Never Use a Chicken and Other Stories Read Free Page A

had been aware of the machine taking calls.
    “ Hello .” The voice was male, mellow, cultured and middle-aged. “ You have reached the Humphrey residence. We are unable to take your call just now. Please leave your name and a number where you can be reached and your call will be returned. Wait for the tone .”
    “Yeah,” said Sam after hearing the tone. “We’ve got your cat. You want him back? It’s going to cost you ten thousand dollars.” His voice was raspy, certainly not cultured and he spoke hurriedly from nervousness. “I’ll call at eight o’clock tonight for your answer. Be home then.” He hung up with a small slam of satisfaction.
    “I hope you know what you’re doing.” Meg was putting on her coat. “I’m going to work now. Be back after midnight. I still think you’re crazy.”
    After the door slammed behind Meg, Sam sat down and called, “Here, kitty, kitty. Come on kitty. Kitty, kitty, kitty.”
    Snapper ignored the summons in favour of a post-drink bath. The man walked over and picked him up. Snapper didn’t like that. He dug in his claws. Hard. At the sound of the yelp, he pushed harder with his hind feet until, released, he jumped to the floor. He made a dignified run back under the couch.
    “You rotten little bastard! Scratch me, will you. I’ll hammer you good when I catch you.”
    It was no game for Sam, but Snapper had a good time and the lumbering man never did catch him. Sam finally gave up the chase and retired to the bathroom where, after he stopped the bleeding, he put ointment on his scratches. That done, he ignored Snapper and went out for a beer, slamming the door heavily behind him.
    “Bloody cat,” he muttered going down the steps. “Should ask for twenty thousand for that.”
    Berrybox Champion Gingersnap continued his exploration, winding up at the litter box as aforementioned, with the aforementioned result. His search for a napping area resulted in a search of higher perches than mere chairs. Snapper liked to sleep high up where he could be more in control of those around him. At home, he was used to a special perch, a cat-sized platform built high on a post in front of a window where he could look out at the back yard. He checked out window ledges and the dresser in the bedroom, where his tail unfortunately moved a couple of things standing there, spilling one of them. He ignored the spilled liquid because he didn’t care for the smell of it.
    Finally he came to a bookcase in the living room. It stood on a chest of drawers, the top shelf about six feet above the floor. Although built as a bookcase, only one shelf held books, and few enough of those. The top two shelves were filled with framed photographs and glass and china knick-knacks, which Meg had collected over the years. Snapper didn’t know about collecting. He just knew that the second shelf from the top appeared to be a good place for a nap. Up he jumped, knocking over only one photo in the process. However, getting himself settled required a bit more space than was available without his rearranging the rest of the bric-a-brac. That, without troubling him to any degree, turned out to be impossible without a few of the little ornaments being swept to the floor. Snapper was able to ignore the minor cacophony of smashing glass and china. After several annoyed lashings of his tail to annotate some measure of displeasure with the whole affair, he settled down to nap.
    Sam stayed longer at the pub than he intended. When he discovered that the hour was almost eight, he hurried out to find a pay phone. Then he forgot the number he was to call and had to look it up. The first time he dialed, he got a wrong number and was part way through his spiel before the elderly man who answered could get a word in edgewise.
    “I don’t know who you are, mister, but either you’re crazy, a crook or playing some kind of joke.” The connection was broken.
    Sam swore and tried again. He was a bit flustered when, after three