. “I think I’ll sleep in the study tonight.”
“Good,” she says.
* * * * *
I’m up early to clean the mess and tally the damage: an owl who either had a heart attack or was hit by the errant bullet, a broken rifle and a hole that needs patching, two dead cats and a mortally wounded possum, one broken crystal wine glass, and a turned-over bottle of high-priced wine. Edith would add one drunk to this list, but I was not.
Everything is loaded together and dumped in the gold mine.
I take everything of the failed experiment, a bag and a half of rabbit pellets, four cases and eighteen cans of Alpo, and six dog bowls, and take it all down to the local veterinary clinic. They are glad to have it.
I stop by Herb’s on my way in.
“That was some brouhaha at your place last night. How did our plan work?”
“They failed miserably,” I answer.
“They? I didn’t mean to combine the two.”
“Combined, or on their own, the general consensus is that cat meat is not very good.”
“So, what’s on the agenda now?” he asks me.
“There is no agenda. I leave on a three-day sales call tomorrow. Hopefully, that will give her time to cool off.”
“Damn, what happened there last night?”
I tell him everything, including the broken wine glass, the hole shot through my roof, and Edith breaking my rifle in half.
“You’re lucky she didn’t turn the gun on you.”
“Tell me about it,” I say. “She put me on probation.”
“Probation?” Herb looks perplexed. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know everything it entails, but a certain privilege has been revoked…if you know what I mean.”
He looks at me sadly. “I think I do.”
* * * * *
When I return from the Georgia trip, Edith greets me with a big hug, a deep kiss, and tells me she missed me. She seems sincere. I guess the incident in the backyard is forgiven.
Soon, Herb calls me on the phone. “Get up here. I have the plan of all time.”
Again, we are by his shed having a beer. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before,” Herb says, “and it’s so much easier.” He goes over his new plan with me.
At first, I want to reject it wholeheartedly; after all, I could still be on probation. Even though it sounds far-fetched, it is simple, and it could work. And it would be nice to have only two cats by the time I leave out for Kansas City.
“What if she recognizes your voice?” I ask.
“I studied drama in high school and have a variety of accents. No problem there.”
“I don’t know…”
“Trust me. This will work. Just get me one of those burner cell phones and bring Singing Sammy Lee when Edith goes to the beauty shop.”
* * * * *
A short time later, Herb and I are standing outside the shed with Sammy Lee inside. I hand him the untraceable cell phone, and he dials up Edith, putting the speaker on for my benefit.
“I have your prize cat,” Herb says in a high-pitched voice that sounds Swedish.
“Do what?” I hear her say.
“Just offer up your other cats for adoption or turn them over to the animal shelter. You can keep the other Siamese, and when the other cats are gone, Sammy Lee will return.”
“Sammy Lee stays in the house,” she replies. “And how do you know his name?”
I’m making gestures at my neck.
“I don’t know…maybe your husband let him out. And his name is on his collar, along with your number.”
Whew! That was close.
“Is this Herb? You sound like Herb.” I’m making slicing motions on my neck now.
No! No! Abort! Abort!
“I don’t know who this Herb fella is,” he says in a deeper tone with a sinister Russian accent. “Just follow my instructions.”
“Tell Lester he better have Sammy Lee home when I get there…and he better follow mine. You and Clara up for a game of Rook on Friday?”
“You got it,” and he clicks her off.
Idiot!
* * * * *
The cat wraps around her leg and purrs when she gets home.
“I don’t know if you and Herb are getting senile or going through a midlife crisis, but these pranks involving my babies have got to stop. That’s strike two, Lester. You don’t want to see what happens if you strike out.”
I sleep in the study for the remaining nights until my trip. When someone has put you on probation and given you the three-strike rule, it’s best not to lie down beside them at night.
* * * * *
I’ve been busy as hell here in Kansas City, but I’ve managed to call Edith the first three nights with no answer. She’s probably still mad at me. But on the sixth day with no answer, I become concerned and call Herb. Clara answers.
“Clara, this is Les.”
“Hi, Les, how are things in the big city?”
“Busy. Would you mind checking on Edith? She hasn’t answered her phone in a week, and I’m worried about her.”
“You’re right. That doesn’t sound like her. Yeah, I’ll go check and call you back.”
She doesn’t call back for two hours, heightening my concern even more. When she finally does, I can tell she’s been crying.
“Sorry it’s taken so long to get back. It was horrible, Les.” She starts sobbing again. “So terrible.”
“Calm down, Clara, and tell me what’s wrong.”
There’s a brief pause. She stops crying and says in a jittery voice, “Edith’s dead, Les.”
My God.
“Take it easy, Clara. What happened?” I ask in a voice beginning to get shaky.
“The medical personnel think she tripped over a cat, fell down the stairs, and broke her neck. She’s been dead for days, and with nothing to eat, the cats started eating on her.”
Oh, my God!
“I’m sorry you had to see that, Clara. I’m catching the next flight out.”
I