to be seen was the roadway in front of us.
“Why?” I asked.
“Does it snow more over here?” He shrugged. “Ask a weather guy. All I know is that it does. Always has.”
Something to do with the Great Lakes, no doubt. That was always the stock answer for any odd weather up here. And it was probably true. Having multiple vast bodies of water—Lake Superior, Lake Michigan, and Lake Huron—smush themselves together in basically one location was bound to create strange weather patterns.
At the third stop, I continued what I’d done at the first two and kept an eye on Roger to make sure he limited himself to desk-job duties. No way was I going to allow him to hurt himself on my bookmobile, and even though he seemed like a very nice man, he was still a man and would undoubtedly try to do more than he should.
“Mrr.”
I turned from where I was showing the picture books to a young mother and her small child and saw Eddie jump onto Roger’s lap. Eddie, who had sleptmost of the morning in his carrier, was typically not a cat to rush to judgment, but he had obviously decided that Roger was his new buddy.
“He’s more than ten pounds,” I cautioned Roger. Thirteen-point-five, to be exact. “If you want him to move, please don’t lift him. Just give him a gentle shove.”
My toddler patron squealed with delight to see a kitty cat. “Mommy, Mommy, can I pet the kitty?”
Mommy looked at me.
“Sure,” I said. “He has claws, but he’s great with kids. Of course, he does tend to shed a lot, so . . .” I spread my hands and shrugged. “Up to you.”
The mom gave the go-ahead, and the child rushed forward to pet Mr. Ed. The kid kept petting Eddie, Eddie kept allowing it, and poor Roger was stuck, caught between a cat and a kid.
Not that he seemed stuck. He seemed to be enjoying himself while Mom selected books, I checked them out, and we chatted as she slid them into a tote bag. When all was ready, Mom turned to her child and said, “Okey-dokey-kokey, kiddo. Zip up your coat—it’s time to go.”
The kid immediately started to wail. “I don’t wanna go! I wanna pet the kitty some more!”
The kitty in question didn’t look as if he cared for the wailing, but he didn’t move a muscle, submitting, with bizarre acceptance, to the kid’s clutching of his fur. If I’d done such a thing, he would have howled and taught me a quick lesson with his extended claws.
“Now, now,” Roger said calmly. “There’s no crying on the bookmobile.”
The kid’s wails slowed. “I ca-can’t cry?”
Roger shook his head. “Not here. We have rules about it, right, Miss Minnie?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “Bookmobile rule number oneis No Crying.” I visualized an imaginary list of rules and saw that the second rule was No Cats. Well, at least we weren’t violating rule number one. “The books don’t like to hear crying,” I added.
The kid’s eyes went wide. “They . . . don’t?”
Roger nodded seriously. “They don’t like crying a single bit, so you see why we have a rule against it.”
Sniffing, the kid patted Eddie’s head. “Okay.”
Sniff.
“Will the bookmobile kitty be here next time?”
Roger looked at me. So did the kid and the mom. “Count on it,” I said.
A few minutes later, Eddie was back in his carrier, and Roger and I were buckling our seat belts.
“Now where?” Roger asked.
I glanced over at him. “You were really good with that kid. Do you and Denise have children?” It seemed odd that I didn’t know, but conversations with Denise tended to focus on whatever her current project might be.
“Two,” Roger said. “Girl and a boy. Both are grown and gone. One lives in Texas; the other’s in Arizona.”
I started us rolling forward, heading back north in the direction of Chilson. “Not fans of the snow?”
“More like they’re fans of getting jobs,” he said, smiling. “But, yeah, neither one seems interested in moving back. They come up in the summer; we
“Why?” I asked.
“Does it snow more over here?” He shrugged. “Ask a weather guy. All I know is that it does. Always has.”
Something to do with the Great Lakes, no doubt. That was always the stock answer for any odd weather up here. And it was probably true. Having multiple vast bodies of water—Lake Superior, Lake Michigan, and Lake Huron—smush themselves together in basically one location was bound to create strange weather patterns.
At the third stop, I continued what I’d done at the first two and kept an eye on Roger to make sure he limited himself to desk-job duties. No way was I going to allow him to hurt himself on my bookmobile, and even though he seemed like a very nice man, he was still a man and would undoubtedly try to do more than he should.
“Mrr.”
I turned from where I was showing the picture books to a young mother and her small child and saw Eddie jump onto Roger’s lap. Eddie, who had sleptmost of the morning in his carrier, was typically not a cat to rush to judgment, but he had obviously decided that Roger was his new buddy.
“He’s more than ten pounds,” I cautioned Roger. Thirteen-point-five, to be exact. “If you want him to move, please don’t lift him. Just give him a gentle shove.”
My toddler patron squealed with delight to see a kitty cat. “Mommy, Mommy, can I pet the kitty?”
Mommy looked at me.
“Sure,” I said. “He has claws, but he’s great with kids. Of course, he does tend to shed a lot, so . . .” I spread my hands and shrugged. “Up to you.”
The mom gave the go-ahead, and the child rushed forward to pet Mr. Ed. The kid kept petting Eddie, Eddie kept allowing it, and poor Roger was stuck, caught between a cat and a kid.
Not that he seemed stuck. He seemed to be enjoying himself while Mom selected books, I checked them out, and we chatted as she slid them into a tote bag. When all was ready, Mom turned to her child and said, “Okey-dokey-kokey, kiddo. Zip up your coat—it’s time to go.”
The kid immediately started to wail. “I don’t wanna go! I wanna pet the kitty some more!”
The kitty in question didn’t look as if he cared for the wailing, but he didn’t move a muscle, submitting, with bizarre acceptance, to the kid’s clutching of his fur. If I’d done such a thing, he would have howled and taught me a quick lesson with his extended claws.
“Now, now,” Roger said calmly. “There’s no crying on the bookmobile.”
The kid’s wails slowed. “I ca-can’t cry?”
Roger shook his head. “Not here. We have rules about it, right, Miss Minnie?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “Bookmobile rule number oneis No Crying.” I visualized an imaginary list of rules and saw that the second rule was No Cats. Well, at least we weren’t violating rule number one. “The books don’t like to hear crying,” I added.
The kid’s eyes went wide. “They . . . don’t?”
Roger nodded seriously. “They don’t like crying a single bit, so you see why we have a rule against it.”
Sniffing, the kid patted Eddie’s head. “Okay.”
Sniff.
“Will the bookmobile kitty be here next time?”
Roger looked at me. So did the kid and the mom. “Count on it,” I said.
A few minutes later, Eddie was back in his carrier, and Roger and I were buckling our seat belts.
“Now where?” Roger asked.
I glanced over at him. “You were really good with that kid. Do you and Denise have children?” It seemed odd that I didn’t know, but conversations with Denise tended to focus on whatever her current project might be.
“Two,” Roger said. “Girl and a boy. Both are grown and gone. One lives in Texas; the other’s in Arizona.”
I started us rolling forward, heading back north in the direction of Chilson. “Not fans of the snow?”
“More like they’re fans of getting jobs,” he said, smiling. “But, yeah, neither one seems interested in moving back. They come up in the summer; we
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