The Cat Who Wasn't a Dog Read Online Free Page B

were usually limited runs for plays on their way to somewhere else, either the West End or a provincial tour.
    â€˜Come along, Trixie.’ Evangeline was half-way to the door, with Dame Cecile not far behind her. I started forward automatically, then hesitated as I heard a faint anxious meow from somewhere around my ankles.
I looked down into a pair of reproachful eyes. I had forgotten the cat.
    â€˜Bring ’er along,’ Eddie said. ‘She can stay in the cab while we eat and we’ll get ‘er a doggie bag.’
    A slight shudder seemed to shake the delicate frame, the eyes pleaded with me.
    â€˜I think she’s been moved around enough,’ I said. Who knew where she had been and what had happened to her before she wound up in the chamber of horrors that had been Stuff Yours? ‘She’s frightened, she might run away if she got outside.’
    â€˜Wouldn’t that be a shame?’ Evangeline muttered.
    â€˜I’ll stay here with her until you people get back,’ I said firmly. ‘Maybe I’ll even find the kitchen. If you think Matilda Jordan wouldn’t mind.’
    â€˜Help yourself,’ Dame Cecile said. ‘Matilda won’t even notice. She has more to worry about right now than a bit of food.’
    â€˜Oh?’ Evangeline was suddenly agog for anything that promised gossip or, preferably, scandal. ‘Anything we should know about?’
    â€˜Family and theatre.’ Dame Cecile sighed deeply. ‘We’re having trouble with our Teddy Roosevelt. He’s hopeless! He keeps uttering the “Charge!” as though the next words were “to my account”.’
    â€˜Too late to replace him?’ This was a problem Evangeline could really sympathize with. ‘Or a watertight contract?’
    â€˜Worse! He’s the director’s husband.’
    â€˜Cor! You are in trouble.’ Even Eddie could see the difficulty.
    â€˜Who’s directing?’ Evangeline asked.
    â€˜Frella Boynton.’
    â€˜Oh? Didn’t she – ? Is he the one?’
    â€˜Yes. So, you see, she can’t now – ’
    â€˜Of course not.’
    They nodded solemnly at each other. They knew what they were talking about, even if no one else did.
    It drives me crazy when Evangeline takes off like that
with one of her old cronies. The only way to find out what they’re talking about is to pretend utter indifference. I stooped and picked up Cho-Cho-San, fussing over her, to her delight.
    â€˜Right!’ Eddie said. ‘Food first, everything else later.’ He led them out and, after a moment, I heard the taxi start up.
    â€˜Shall we explore?’ I carried Cho-Cho-San towards the back of the house, that was usually where kitchens were located.
    Sure enough, right where it was supposed to be. A bright cheerful room with a back door opening on to a small deck with a cluster of green-and-white garden furniture. There were steps at the end leading down to a lawn bordered with flowerbeds. Very nice, especially with the blue sky and sunshine. Perhaps, when I’d found something to eat, I’d take it out on the deck to the table under the big umbrella.
    The kitchen was a bit old-fashioned, but nothing wrong with that. In fact, I preferred it. After the ultra high-tech monstrosity dominating our Docklands flat, it was a pleasure to be in a kitchen where I felt I could safely push a wrong button without the fear of being hurled into outer space.
    There were even pots of herbs on the windowsill over the sink. I recognized chives, basil, parsley, dill and coriander – all looking a bit sorry for themselves.
    â€˜You poor things!’ I watered them hastily and they began to perk up visibly. The basil released a cloud of fragrance, as though in thanks.
    The fridge was sparsely stocked, but I found a compartment holding eggs, a dab of butter and a hardened chunk of Parmesan cheese. Purring almost as happily as Cho-Cho-San, who