Read The Cat Who Knew Shakespeare for Free Online

were from the East. New England?”
    She nodded. “While I was in college I married a native of Pickax, and we came here to manage his family’s bookstore. Unfortunately it closed soon after that – when my husband was killed – but I didn’t want to go back east.”
    “He must have been very young.”
    “Very young. He was a volunteer fire fighter. I remember one dry windy day in August. Our bookstore was a block I from the fire hall, and when the siren sounded, my husband dashed from the store, Traffic stopped dead, and men came running from all directions – running hard, pounding the pavement, pumping their arms. The mechanic from the gas station, one of the young pastors, a bartender, the hardware man – all running as if their lives depended on it. Then cars and trucks with revolving lights pulled up and parked anywhere, and the drivers jumped out and ran to the fire hall. By that time the big doors were open, and the tanker and pumper were moving out, with men clinging to the trucks and putting on their gear.”
    “You describe it vividly, Polly.”
    Tears came to her eyes, “It was a barn fire, and he was killed by a falling timber.”
    There was a long silence.
    “That’s a sad story,” Qwilleran said.
    “The fire fighters were so conscientious. When the siren sounded, they dropped everything and ran. In the middle of the night they’d wake from a sound sleep, pull on some clothes, and run. Yet they were criticized: arrived too late… not enough men… didn’t pump enough water… equipment broke down.” She sighed. “They tried so hard. They still do. They’re all volunteers, you know.”
    “Junior Goodwinter is a volunteer,” Qwilleran said, “and his beeper is always sounding off in the middle of something… What did you do after that windy day in August?”
    “I went to work at the library and found contentment here.”
    “Pickax has a human scale that is – what shall I say? – comforting. Tranquilizing. But why are we all obsessed with the weather reports?”
    “We’re close to the elements,” Polly said. “The weather affects everything: farming, lumbering, commercial fishing, outdoor sports. And we all drive long distances over country roads. There are no taxis we can call on a bad day.”
    Mrs. Cobb had left the coffee maker plugged in and pots of chocolate mousse in the refrigerator, and the meal ended pleasantly.
    “Where are the cats?” Polly asked.
    “Shut up in the kitchen. Koko has been pulling books off the shelf. He thinks he’s a librarian. Yum Yum, on the other hand, is just a cat who chases her tail and steals paper clips and hides things under the rug. Every time my foot comes down on a bump in the rug, I wince. Is it my wristwatch? Or a mouse? Or my reading glasses? Or a crumpled envelope from the wastebasket?”
    “What titles has Koko recommended?”
    “He’s on a Shakespeare kick,” Qwilleran said. “It may have something to do with the pigskin bindings. Just before you arrived, he pushed A Midsummer Night’s Dream off the shelf.”
    “That’s a coincidence,” Polly said. “I’m named after one of the characters. ” She paused and waited for him to guess.
    “Hippolyta?”
    “Correct! My father named all of us after characters in the plays. My brothers are Marc Antony and Brutus, and my poor sister Ophelia has had to endure bawdy remarks ever since the fifth grade… Why don’t you let the cats out? I’d like to see Koko in action.”
    When they were released, Yum Yum walked daintily into the library, placing one paw in front of the other and looking for a vacant lap, but Koko flaunted his independence by delaying his entrance. It was not until Qwilleran and his guest heard a thlunk that they realized Koko was in the room. On the floor lay the thin volume of King Henry VIII.
    Qwilleran said, “You have to admit he knows what he’s doing. There’s a gripping scene for a woman in the play – where the queen confronts the two