Mitchell Farm, Middlemarch, New Zealand
Feline Shapeshifter Council Meeting.
Present: Saber Mitchell, Sid Blackburn, Kenneth Nesbitt, Agnes Paisley, Valerie McClintock, Benjamin Urquart
“This idea to allow suggestions from the community is turning into a farce.” The tip of Valerie’s narrow nose quivered and her nostrils flared. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a sheaf of papers. They thumped to the table, and Saber noticed the black surge of claws beneath her fingernails as the cups rattled on their fine china saucers.
Sid reached out and patted her hand. “It can’t be that bad.”
“It’s worse,” Agnes snapped. “I thought felines were clever and intelligent. I’m doubting my assessment.”
Curious, Saber glanced at the assortment of papers—different colors, different pen inks, different handwriting. “May I?” he asked Valerie.
She gestured have at it and reached for a pikelet topped with strawberry jam and whipped cream.
“Read them out, lad,” Sid said. “I’ll write a list.”
Agnes sniffed, her lips pursed in a disapproving prune. “Disregard the ones without names. They shouldn’t be counted.”
Saber picked up a pile and scanned the first. His brows rose.
“Read it,” Valerie snapped.
Saber glanced at the men and received a nod from each. He shrugged. This was turning into an interesting meeting, and it wasn’t his job to head off trouble. Not all the time.
“Wet T-shirt competition at the pub,” he read aloud.
“See? See what I mean?” Valerie demanded.
Agnes sniffed. “Who suggested that? Is there a name?”
Saber glanced at the men and again they nodded. “Brian Paisley Junior.”
Agnes hissed and bristled, the salt-and-pepper hair on her head lifting in a catlike manner.
“Your grandson?” Valerie asked. “I expected better from your family.”
“Now, now. None of that,” Sid said in his amiable manner. “Boys will be boys. Read the next lad.”
“A rave,” Saber said. “Edwina McClintock.”
“What’s a rave?” Kenneth asked.
“Is-is that a bad thing?” Valerie asked in a faint voice. “I can’t believe my granddaughter would suggest something wicked.”
Kenneth pulled out a fancy smartphone and tapped several keys. “A rave is to talk wildly or incoherently. It also means to speak about something with enthusiasm or admiration.” He pulled out a hanky to mop his brow. “I don’t understand.”
“Why do they want a speech competition?” Ben wrinkled his pixie nose, his piercing green gaze stabbing at each of them and broadcasting confusion.
Saber swallowed his chuckle. “In modern terms a rave is an underground party with electronic music.”
Agnes sniffed. “An excuse to have sex and take drugs.”
“Not necessarily,” Saber said. “I don’t think a rave would work here in the country, but we could have a day-long music festival with a variety of acts.”
“No,” Agnes said.
Valerie took off her glasses and peered at the lenses. “Definitely not.”
“I like country music,” Kenneth said. “We could invite that Keith Urban bloke. He has New Zealand connections.”
Saber fought a grin and shuffled the papers in his hand.
Sid scrawled in his notebook. “I’ve added it to the list. What’s next, lad?”
“A treasure hunt,” Saber said.
“A treasure hunt?” Kenneth asked. “For children?”
“No, they’ll mean something like those reality shows,” Ben said. “I bet that’s what they mean.”
“Who suggested it?” Valerie asked. “We can check with them as to what they have in mind.”
“Jason Reagen.” At this rate, they’d never finish. Saber moved on before their questions diverted the meeting again. “A progressive dinner.”
Agnes nodded. “Good idea.”
In the brief pause, Saber inserted the next suggestion. “A picnic sports day.”
Nods all around for this idea. Saber rather liked it himself.
“Sheep dog trials. Speed dating. Beauty contest. Street party. Craft or hobby show.”
“Some workable suggestions,” Kenneth said. “Are we still doing the haunted house for Halloween?”
“I think it will work well,” Ben said. “You know I read of a town in America doing a cemetery tour. There is no reason we couldn’t do one for the feline section. It could tie in with the haunted house for Halloween. There is a lot of history and the older felines have wonderful stories of when the leap first arrived in New Zealand and the journey over on the ships. Felines only, of course, but that might stir interest in our roots. I think roots are important.”
Valerie reached for her tea and took a sip. “As long as we can keep it feline only.”
“It occurs to me we could make it a mixed tour since the non-feline graves have interesting tales too. Halloween would be perfect because the non-feline people will think we’re cashing in on the black cat sightings and making things up.” Saber winked at Sid. “We could always stage another one-off sighting to drum up interest.”
“Never!” Agnes snapped.
Ben chuckled. “He’s joking. Aren’t you?”
Saber’s grin widened, rather enjoying teasing them. “Something to consider. Next idea is a big garage sale or a flea market.”
“One man’s junk is another’s riches,” Kenneth quipped.
“Christmas caroling. Easter egg hunt. We’ve missed Easter for this year, but that’s something we should do next Easter,” Saber said.
“We could do a Christmas in the Park event and hold it at the school. On the rugby field if it’s fine or in the hall,” Kenneth said. “Combine it with a picnic dinner or lunch. I like that idea.”
“A trivia night,” Saber set aside the last paper in his hand and reached for more. “Wet T-shirt contest. A clown entertainer. Face painting. Drawing contest. Sevens rugby tournament. Kissing booth, gala day, a movie night, school camp, book club, disco party, afternoon tea, town mural, wet T-shirt contest, talent quest, wet T-shirt contest.”
“The T-shirt is a popular idea.” Ben kept his voice mild, but his eyes sparked with humor.
“I don’t care how popular it is,” Valerie snapped. “It’s undignified.”
“No one is saying a female has to wear the T-shirt,” Saber said. “We asked for suggestions and our community has given them. We should study each on its merits.”
“Lad is right,” Sid said. “We’ve received several excellent ideas so far. I think we should consider each one. What’s next, lad?”
Saber read more suggestions. “Casino night, speed dating, obstacle course, wet T-shirt contest, a dare contest.”
“What’s that?” Ben asked.
“I’ll check on my phone.” Kenneth hit buttons. “Ah, people make dares such as singing in public, dressing in a costume, shaving off a beard or coloring hair. People pay a dollar amount and then the people they dare have to carry out the dare.”
Valerie let out an unladylike snort. “What happens if it’s a stupid dare or an illegal one?”
“You can set the dares. I like the idea of making people sing in public. It would be an impromptu concert all week on the main street,” Kenneth said. “I think we should do this one. I dare you Agnes. You sing like a bull frog.”
“I have a good singing voice,” Agnes said, lifting her nose into the air.
“If you’re a lady frog searching for a mate,” Ben said.
“I’ll add it to the list,” Sid said hastily. “Any more, lad?”
“Design a Middlemarch T-shirt contest, bingo night, used book sale, wet T-shirt contest, scavenger hunt, car wash, duck race on the river, community recipe book, triathlon, wet T-shirt contest, cooking school, cooking classes for men, cooking classes for kids, massage parlor, wet T-shirt contest, sports day, break a world record, wet T-shirt contest. That’s it,” Saber said.
“We are not having a massage parlor in Middlemarch,” Agnes snapped.
Saber placed the papers on his pile and raised his hands in surrender. “Not my idea.”
Valerie set her cup on the saucer with a clink. “Or a wet T—”
“We’ve received several good ideas. Maybe we could plan events for the rest of the year. Many of the suggestions won’t require much organization,” Sid interrupted before the discussion changed to town morals. “I’ll make a short list for our next meeting, and we can invite the felines who submitted the suggestions to the meeting.”
“I thought we were inviting one at a time,” Kenneth said.
“Some are youngsters. They might feel more comfortable if they came together,” Sid commented.
Saber leaned back in his chair. “That’s a good idea.”
Valerie nodded. “Get it over in one meeting. Excellent.”
“If you’ll trust me to make a short list, Saber and I will contact the felines who suggested them,” Sid said.
“Fine. Fine.” Valerie picked up her handbag and stood. “If you’re adding an obstacle course, I’m not going to visit it again.”
Saber bit the inside of his lip and managed a quick nod. “So noted.”
“Saber Mitchell. I know you’re laughing,” Agnes said in a stern voice. “If I ever learn who took those photos I swear…”
“It wasn’t me,” Saber said. “I don’t know who took the photos.”
Valerie fixed him with a hard stare, her eyes cool behind her glasses. “He truly doesn’t know, Agnes. I can tell.” She glanced at her watch. “Oh, look at the time. I have a hair appointment. Are you ready to leave, Agnes?”
The two ladies hustled and soon the purr of their vehicle faded into the distance.
“This wet T-shirt contest,” Ben said. “Why don’t we add it to a picnic day as a bit of fun?”
Saber gaped at Ben. “Pardon?”
“Make a selection of fake bras with weird shapes. Make it funny and humorous. Ask for male and female volunteers and turn it into a competition. Allocate one as a lucky bra and get everyone at the picnic to line up in front of their favorite volunteer. Have a small mystery prize for everyone who chooses the right line. A voucher for a muffin at the café or a free sausage at the sausage sizzle. Something like that.”
“It would have to be kid safe,” Sid said.
“Organize an event for the kids at the same time. A scavenger hunt or something that will take them away,” Ben suggested.
Kenneth tapped his finger on the tabletop. “If we did this, those who suggested the wet T-shirt contest would realize we truly did look at every idea. We’re just interpreting it in our way. It’d be a way of getting them to understand we try to listen. A bit of fun.”
“You know,” Saber said, suppressing his urge to chuckle. “We should dress up in the T-shirts. The council members. Let everyone see we’re approachable, willing to listen and have fun.”
There was a moment of silence and the elderly felines shared a quick glance before turning back to Saber.
Kenneth stood. “I’d better shift my herd of cows. Brilliant idea. We should do it.”
“I vote yes. I’m up for that. Can I catch a ride?” Ben asked Kenneth.
“That is plain crafty, lad. We’re in agreement. We’ll do it.” Sid rose and almost ran to the door to join his two friends. “Since it was your idea, you can tell Valerie and Agnes.”
An instant later, the three men vanished, the thud of the front door telling of their rapid departure.
Saber’s tongue-in-cheek humor died as he cursed and pushed away his cold cup of tea. “Hell. I walked right into that one.” He stood and strode to the fridge to grab a beer. Maybe Emily would help him sell the idea to Valerie and Agnes. After she’d died laughing, of course.