Mysteries with and without cats

Mysteries and Cats

Sally was wondering just when I would get around to researching mystery novels with cats in them.

“Well, Sally” I said, “I have read a few and sad to say they are just a great big disappointment, with cats thinking convoluted thoughts and solving mysteries and being so cute one could retch.” Sally nods.  She knows that the beauty of cats is that they think simply and clearly and cut to the heart of the matter. Cute is like less than nothing to them. Sally allows that I can give up on finding mysteries and head for well-plotted novels with good writing and surprising twists and turns.

 In that vein I recommend Ann Patchett’s; The Magician’s Assistant, which has a wonderful opening line: “Parsifal is dead. That is the end of the story”…. a contender for the best opening line of a novel, previously held (in my mind at least) by “This is the saddest story ever told”, the fist line of The Good Soldier by Ford Maddox Ford. The novel goes on to spin a tale that has many layers, all of them absorbing and beautifully written. It seems that Parsifal concocted his entire childhood. His true history is  revealed when his mother and sister show up after his death.

 Yes, of course there is a rabbit involved. He has a job as rabbits do in the magic act and is a member of the family… he is loved and watched, so that he doesn’t take a dip in the pool thinking he can swim. Sally has just shuddered at the very thought of water.

Other books by Ann Patchett: Run and Bel Canto for which she won Pen/Faulkner award and the Orange Prize.

How's Sally Doin'?

Everybody asks about Sally Cookie. "How’s Sally Cookie doin'?" They ask quietly, suitably funereal in demeanor and voice. They know she has a condition and besides she looks very thin and appears to be one step away from death.

So I start my litany which I try to keep brief. "I've tried everything. Budesonide, Prednisolone, Leukeran, Centrine, B12 shots... special canned food from the vet and nothing works," and my voice trails off. My neighbor says meditatively, "Well you know people also have irritable bowel syndrome and it’s really a food allergy... an allergy to gluten." "And," she continues, "I think you should go see Tom at Sam and Willy’s because he knows a lot about gluten allergies."

So I do, because I would go anywhere for Sally, but luckily Tom’s store is nearby and we remember each other from Mojoes café where he was always on the outside looking in because his dog could not tolerate other dogs. So he would stand out in the cold and wait for Missy, his wife, to have her coffee and come back out. He thinks Sally is allergic to gluten and I should try feeding her a diet of raw meat, (which comes frozen in rather exotic flavors: Venison, Duck, etc) and he gives me a free sample.

Raw meat is something I don’t care to look at and initially I handle it with rubber gloves and my eyes closed, but I love Sally and so I buy these medallions which I have to mix up with a little baby food and water and she seems to find it as tasty as those mice she used to be agile enough to catch, not to speak of my darling spice finches.

I don’t buy raw chicken because Tom suggests that she may have developed an allergy to the kind of meat she ate all the time. In her case this would be Fancy Feast chicken and turkey.

Anyway, in two days she is cured and starts putting on weight and although I was very fond of my vet, it appears that she had never heard of cats being allergic to gluten and I think perhaps she should have done more research before suggesting acupuncture and the possibility that Sally had cancer and before I started redecorating my deck for Sally’s last goodbye. Although now the deck is so nice that I invite friends over for dinner, and Sally herself loves to catch a few rays out there.

So I find myself at a new vet, a man who seems to read everything and wants to share his knowledge and I am getting cross-eyed from the shear volume of it, when Sally walks over to me jumps up on a chair and pokes me with her paw... the universal signal for "get me the hell out of here" and even the vet laughs.

The beauty part of the new vet is that he is 1/2 block down from 90 Miles Café, a Cuban restaurant with the best lechon sandwiches I’ve ever had and, more importantly, really fine con leche coffee.