Paws for Alarm Read Online Free Page A

‘Errol isn’t afraid of anybody.’
    â€˜Errol is different. He grew up with you hooligans. Esmond has obviously been more gently reared. Come on, Esmond,’ I put down a saucer of milk by the edge of the stove to encourage him.
    After a long moment, a delicate pink nose appeared and, when we seemed to be paying no attention, Esmond emerged and settled down to his milk. He wrapped his tail neatly around his paws, closed his eyes, and took dainty appreciative licks.
    â€˜Is Esmond a tom cat?’ Donald asked doubtfully.
    â€˜Well ...’ I didn’t really want to go into that right now. ‘More or less.’
    â€˜Less.’ Arnold snickered coarsely.
    If you’ve finished your breakfast –’ I gave him a filthy look – ‘why don’t you get dressed? Let’s get our shopping done early. God knows what hour they’ll decide to roll up the sidewalks today.’
    â€˜Sure, honey, sure.’ Arnold heaved himself to his feet and lumbered towards the door. ‘And I’ll tell you what –’ He paused and looked back at me. ‘We’ll hire a car this morning, too. Then we’ll be mobile again.’
    It turned out to be market day in St Anselm. From having no shops open at all, we were suddenly on overkill. Fresh fruit and vegetables were piled high on trestle tables under striped awnings in the central Square. Around the perimeter, other stalls had been set up where they were selling household goods, old books, bits of junk and antiques all mixed together.
    â€˜This –’ I breathed a sigh of happiness – ‘is more like it!’ We plunged into the midst of the fray. We needed everything, so it didn’t matter where we stopped.
    We had collected about eight small bags before I noticed that most of the other shoppers had brought their own sturdy shopping bags, or else those baskets on wheels. I wasn’t keen on them, but I could see that they were a necessary adjunct to life over here. Fortunately, there was a stall selling bags and carts of all descriptions. I bought one, dumped everything into it, and let the twins fight over who was going to wheel it.
    â€˜Tomatoes –’ I eyed the varieties offered and found little placards uniformly describing them as either ‘Rock Hard’ or ‘Little Balls of Sugar’. Neither attribute was what I desired in a tomato.
    â€˜How about some more bacon, honey?’ Arnold broke in on my deliberations. And some cheese? They’ve got both at that stall over there.’
    We had used most of the bacon left for us, so I allowed him to steer us over to the stall — where I found more food for thought. Bacon is bacon – or so I had always presumed. But here were neat piles of strange-looking slices of cuts I had never heard of. The piles were labelled with odd names: back, oyster, collar, green, gammon, middle ... The only one resembling bacon as I had always known it was labelled ‘streaky’ – and even that was partially unfamiliar, since it was sliced with the rind still on it and complete with gristle. A larger piece – if I’d had to put a name to it, I would have called it an unsmoked flitch of bacon – was disgustingly identified as ‘Belly of Pork’.
    â€˜Arnold –’ I swallowed and turned to him. ‘Arnold, I think culture shock is setting in. Things are different here.’
    â€˜They sure are, honey.’ With a beatific smile, Arnold began buying cheese like there was no tomorrow.
    â€˜I’ll have half a pound of Blue Cheshire,’ he began, happily reading off the exotic names. ‘Also half a pound of Sage Derby ... and Red Windsor ... and Stilton ... and Ilchester ... and Red Leicester ... and Wensleydale ... and —’
    â€˜That’s an awful lot of cheese,’ Donna pointed out in a worried tone.
    â€˜And Double Gloucester ...’ Arnold continued unheedingly. ‘And