My gaze went to the walls themselves. They were covered in a faded Wedgwood blue wallpaper with edges curled out and actual tears in some places that made it look like someone had been scratching at it. Maybe the house is going to be renovated, I thought. That was a sensible explanation for all this. Before we had to move to Grandmother Emma's mansion, my mother once took Ian and me to a house she was considering renovating. It didn't look in any better condition, but she said that was all we could afford without depending on Grandmother Emma.
Suddenly, a large gray cat with spotted gold eyes stepped out of the room on our right. It arched its back at the sight of us and then relaxed and sauntered down the hallway, bored and disinterested. Ian would say it had the March arrogance.
"That's Miss Puss." Great-aunt Frances told me. "She's twelve years old so she thinks she owns the house and will go anywhere she wants. Don't be surprised to see her under your bed or on the kitchen table. I should be more stern with her, but thanks to her, we don't have mice."
Grandmother Emma never permitted us to have a pet. She was of the belief that all animals were wild by nature and domesticating them was a futile endeavor, which Ian explained meant a waste of time. She said they brought in dirt and odor and were not kind to furniture. Once, Ian asked to have a dog, but only because he wanted to study the animal and repeat some experiments someone named Pavlov had done establishing some important scientific facts.
Grandmother Emma wouldn't hear of it.
"You're not allergic to cats, are you?" Great
aunt Frances suddenly thought to ask.
"No. I don't think so," I said. "We never had a
cat or a dog.'
"Lester Marshall has a hound dog named
Bones, but he doesn't come into the house. I think he's
afraid of Miss Puss, even though a dog would never
admit being afraid of a cat," she told me almost in a
whisper. She was so serious-looking when she said it
that anyone listening might think she really believed
dogs could talk.
She just assumed I knew who Lester Marshall
was, I guess.
I glanced at Felix, who was studying everything
in the house and shaking his head. He looked at Greataunt Frances and then at me and I thought there was
some real hesitation in his face. He was gripping my
suitcases tightly now. I could see it in the way his
hands hardened; the veins in them were embossed and
his knuckles had turned white. He knew that
Grandmother Emma wouldn't set foot in here, I
thought. She would turn around and order an army of
house cleaners to report immediately.
Great-aunt Frances moved the coat hanger
back. She saw the way I was looking at the coat. "This was my father's coat and hat and those
were his boots. I put them there to keep him close,"