“Tazio, we've been over that. We can't do that because the floorboards are so thin they can't take it.” Matthew Crickenberger, head of Charlottesville's largest construction firm, clapped his hands together softly for emphasis. “Those floorboards are chestnut. They've been doing their job since 1797 and frankly they're tired and we can't really replace them. If you think the bill for new carpeting is high, wait until you see the bill for chestnut flooring even if we could find it. Mountain Lumber up there off Route 29 might be able to scare some up and give us a preacher's price, but we're still talking about thousands and thousands of dollars. Chestnut is as rare as hen's teeth and we'd need a great deal of it.” He glanced down at his notes. “Six thousand square feet if we were to replace everything now under carpet and this doesn't factor in the other areas currently in use but not quite ready for recarpeting.”
Tazio exhaled, flopping back in her chair. She wanted everything just so but she didn't have to foot the bill. Still, it rankled to have a vision amputated because of a small pocketbook. Such was an architect's fate.
“Hayden, you had a plan?” Herb pushed the meeting along. No one wanted to be late to the basketball game and this discussion was eating up time.
“Yes,” he smiled, “what people see first is the sacristy. If we can't come to an arrangement among us, can we at least agree to go ahead with that? The cost would be about four thousand.”
“If we are going to have the place ripped up, then let's just get it over with. We know we have to do this.” BoomBoom, gorgeous as always, shimmered in her teal suede dress.
“I agree. We'll find the money someplace.”
“We'd better find the money first or we'll have to answer to the congregation in the church, in the supermarket, and”—Matthew winked at Harry—“in the post office.”
Harry, the postmistress, sheepishly smiled. “And you know my partner in crime, Miranda, is a member of the Church of the Holy Light, so she won't bail me out.”
The little gathering laughed. Miranda Hogendobber, who was a good thirty years older than Harry, quoted Scriptures with more ease than the Reverend Jones and while she tolerated other faiths she felt the charismatic church to which she belonged truly had the best path to Jesus.
As the humans batted around the cost, the need, and the choice of color for the carpeting, Harry's three dear friends lurked in the hallway outside the large room.
Mrs. Murphy, a most intelligent tiger cat, listened to the intensifying sleet. Her sidekick, a large round gray cat named Pewter, was getting fidgety waiting for the meeting to end. Tucker, the corgi, patient and steady as only a good dog can be, was happy to be inside and not outside.
The Christ cats—as Herb's two cats were called by the other animals—had escorted Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker around. They'd gossiped about every animal in the small Virginia town of Crozet, but as the meeting was entering its second hour, they'd finally exhausted that topic.
Cazenovia, the elder of the two cats, nestled down, her fluffy tail around her nose. A large calico, she had aged gracefully. The young foundling which Herb had taken in a few years ago, Elocution, had grown into a sleek pretty cat. A touch of Siamese in her, she never stopped talking.
“—tuna breath!” Elocution uttered this insult. “How can you stand it?”
“She doesn't.” Mrs. Murphy giggled.
They'd been discussing the blue jay who tormented Pewter. He also tormented Mrs. Murphy but with less enthusiasm, probably because he couldn't get a rise out of the tiger.
“Oh, I will snap his neck like a toothpick someday. You take my word for it,” Pewter promised.
“How thrilling,” Cazenovia purred.
“And un-Christian,” Tucker chuckled.
“Well, we are cats,” Pewter sniffed.
“That's right. Our job is to rid the world of vermin,” Elocution agreed. “Blue jays are beyond vermin. They're avian criminals. Picking up stones and dropping them on neighbors' eggs. Dropping you-know-what on freshly waxed cars. Do it on purpose. They'll sit in a tree and wait until the job is finished and then swoosh.” Elocution glanced up at the rat-a-tat on the window. “Not today.”
“Why don't blue jays go south in the winter?” Pewter mused. “Robins do.”
“Life in our barn is too good, that's why. Harry puts out birdhouses and gourds and then she plants South American maize for the ground birds, cowpeas, and bipolar lespedeza. The winter might be cold but she serves up all kinds of seeds for those dumb birds.”
“Birds are descended from flying reptiles,” Elocution announced with vigor. “That alone should warn us off.”
“What in the world is going on in there?” Tucker listened as Matthew Crickenberger raised his voice about labor costs.
“Say, have I shown you how I can open the closet where Herb stores the communion wafers?” Elocution puffed out her chest.
“Elo, don't do that,” Cazenovia warned.
“I'm just going to prove that I can do it.”
“They'll believe you. They don't need a demonstration.”
“I wouldn't mind,” Pewter laconically replied.
“Thanks, Pewter.” Cazenovia cast her a cold golden eye.
“Come on.” Elocution, tail held high, bounded down the hall.
The others followed, Cazenovia bringing up the rear. “I know I'll get in trouble for this,” the old girl grumbled.
Elocution skidded at the turn in the hall where it intersected with another hall traversing the width of the rectory, itself an old building constructed in 1834.
Pewter whispered to Mrs. Murphy, “I'm hungry.”
“You're always hungry.”
“I know, but you'd think the Rev would put a bowl of crunchies out somewhere. And I don't smell anything edible.”
“Me neither,” the mighty but small dog whispered, “and I have the best nose.”
“Here.” Elocution stopped in front of a closet under the stairwell that ascended to the second story. “You all stay here.”
“Elocution, this really isn't necessary,” Cazenovia sighed.
Ignoring her, the shiny cat hopped up the stairs then slipped halfway through the banisters. Lying on her side she could reach the old-fashioned long key which protruded from the keyhole. She batted at it, then grabbed it with both paws, expertly turning the key until the lock popped.
“Oh, that is impressive.” Pewter's eyes widened.
“The best part is, Herbie will flay Charlotte for leaving it unlocked.” Elocution laughed.
Charlotte was Herb's secretary, second in command.
As the lock opened, Elocution gave a tug and Pewter, quick to assist, pulled at the bottom of the door with her paw. The door swung open revealing bottles of red wine and a shelf full of communion wafers in cracker boxes with cellophane wrappers. Elocution knocked one on the floor then squeezed her slender body all the way through the banisters, dropping to the floor. Within a second she'd sliced the cellophane off the box, and using one extended claw, she opened the tucked-in end.
The odor of wafers, not unlike water crackers, enticed Pewter.
“Elocution, I knew you were going to do this,” Cazenovia fretted.
“Well, the box is open. We can't let it go to waste.” The bad kitty grabbed a wafer and gobbled it down.