A Penny Urned by Tamar Myers

Author:Tamar Myers [Myers, Tamar]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: aVe4EvA
Publisher: Avon Books
Published: 2011-05-22T18:43:02+00:00

“Nice place. We often leave Boots alone if it’s just for a few days—you know, leave out plenty of dry food, lots of water bowls, and several litter boxes. In fact, our veterinarian says it’s less stressful for the cat than boarding him or even having someone come by to feed him. After all, Boots sleeps ninety percent of the time. But lately he’s been getting into trouble, so we lugged him along.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Well, last time we came back from a long weekend and couldn’t find him anywhere. I tell you, my heart just leaped into my throat. We were beginning to believe we might have accidentally locked him outside—and he’s a strictly indoor cat, mind you— when we heard a faint meow coming from the fireplace.”

“Oh, my gosh!”

Sheila nodded. “There’s a ledge inside the fireplace just beneath the flue. Boots used to get up in there and take naps when he was a kitten. We always had to check before we built a fire. But you see, Boots is a Maine coon cat. He weighs twenty-two pounds now.” She chuckled. “I can laugh now in retrospect, but it sure wasn’t funny then. Poor Boots was stuck, and the only way we could get him out was to squirt oil on him with a turkey baster.”

“You’re kidding!”

“I kid you not. I was afraid that would drive him further up the chimney, but we managed to get him so slippery he plopped right down into the grate, which was still full of ashes—Getzel loves to start fires, but isn’t much on cleaning up. Anyway, you’ve never seen such a mess. I had to get a special shampoo from the vet to get all that oil and soot out of his fur, and even that wasn’t one hundred percent effective. On the bright side, we had no trouble with hair balls after that for at least a month.”

135

“Wow! That’s quite a story.”

Then I proceeded to tell a few Dmitri tales. We chatted amiably, pausing every now and then to listen to Frieda’s spiel, until approximately halfway through the tour.

Sheila stood. “This is where I get off. That’s Temple Mikve Israel over there. It’s the third oldest synagogue in the country and the only gothic one. It also houses the oldest Torah in America.”

“Oh? What is a Torah?”

“Our sacred scroll containing the Five Books of Moses. And I read there is a wonderful little mu-seum—say, would you like to come with me?”

“Uh—well—I—” I was tempted to disembark with Sheila. I could use some diversion.

She who hesitates is lost, however, and before I could make up my mind, an amazon woman with saddlebag thighs clambered aboard, pushed past Sheila, and tried to squeeze past me to the vacated seat. In order to avoid being crushed, I scooted over to the window side.

“Have a good time, Sheila!”

“Thanks, Abby. See you!”

My new seatmate wasted no time. She was still panting from the exertion of boarding, but she extended a hand as large as a loaf of bread.

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