The Cat Who Walks Through Walls Read Free

when I was awake in the night, I switched off the alarm. But I woke up about my usual time, as my bladder can’t be switched off. So I got up, took care of it, refreshed for the day, decided that I wanted to live, slid into a coverall, went silently into the living room, and opened the buttery, considered my larder. A special guest called for a special breakfast.
    I left the connecting door open so that I could keep an eye on Gwen. I think it was the aroma of coffee that woke her.
    When I saw that her eyes were open, I called out, “Good morning, beautiful. Get up and brush your teeth; breakfast is ready.”
    “I did brush my teeth, an hour ago. Come back to bed.”
    “Nymphomaniac. Orange juice or black cherries or both?”
    “Uh…both. Don’t change the subject. Come here and meet your fate like a man.”
    “Eat first.”
    “Coward. Richard is a sissy, Richard is a sissy!”
    “An utter coward. How many waffles can you eat?”
    “Uh…decisions! Can’t you unfreeze them one at a time?”
    “These are not frozen. Only minutes ago they were alive and singing; I killed ’em and skun ’em myself. Speak up, or I’ll eat all of them.”
    “Oh, the pity and the shame of it all!—turned down for waffles. Nothing left but to enter a monastery. Two.”
    “Three. You mean ‘nunnery.’”
    “I know what I mean.” She got up, went into the refresher, was out quickly, wearing one of my robes. Pleasant bits of Gwen stuck out here and there. I handed her a glass of juice; she paused to gulp twice before she spoke. “Gurgle, gurgle. My, that’s good. Richard, when we’re married, are you going to get breakfast for me every morning?”
    “That inquiry contains implied assumptions I am not willing to stipulate—”
    “After I trusted you and gave all!”
    “—but, without stipulation, I will concede that I would just as lief get breakfast for two as for one. Why do you assume that I’m going to marry you? What inducements do you offer? Are you ready for a waffle?”
    “See here, mister, not all men are fussy about marrying grandmothers! I’ve had offers. Yes, I’m ready for a waffle.”
    “Pass your plate.” I grinned at her. “‘Grandmother’ my missing foot. Not even if you had started your first child at menarche, then your offspring had whelped just as promptly.”
    “Neither one and I am so. Richard, I am trying to make two things clear. No, three. First, I’m serious about wanting to marry you if you’ll hold still for it…or, if you won’t, I’ll keep you as a pet and cook breakfast for you. Second, I am indeed a grandmother. Third, if, despite my advanced years, you wish to have children by me, the wonders of modern microbiology have kept me fertile as well as relatively unwrinkled. If you want to knock me up, it should not be too much of a chore.”
    “I could force myself. Maple syrup in that one, blueberry syrup in this. Or maybe I did so last night?”
    “Wrong date by at least a week…but what would you say if I had said, ‘Jackpot!’”
    “Quit joking and finish your waffle. There’s another one ready.”
    “You’re a sadistic monster. And deformed.”
    “Not deformed,” I protested. “This foot was amputated; I wasn’t born without it. My immune system flatly refuses to accept a transplant, so that’s that. One reason I live in low gravity.”
    Gwen suddenly sobered. “My very dear! I wasn’t speaking of your foot. Oh, heavens! Your foot doesn’t matter…except that I’ll be more careful than ever not to place a strain on you, now that I know why.”
    “Sorry. Let’s back up. Then what is this about me being ‘deformed’?”
    At once she was again her merry self. “You should know! When you’ve got me stretched all out of shape and no use to a normal man. And now you won’t marry me. Let’s go back to bed.”
    “Let’s finish breakfast and let it settle first—have you no mercy? I didn’t say I wouldn’t marry you…and I did not stretch