Near the end of the month, Jerry Parker, the veterinarian, phoned. "Holly, I've found a fourth for bridge. How's George the Magnificent?"
"He's fine. And I'm dying to trump somebody's ace. Who is it?"
"Frank Lansing, a high school teacher who retired here a few months ago. He brought his Maine Coon cat in the other day and we got talking."
I went to Jerry's place for bridge the following evening and met his wife, Cindy, and Frank Lansing. We enjoyed a good, competitive game and agreed to meet a week later at Frank's house, half a mile out of Mora Bay.
"I'm not much good at baking," he said, "but I'll find something to go with the coffee."
A large, shaggy Maine Coon cat with dark tabby coloring and wise yellow eyes stood beside Frank when he opened the door to me. "This is Jezebel," he said.
"She's gorgeous. Does she mind being picked up?"
"Not at all. She'll be insulted if you don't."
When I picked her up she started a rumbling purr. "This is one heavy cat. How much does she weigh?"
"Eight kilograms."
I did my mental arithmetic. "Eighteen pounds?"
Frank raised his eyebrows. "Another holdout from the metric system, are you? Good thing we don't use it for keeping score."
Jerry and Cindy arrived and we settled down to the game. After the first rubber was over I hurried to the bathroom and found, to my dismay, that the last person to use it hadn't flushed. Oh, well, I thought, Frank's a widower. Perhaps he's fallen into bad habits. I hoped he wouldn't be so lackadaisical at my house.
When the third rubber began, we were nearly tied for points and conversation ceased while we concentrated on the play of the hand. Suddenly, through the open bathroom door, I heard the sound of someone urinating.
Frank saw me blink in amazement and said, "Oh, that's Jezebel. She always uses the toilet. I meant to warn you."
I apologized to him silently. But lost the game because, instead of remembering to pull trumps, I was trying to figure out how to train George to use the toilet.