The Cat Who Walks Through Walls Read Free Page A

you.”
    “Oh, what a sinful lie! Will you pass the butter, please? You’re deformed all right! How big is that tumor with the bone in it? Twenty-five centimeters? More? And how big around? If I had seen it first, I would have never risked it.”
    “Oh, piffle! It’s not even twenty centimeters. I didn’t stretch you; I’m just middlin’ size. You should see my Uncle Jock. More coffee?”
    “Yes, thank you. You surely did stretch me! Uh…is your Uncle Jock actually bigger than you are? Locally?”
    “Much.”
    “Uh…where does he live?”
    “Finish your waffle. Do you still want to take me back to bed? Or do you want a note to my Uncle Jock?”
    “Why can’t I have both? Yes, a little more bacon, thank you. Richard, you’re a good cook. I don’t want to marry Uncle Jock; I’m just curious.”
    “Don’t ask him to show it to you unless you mean business…because he always means business. He seduced his Scoutmaster’s wife when he was twelve. Ran away with her. Caused considerable talk in southern Iowa because she didn’t want to give him up. That was over a hundred years ago when such things were taken seriously, at least in Iowa.”
    “Richard, are you implying that Uncle Jock is over a hundred and still active and virile?”
    “A hundred and sixteen and still jumping his friends’ wives, daughters, mothers, and livestock. And has three wives of his own under the Iowa senior-citizen cohabitation code, one of them—my Aunt Cissy—being still in high school.”
    “Richard, I sometimes suspect that you are not always entirely truthful. A mild bent toward exaggeration.”
    “Woman, that is no way to talk to your future husband. Behind you is a terminal. Punch it for Grinnell, Iowa; Uncle Jock lives just outside. Shall we call him? You talk to him real pretty and he might show you his pride and joy. Well, dear?”
    “You are just trying to get out of taking me back to bed.”
    “Another waffle?”
    “Quit trying to bribe me. Uh, a half, maybe. Split one with me?”
    “No. A whole one for each of us.”
    “‘Hail, Caesar!’ You’re the bad example I’ve always needed. Once we’re married I’m going to get fat.”
    “I’m glad you said that. I had hesitated to mention it but you are a bit on the skinny side. Sharp corners. Bruises. Some padding would help.”
    I’ll omit what Gwen said next. It was colorful, even lyrical, but (in my opinion) unladylike. Not her true self, so we won’t record it.
    I answered, “Truly, it’s irrelevant. I admire you for your intelligence. And your angelic spirit. Your beautiful soul. Let’s not get physical.”
    Again I feel that I must censor.
    “All right,” I agreed. “If that’s what you want. Get back into bed and start thinking physical thoughts. I’ll switch off the waffle iron.”
    Somewhat later I said, “Do you want a church wedding?”
    “ Coo! Should I wear white? Richard, are you a church member?”
    “No.”
    “Neither am I. I don’t think you and I really belong in churches.”
    “I agree. But just how do you want to get married? So far as I know there isn’t any other way to get married in the Golden Rule. Nothing in the Manager’s regulations. Legally the institution of marriage does not exist here.”
    “But, Richard, lots of people do get married.”
    “But how, dear? I realize they do but, if they don’t do it through a church, I don’t know how they go about it. I’ve never had occasion to find out. Do they go to Luna City? Or down dirtside? How?”
    “Whatever way they wish. Hire a hall and get some VIP to tie the knot in the presence of a crowd of guests, with music and a big reception afterwards…or do it at home with just a few friends present. Or anything in between. It’s your choice, Richard.”
    “Huh uh, not mine. Yours. I simply agreed to go along. As for me, I find that a woman is at her best if she is a bit tense through being unsure of her status. Keeps her on her toes. Don’t you agree? Hey! Stop