The Khat Who Became a Hero 4

The Further Adventures of Khat

Previously: On Tuesday morning, the Thyme & Seasons shop cat, Khat K’o-Kung, does not report for work. Instead, he decides to take a vacation, failing to let anyone know of his whereabouts. On Wednesday, alarmed, China begins to ask around the neighborhood and discovers that Khat has been . . . well, frolicking. In Fannie Couch’s catnip. You can read the earlier episodes here.

Khat’s intoxicating encounter with Mrs. Couch’s catnip had been one of the more memorable experiences of his several lives. Wednesday’s euphoric high had spiraled dizzily into Thursday’s midnight hours, which he had spent romping (there are other words for it, but we won’t use them here) with Malory, the lovely little marmalade cat who works for Molly McGregor at the Hobbit House children’s bookstore next door.

He also had an interesting conversation with Hedwig the Great Horned Owl, who lives in the giant sycamore tree behind the shops and makes a comprehensive survey of the neighborhood every night. Among other bits of gossip, Hedwig happened to mention that someone had moved into the old Birkett house. (You may remember that house from China’s mystery, Queen Anne’s Lace. Old Mrs. Birkett, one of China’s customers, inherited the house from her grandmother, also an herbalist, and had an herb garden and a stillroom there.)

“I saw a light in one of the upstairs bedrooms,” Hedwig reported. “I think someone’s living there now.”

“Maybe it’s a ghost.” Malory put in. “That house is haunted, you know..”

“I rather doubt it,” Hedwig said shortly. “Ghosts don’t bother with lights.”

Khat was interested. He had found his way inside the place, which had been vacant since Mrs. Birkett died the year before. Tied up in probate, the Boss Lady said, because of a missing heir, the distant relative who had inherited the house. He had enjoyed his tours of the interior, where a tribe of mice—tasty little creatures, actually—had taken up residence. The place was obviously in need of a cat.

Hedwig lifted her great wings. “Well, I’m off,” she said. “Don’t stay up too late, children.”

But they did, of course. When the sun peered through the shrubbery on Thursday morning, Malory yawned, stretched, and began washing her ears, preparing for her workday.

With a groan, Khat put a paw over his eyes. “Already? It’s barely dawn, for Pete’s sake.”

“Have to get to work early this morning,” Malory said. “Molly hosts a read-aloud for the under-fives on Thursday mornings and the children like to pet me.” She made a face. “All but young Butch. He’d rather pull my tail.”

Khat intended to go back to work himself. But he was still feeling the effects of his catnip orgy and experience had taught him that recovery began with a hearty breakfast. The Boss Lady could do without him for an hour or so.

So he returned to the Diner, where Delia was glad to serve him a plate of warm biscuits and sausage gravy and then, when he proffered a single polite meow, a second helping. Fully satisfied, he thanked Delia with an affectionate rub of the ankles.

“Any time, Puss,” she said, and went back to the bacon she was frying.

Now, our Khat had every intention to return to the shop and see what the Boss Lady was up to. But as he passed the Pecan Springs Library, he was reminded of a private corner of the herb garden, where the earth was loose and dry and just right for a certain urgent duty, after which he had to clean his paws, of course, all four of them.

This morning ritual taken care of, he was suddenly aware of the strong scent of lavender. The plants—several of them in a cluster—were growing just a few feet away, and the soil beneath looked soft and welcoming, so enticing that he thought he would just curl up under the lavender and enjoy it for a few moments.

But he was warm and full of breakfast and the next thing he knew, a nap had crept around the corner. It brought him a most enjoyable dream, in which his friend Gillian had arrived in Pecan Springs and was joining him in an onstage chorus of his favorite song from the musical Cats.

OH! Well I never! Was there ever a Khat so clever . . .”

It must have been an hour later when he woke to the murmur of conversation between two librarians, taking their morning break at a nearby patio table.

“The woman who inherited the Birkett house has arrived,” one librarian said. “I noticed a car in the driveway. And boxes piled on the front porch.”

This isn’t news to us, of course, for Hedwig the Great Horned Owl has already reported a light in the bedroom window. But it’s news to the second librarian.

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “You know, that place was built by old Mrs. Birkett’s grandmother, back in the 1890s. It’s been vacant forever. I’m sure it needs all kinds of work.”

“You’re right about the work,” the first librarian agreed. “The garden was lovely once—nothing but a tangled mess now, of course. The new owner must be a cat lover. There were kitty decals all over the rear window and a cute bumper sticker.” She chuckled. “Never Mind the Witch. Beware of the CATS.”

Beware of the cats? Well, now. As part of his job as Top Cat at Thyme & Seasons, Khat had assumed the task of greeting all the new cats in his neighborhood—letting them in on who-was-who and how-things-worked. He flexed his claws, arched his back, and extended his forepaws in a luxuriant stretch. It was time to pay a visit to the Birkett house.

But his attention—always fickle at best—has been caught by something else. He sniffed the air. Fresh fish? Catfish?

He stretched again and flicked his tail. Lunchtime. And Cavette’s Market was just around the corner.

The Birkett house would still be there after lunch.

It was Thursday afternoon and Khat had been missing since Tuesday morning. China knew that she had to do something more productive than riding her bike around the neighborhood, asking people if they’d seen him. So she scanned his photo, made a flyer, and ran off several dozen copies. She left Ruby to keep an eye on Thyme and Seasons and rode over to Cavette’s, a couple of blocks down Crockett Street.

Cavette’s was one of the rare family markets that have survived the Safeways and Krogers of this world—a small shop with wooden bins and wicker baskets of fresh fruit and veggies lined up on the sidewalk. The Cavettes sold seasonal organic produce from local growers, fresh herbs from Thyme & Seasons, and newly-baked bread from the small artisanal bakery that was managed by one of the Cavette nieces. China sniffed the air as she went in, guessing that today’s special was a garlic herb bread.

“Hello, China,” young Mr. Cavette wheezed, straightening up from a wooden crate of fresh Fredericksburg peaches. Close to seventy, young Mr. Cavette is bald as an onion. His father, old Mr. Cavette, recently celebrated his ninetieth birthday. He sits behind the old-fashioned cash register and rings up sales. Junior, the youngest Cavette, is middle-aged and makes deliveries on his red motorbike. It’s a family affair.

“Hello, Mr. Cavette.” China held up her flyer. “Have you seen this cat lately?”

He took the flyer and held it up to his nose, peering nearsightedly at it. “Well, sure,” he said. “He shows up whenever Ol’ Pete brings in a batch of fresh fish. Has a special likin’ for a little catfish snack.”  With a twinkle, he handed back the flyer. “Not fond of shrimp, though, or scallops. Just catfish.”

“Really?” China asked excitedly. “When did you see him last?”

Young Mr. Cavette took out an old-fashioned pocket watch. “Oh, mebbe half an hour ago. Had himself a little catfish snack and went on his way.” He put the watch away. “You oughtta keep him in, you know. Good-lookin’ fella like that, somebody’ll catnap him.”  He gestured at the crate of peaches he was unpacking. “Cass was wantin’ peaches for her pickleball party, so you can tell her they’re here. But you gotta tell her I can’t get any of that bocorooni stuff she ordered.”

 “Boco . . . rooni?” China blinked. “Do you mean bocconcini? For our Football Moms’ lunch?”

“Bonnacelli, whatever.” He frowned. “Olives we got, artichoke hearts, no problem. We even got them shriveled up sun-dried tomatoes she wanted, though why I don’t know. We got some juicy fresh ones. But botticelli, no way.” He held up a peach. “Tell her these came in from Fredericksburg this morning—fresh picked. She can have all she wants.”

China, sighed, promised to convey his message to Cass, and said goodbye. A half-hour later, she had worked her way around the courthouse square, talking to shopkeepers and posting flyers as she went. She had just one left when she stopped at Lila’s Diner. The diner, which has a 1950s look, is where you go when you’re hungry for down-home cooking. You can get breakfast all day, or meatloaf and gravy, chicken and dumplings, pot roast, country fried steak, and Lila’s famous jelly doughnuts.

When China asked about posting the flyer, Lila said, “Put it in the window, honey-bun.”  She swiped at the red Formica counter with a wet rag. With her ruffled pink nylon apron, fire-engine-red lipstick, and penciled eyebrows, Lila has a 1950s look, too. “We got a soft spot in our hearts for that sweet ol’ tomcat. He comes here for breakfast every so often.”

“He does?” China was surprised. She hadn’t realized that Khat was such a cat-about-town. “Do you feed him catfish?”

“Catfish?” Lila rolled her eyes. “Aww, heck no. He is crazy about biscuit and sausage gravy. Goes after it like he ain’t had a meal in a week.”  She frowned. “Reckon maybe he crawled off sick somewhere? He could stand to lose a few pounds, if you ask me. Ain’t good for cats to be too heavy, you know.”

China agreed. But if Khat was breakfasting on biscuits and cream gravy and snacking on catfish and who-knows-what-else, she could guess why his low-calorie cat food hadn’t done a thing for him.

“If you see him,” she said, “please put him in a closet and call me right away.”

“Put that cat in a closet?” Lila arched her skinny eyebrows. “That’d be like tryin’ to shut a mountain lion into the privy. But if I see him, I’ll sure let you know.”  She put on a quizzical look. “What’s this I hear about Cass cookin’ up married cheese for the Football Moms?”

“Marinated cheese,” China said distinctly. “Bocconcini. Little balls of mozzarella cheese, marinated in basil vinegar. In a salad.”

 “Cheese balls in vinegar?” Lila gave a delicate shudder. “You sure that girl knows what she’s doin’?”

“Of course she does,” China said defensively. “Cass has been to cooking school.”

Lila put on a look that said, plain as day, that cooking school was part of the problem. She leaned against the counter. “Well, if the Moms turn up their noses at married cheese balls, honeybun, you just send ’em on over here. Friday is meatloaf. I ain’t no gourmet cook, but nobody has ever said a bad word about my meat loaf.”

 “I’ll do that,” China said, and went to put her flyer in the window.

From Susan

Throughout the process of rewriting this story (which originally appeared in An Unthymely Death and Other Garden Mysteries), I’ve been struck by the difference between writing a book for publication in print pages, bound between covers and distributed via bookstores and libraries and writing a story for delivery directly to your inbox and for posting online. I’m sure I’ll want to dig into this topic later, but here I just want to say that I’m discovering that online story (especially serial story) is so much more malleable, so infinitely open to changing, to tinkering, to . . .

Well, you get the idea. To tell the truth, after I’ve sent you the current installment, I’m still fiddling with the website version. And while I *thought* I was finished writing all five episodes last week, Khat made it clear that he preferred his ending to mine. So we had a little discussion about that and he persuaded me he was right.

Right for now, that is. I have the feeling that I may be writing right up to the time the last episode of this story flies into your inbox. Which is part of the fun of doing it this way—finding out that it’s not what I planned, but better. And that’s certainly okay with me.

Now for a few extras . . .

Fewer, actually, than other episodes, because there are fewer things to comment on.

Photo by Janine Joles on Unsplash

Khat’s dream under the lavender

It’s no surprise that Khat falls asleep under the lavender plants at the library. Lavender has that effect, you know. Lavender essential oil contains plant
components such as linalool, linalyl acetate and camphor that help to relieve anxiety and encourage sleep. A cup of lavender tea before bedtime can help you fall asleep easier, and a few spritz of scent on your pillow (or a lavender dream pillow tucked under it) can smooth the process. More about that here.

And who wouldn’t want to dream this quite amazing song, with lyrics from T.S. Eliot’s 1939 poem and music by Andrew Lloyd Webber? It’s one of my all-time favorites—and it certainly inspired some elements of this story.

Cavette’s Market and Lila’s Diner

Both the market and the diner appear in many of the Pecan Springs books. They are small Mom-and-Pop places on the Courthouse Square where you’re likely to run into friends and acquaintances—and a very convenient place for China to meet and exchange news and clues with other Pecan Springers. The diner is located near the newspaper and the police station, so it’s a good place for those characters to cross paths. The Cavette family that owns the market still buys local—fish from local lakes, Fredericksburg peaches, local artisanal beers and wine. Of course they would share catfish with Khat!

In this episode, the market is featuring a garlicky herb bread. If you can’t get to Cavette’s and you’re hungry for some great herb bread, try this easy recipe for rustic Garlic Parmesan Herb Bread. Rosemary, oregano, basil, garlic. Yum!

The Stay-at-home Chef

Mr. Cavette also has the Fredericksburg peaches for the fruit dessert Cass is serving to her Football Moms on Friday. Peach season is a Thing in Fredericksburg, Texas, and the town’s peaches are justifiably famous. Your own favorite peaches will taste just as good, of course. Cass serves this often at Thyme for Tea.

Ginger-Peachy Melon

This simple, fruity dessert is a simple combination of sliced fresh peaches and your choice of melon, drizzled with ginger syrup. A strawberry and a bright green mint sprig make a lovely garnish.

Ginger Syrup

1/3 cup skinned and chopped fresh ginger
1 1/4 cups granulated sugar
1/2 cup water

Place ginger, sugar, and water in a small saucepan over medium-low heat. Bring to a gentle boil, stirring constantly until the sugar is dissolved. Reduce heat to low and simmer 20 minutes. Cool. Drizzle over sliced peaches and melon.

Thanks for reading, everybody. Khat will be back next Wednesday (May 1) with the final episode of his story. Supporting subscribers: I’d love to hear your comments and questions on this story, or any topic.

And here’s a quick reminder that the next Pecan Springs/China Bayles mystery is scheduled for June 7. Forget Me Never is available for preorder now.