The Big Cat Nap

checked on their passengers. “Not a peep.”
    “Good.” Harry parked on the lower level.
    As the humans walked up the terraced path to the interior quad, the two cats and Tucker followed. The Very Reverend Jones loved animals, so anyone’s animals who behaved were welcome.
    Once inside the inner quad, both Harry and her husband stopped.
    “Fabulous!” Harry exclaimed.
    As promised, Craig had hung the flags from the roofs. The various numbers of stars bore evidence to our growth as a nation. At one end of the quad—the administrative end—he’d also hung flags from the nations that first gave us colonists: England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, France. Since Germany did not become one nation until under Bismarck in the nineteenth century, there wasn’t room to hang the flags of all the various small German states. Craig did, however, hang the flag of the Austrian dual monarchy, as well as the flag that now represented all of Africa to African Americans.
    “How smart he is.” Fair rubbed his chin.
    “I would have never thought of the parent nations, for lack of a better word.” Harry enjoyed watching the slight flutter of the flags.
    The pyracanthas stood out from the stone building that Herb could see from his office. Clear fishing line had been set up so the branches would grow on it, creating straight horizontal lines. The church side of the quad, covered in wisteria that had already bloomed, offered deep shade. In glorious symmetry, St. Luke’s looked especially beautiful today.
    Elocution, in her office window, looked out. None of the cats appeared eager to mix with screaming children all waving their little flags.
    Pewter stopped under the window.
“I’ve had a horrible day.”
Whether or not any of the other cats wished to hear Pewter’s lavish lament wasn’t going to stop the gray fatty from going on and on.
    Mrs. Murphy, in contrast, stuck with Tucker, who loved children. This canine affection was returned. One little boy gave Tucker his flag. The dog patriotically ran all around the quad, flag in mouth.
    On long wooden picnic tables in the middle of the quad was true summer picnic fare. Miranda, although not a Lutheran, had helped with all that. Everyone attended this gathering: Catholics, Baptists, Jewish families from the temple in Charlottesville. Flag Day at St. Luke’s was not to be missed.
    The veterans saluted the flags at a short ceremony before food was served. Victor Gatzembizi was an Air Force veteran, though he had not seen combat. However, heroically enough, he now paid for transportation for those elderly vets who might otherwise have difficulty attending. Mostly their families brought them, but some lived in nursing homes.
    Sipping a cold one after the ceremony, Fair slapped Victor on the back. “Thanks. Having those World War Two veterans here is an inspiration for the rest of us.”
    Latigo strolled over. “Vic, I’ll be sending you more work after the holiday.”
    Fair wasn’t sure if Latigo was joking or not. “What do you mean? You think there’ll be more accidents from Flag Day? It’s not a drinking holiday. Not like Memorial Day,” Fair remarked.
    “Any holiday is an excuse,” Latigo replied in an even tone. “I wasactually thinking about the Fourth of July. Always a lot of accidents then.” He asked Fair, “You didn’t serve, did you?”
    “No, I headed straight to vet school after undergraduate. I often think I missed one of life’s central experiences—for men, anyway.”
    “All I heard was ‘central experiences.’ ” Yancy Hampton joined them.
    “Didn’t serve in the military.” Fair drained his longneck.
    “Navy,” Yancy stated. “I’ve even been thinking about going back in. They’re offering tempting packages to those of us who made captain or above.”
    Victor’s eyebrows raised. “I learned a hell of a lot in the Air Force. I was in transport and they taught me about engines. But you’d go back? Why leave a thriving business? And, hey, it’s the assholes above you and the idiots below.”
    “That’s anywhere.” Yancy waved his hand dismissively. “I’d go back to get away from home. Next weekend is my daughter Stephanie’s wedding. Around my house there’s been just about as much estrogen drama as I can handle.”
    Latigo’s daughters were the same age as Stephanie, all the girls having attended St. Anne’s. “Stephanie’s pretty reasonable.”
    “It’s Barbara.” Yancy mentioned his wife.
    “Ah, yes, mother of