Read The Cat Who Knew Shakespeare for Free Online Page A

cardinals.”
    “It’s tremendous!” Polly said. “Katherine claims to be a poor weak woman but she blasts the two learned men. ‘Ye have angels’ faces, but heaven knows your hearts!’ Do you ever wonder about the true identity of Shakespeare, Qwill?”
    “I’ve read that the plays may have been written by Jonson or Oxford.”
    “I think Shakespeare was a woman. There are so many strong female roles and wonderful speeches for women.”
    “And there are strong male roles and wonderful speeches for men,” he replied.
    “Yes, but I contend that a woman can write strong male roles more successfully than a man can write good women’s roles.”
    “Hmmm,” said Qwilleran politely.
    Koko was now sitting tall on the desk, obviously waiting for something, and Qwilleran obliged by reading the prologue of the play. Then Polly gave a stirring reading of the queen’s confrontation scene.
    “Yow!” said Koko.
    “Now I must go,” she said, “before my landlord starts to worry.”
    “Your landlord?”
    “Mr. MacGregor is a nice old widower,” she explained. “I rent a cottage on his farm, and he thinks women shouldn’t go out alone at night. He sits up waiting for me to drive in.”
    “Have you ever tried your Shakespeare theory on your landlord?” Qwilleran asked.
    After Polly had said a gracious thank-you and a brisk good-night, Qwilleran questioned her excuse for leaving early. At least Koko had not ordered her out of the house, as he had done other female visitors in the past. That was a good sign.
    Qwilleran was removing the dinner dishes and tidying the kitchen when Mrs. Cobb returned from her date, flushed and happy.
    “Oh, you don’t need to do that, Mr. Q,” she said.
    “No trouble at all. Thank you for a superb meal. How was your evening?”
    “We went to the Old Stone Mill. The food is much better now. I had a gorgeous stuffed trout with wine sauce. Herb ordered steak Diane, but he didn’t like the sauce.”
    That guy, Qwilleran thought, would prefer ketchup. To Mrs. Cobb he said, “Mrs. Duncan was telling me about the volunteer fire department. Isn’t Hackpole a fireman?”
    “Yes, and he’s had some thrilling experiences – carrying children from a burning building, reviving people with CPR, herding cows from a burning barn!”
    Interesting if true, Qwilleran thought. “Bring him in for a nightcap next time you go out,” he suggested. “I’d like to know how a small-town fire department operates.”
    “Oh, thank you, Mr. Q! He’ll be pleased. He thinks you don’t like him, because you took him to court once.”
    “Nothing personal. I simply objected to being attacked by a dog that should be chained according to law. If you like him, Mrs. Cobb, I’m sure he’s a good man.”
    As Qwilleran was locking up for the night, the telephone rang. It was Junior Goodwinter’s voice, crackling with excitement. “She’s coming! She’s flying up here tomorrow!”
    “Who’s coming?”
    “The photojournalist I met at the Press Club. She says the Fluxion is running the column tomorrow, and it’ll be all over the country this week. She wants to submit a picture story to a news magazine while it’s hot.”
    “Did you tell her… about your father?”
    “She says that will only make it topical. I have to pick her up at the airport tomorrow morning. We’re going to get some Old Timers who used to work at the Pic to pose in the shots. Do you realize what this could do? It’ll put Pickax on the map! And it could put the Picayune back in business if we start getting subscriptions from all over.”
    Stranger things have happened, Qwilleran thought. “Call me tomorrow night after the shoot. Let me know how it goes. And good luck!”
    As he replaced the telephone receiver he heard a soft sound, thlunk, as another book landed on the Bokhara rug. Koko was sitting on the Shakespeare shelf, looking proud of himself.
    Qwilleran picked up the book and smoothed the crumpled pages. It was Hamlet again,