Cally, a grey cat with some calico in her—hence her name—is the bar cat at the Raven Inn. She has a cat housed—two stories high, chained to the fence post on the two-foot bank behind the back parking lot. She glared at the author-as she does to most—but purred at Big Ron.
When we entered the bar, we questioned Judy, the octogenarian barmaid, dressed in finery, her nose powdered, about the cat, as she opened bottles for patrons behind us.
“Some people take her home and she finds her way back. We give her tuna fish and sardines. She’s been back there for ten years. She has friends that come and visit. She spends the whole winter out there, ice and snow. Won’t let may people near her.”
Judy is then onto business, looking at run questioningly and saying, “What will it be?”
He returns, ‘I’ll have a Bud, bottle and whatever he’s having.”
She takes my order fir a raft, and when she reaches for a bottle and lays the bottle opener over the cap, looks askance at Big Ron and says, “I’ wasting my time here, but I’m supposed to ask, You want a glass?”
We both laughed and she snarked, “You don’t like the glass type.”
Ron and I each tipped her five dollars for this display of mastery and she smiled as she shook her head and shuffled along the rail toward the tap and Ron declared, “You’re a woman of wisdom.”
To this she mumbled something that was inaudible, but could not possibly have been a compliment on the ways of men and poured my draft with a wry smile.
Welcome to Harm City, White-Boy
Narco Night Train Kindle Edition
