Chapter 93

In the morning, Raul and I picked up Mrs. Metcalfe and we did everything required by the state ... Insurance for a 16 year old girl? To the moon!

It used to be that insurance companies had two rates for teens ... girls were safer drivers ... more mature and a policy for them was considerably cheaper ... then some wiseass lawyer complained about equality under the law. He was planning to get cheaper rates for his son ... Nope ... now girls and guys pay the same.

When asked, Ida ... that’s Mrs. Metcalfe ... said, “Flathead V8 ... standard transmission.”

That’s a bald faced lie ... sure it’s a flathead ... sure it’s a standard shift ... as far as that goes ... nothing was said about the Ferguson heads or 4-71 blower with the computer controlled injectors and crank timing ... nobody mentioned the boxed frame or the Jaguar rearend with the inboard disc brakes. It looks like a stock 1934 Ford Tudor. Looks STOCK ... operative word ... STOCK.

It was the truth ... but not the whole truth. It was innocence by omission.

Insurance? Three bucks a day ... it IS a classic ... and an antique ... but not the five grand a year for a Ferrari.

I paid...

I made it to my 10 o’clock.

Lunch was interesting. My table is all smart girls ... engineering, biology, physics types ... nobody with less than a 170 IQ. They date geeks.

“I have a date ... I’ve never gone on a date. What should I do?” I said.

Talk about surrounded...

Every single one of them had been through the meat grinder of good looking guys in high school ... and they were all surprised at the cop.

Then I mentioned my mind-reading cat ... and busybody.

“Uh huh.” “Yeah, sure.” “Umh.” There was a general distancing and looks askance.

“Raul,” I called.

Remember Raul came with when I picked up Ida ... Mrs. Metcalfe.

I have a confession.

The Mrs. part is honorary. Ida never married ... that’s not to say she didn’t have children ... she did. But ... she had no intention of letting some MAN control her fortune.

When I called, Raul came trotting into the Union.

Back when I was asking, ‘How big is this cat’ ... the manager lied. ‘Twenty two inches at the tip of the scapula ... measured sitting. Length nose to buttocks is three feet ... tail adds another 28 inches. He can levitate 8 feet 11 inches flatfooted ... straight up.’

He said that ... what he should have said was 22 inches at the shoulders walking. Raul was a lot taller than 22 sitting. Thirty two inches sitting is an approximation ... close ... but he’s taller than that.

That said ... Raul is ‘IMPRESSIVE.’ A medium sized Cheetah isn’t much bigger. He’s a very big house cat.

People were taking pictures with their phones and cameras ... and getting out of the way. Consider a Wave at a football game.

“That’s your cat?”

“The position is under consideration ... he might be my cat ... or I might be his human. He’s twice the size of my old Bengal.”

“You had a Bengal?” someone asked ... I think it was Simone. “Aren’t they expensive?”

“I got Murray free ... except for the licensing ... and chips. Two hundred for all eight ... at the Animal Shelter in Ludington.”

“You had EIGHT!?!” Simone said ... this time I was sure it was her.

“Six kittens and Silver ... and Murray ... Murray died recently.”

“No ... wait ... I’m from Ludington ... I have a Bengal at home ... a Silver.”

“How old?”

“Seven.”

“Probably one of Murrays. I don’t know of any other Bengals in Michigan.”

It was like watching the sun come up ... the dawning...

Simone said, “I just put it all together ... Flintkote ... you and your mom build race boats ... in Pentwater.”

“It”s probably just Auntie Mom ... or the Hispanics ... Surprise sold them the company.”

“No ... it was You ... you built my boat ... in the basement of the old theater ... maybe five years ago. You know Junior. Hold on ... our new instructor ... S.M. Flintkote ... she’s your Mom.”