“May I ask your names, ma’am and sir?”
Transformation amazing. By now could almost forget appearance, aroma — excusable anyway, under circumstances (though Adam hadn’t let self go, nor I). Before our eyes, frenetic derelict metamorphosed into educated, refined, eminently likeable person.
Introduced ourselves; ran through briefest mutual biographies. Rollo listened attentively; displayed genuine interest. Then surprised us: Owned recordings of Adam in concert, though never saw him perform — and knew both Daddy, Teacher professionally: As small-town medical-school president, physician, prior to Doomsday, had rubbed shoulders with both during seminars, etc.
And had never been sick.
Caught Adam’s eye, crooked brow. He nodded. On behalf of both I accepted invitation with thanks; agreed had much to discuss.
Continued on rails to next level crossing; retracted guide wheels (which Rollo admired extravagantly, to Adam’s embarrassed delight). Rollo familiar with local roads’ pitfalls; led way to his home. Drive took perhaps hour total.
Lived in big, comfortable-looking house amidst sprawling grounds; once nicely landscaped, now gone to seed. Rollo apologized for condition; explained house, upkeep furnished by school. Wife’s pride, joy; without her for inspiration, maintenance crew to do work, had little interest in appearance.
Met at curb by large, gaunt, battle-scarred, notch-eared, yellow- and black-striped tomcat, who greeted me with gruff courtesy but went into ecstasies over Adam: Head-dived at ankles, twined around feet until could hardly walk. Accompanied him to door, offered to follow inside. Rollo drew back foot; cat darted into bushes, favored him with unflattering personal remark.
“Sorry,” he offered, noting my expression. “That’s Tora-hōhi, my late wife’s cat. Tora-hōhi means ‘Tiger-breath’ in Japanese.”
Caught Adam’s slight headshake, but couldn’t spare attention to find out what he wanted. Sudden crisis in progress; required full attention:
As Rollo walked past, Terry growled deep in throat, hunched shoulders, fluffed plumage, bobbed head, narrowed pupils to pinpoints; then lashed out in great roundhouse swing, obviously with every intention of carving divot from whatever portion of man’s anatomy he could reach. Was astonished at normally blithe sibling’s reaction; first time ever saw him take dislike to obviously refined, well-educated person on sight. Probably the smell, raggedy appearance. (Couldn’t blame him, really; long time since Rollo bathed, changed clothes.)
Intended victim hadn’t noticed. Still apologizing for treatment of wife’s cat: “I’m not a cat person myself, and it’s never liked me, either. It considered us rivals over Sally ever since it was a kitten. The dispute never escalated to open warfare; we just settled, over the years, into a pattern of mutually respectful antagonism, which became a family tradition. That cat would be horrified by now if I displayed unseemly solicitude or affection toward it. It would view it as a clear violation of the armistice.
“And since Sally died, I haven’t been able to allow it in the house, because it — well” — Rollo grinned ruefully — “it took to expressing its opinion of me — on my pillow…!
“Besides, I didn’t think it would be fair to ‘spoil’ it in view of circumstances. If something happened to me, it would be better off already accustomed to foraging for itself.” Rollo eyed the cat appraisingly. “So I booted it outside and tapered off feeding it. It’s doing pretty well so far; I haven’t fed it in months, and it’s still in pretty good shape.”
(Matter of opinion, I thought; but decided to keep lip buttoned for once. Also wondered at use of impersonal pronoun: “It” seemed unnecessarily rude.)
Really do like cats myself, though not rabid “cat person” per se: Terry comes first, period; and cats, birds uneasy bedmates — not that idiot twin afraid of, particularly at risk from, normal domestic housecat. Has encountered before. Generally clicks bill loudly, suggestively; settles feathers in menacing fashion; cat remembers pressing business elsewhere, departs unhurriedly. All very civilized. Has even been friends with one well-behaved neighbor cat over the years.
“I really can’t imagine why it still bothers to hang around,” Rollo continued. “Our relationship is quite limited. Whenever I leave the house it glares at me — no, amend that: Sometimes it sits on the window ledge and glares in at me, too.”
Adam surprised me. Never had pets while growing up; no experience with cats. Last person would expect to be cat person. But blurted out then, “I don’t know what ‘good shape’ means in a cat, but he looks awfully thin to me. Could we bring him in, just for the evening, and feed him? I’ll watch and make sure he doesn’t do anything he shouldn’t.”
Rollo debated momentarily, glanced at me, then smiled. “Sure, why not.”
Once inside, Rollo disappeared to clean up. I returned to van briefly to fetch Terry’s stand; set up in living room in unused corner. Then we waited for Rollo.
Tora-hōhi jumped into Adam’s lap without hesitation. Adam looked surprised as cat butted him authoritatively in stomach, performed three formal turnarounds, then settled down firmly to accompaniment of soft, rusty-sounding purring. Volume increased by full order of magnitude when Adam hesitantly scratched under chin. Sounded like cement mixer.
(Knew then Adam genuine cat person; has “touch”: One of those people who unerringly scratch right place every time. Tora-hōhi knew, too: Adam hooked.)
“ ‘Tora-hōhi’ doesn’t mean ‘Tiger-breath,’ ” said Adam softly. Expression, as scratched cat’s neck, chin, stroked here, there, in response to unconscious clues, invited comparison with mother in Michelangelo’s “Madonna and Child.” “I competed in the Ozawa Competition in Tokyo a couple years ago. I never got fluent at Japanese; I just learned enough to get by — but we kids did learn all the wrong words. ‘Tiger-breath’ would be ‘Tora-kokyū.’ I think ‘hōhi’ means ‘fart.’ I wonder if Rollo knows he’s got it wrong. I’m going to call him ‘Tora-chan.’ That means ‘Tiger-dear.’ ” Broke off to scratch particular spot behind cat’s left ear. Tora-chan responded by snuggling even closer, stepping up already impressive volume, closing eyes as expression of total satisfaction overspread diabolical visage.
Smiled to myself: Adam unaware, of course, but had just announced intention of adopting crusty old warrior, regardless how relations might go with Rollo. Of course, had little real say in matter — such decisions belong to cat alone.
Rollo reappeared about an hour later, announced: “Is this better?” And received no answer because both Adam and I staring open-mouthed.
Had accomplished nothing less than transfiguration: Was clean, smooth-shaven, hair cut roughly but adequately; wearing clean, quietly stylish, casual clothes. Smelled good, too: aftershave (Coty’s musk, I think).
Appearance now matched demeanor: Rollo poised, elegant; tall, slim, quietly handsome; perhaps mid-40s; touch of gray at temples; high forehead, cheekbones; firm, dimpled chin; astonishingly blue eyes; lots of laugh lines — cut singularly impressive figure.
Told him so. Looked pleased. Then suggested we adjourn to kitchen; intended to whip up festive dinner. Followed, bringing Terry’s stand.
Adam fed Tora-chan, who ate until sides bulged. Rollo produced old litter pan from broom closet, filled, offered to cat. Tora-chan glared, but took advantage. Adam fascinated by performance: Had never known cats bury own waste. Also bury anything too spoiled to eat, garbage in general, Rollo added by way of information.