Uncle Moe died just a week ago and I was named the executor, so after the funeral I went to his place to look around. Now Uncle Moe and I were not very close, uh.. not since I grew up and moved away, and he ran Aunt Min away. But, that is a moot point. Anyhow, as a youngster, I would spend my Sunday’s after church at Uncle Moe’s and we would share the wonders of his books and his travels. I walked in the fine Victorian house and saw that it was spic and span. Not a mote of dust to be found. Mrs. T, his housekeeper of many, many years, then took me to the library where she had not been allowed to go. I unlocked the door and opened it. A stench, or rather the room, reeked with the smell of a cat. Mrs. T rushed to the windows, three large ones, and opened them. She opened the drapes and pushed the windows up. There on that large walnut desk he had, lay an orange tabby cat. “Meow, meow," it cried. Then it hopped off the desk and ran out the door. Mrs. looked at me. I thought, Why that old goat. Here he had an orange tabby cat and he told me he hated cats. I looked around and could not believe my eyes for spread about were several stacks of what looked like old and rare books, and on top of each stack was a white sheet of paper. What do we have here?, I thought. What did Uncle Moe leave me? I picked up a sheet of paper and read what it said. The books were listed by name and their approximate worth, along with the author and the type book it was. I went to the desk and found a yellow legal pad. On it, I saw that Uncle Moe had left instructions for all the books... for every stack in the room. “Tom,", the note said, "Yyou love books nearly as much as I, so all of these are yours, and this is what I suggest. Take stacks five and six to Sotherby’s and have them sold. Then take the proceeds and paint this place, inside and out. Buy Mrs. T a new Mercedes and kiss her for me. Then you find yourself a wife and make this your home. The books in stack eight and nine are to go to my friends. A note is in each one telling why and to whom it goes." He wrote some more stuff and then a PS. “The orange tabby cat goes to to Mrs. T, along with a half million dollars for his care.” So we, Mrs. T and I, looked around some more. Then we went outside and had a drink and laughed. Now Mrs. T and that orange tabby cat still takes care of the house while my new wife and I sit and read. We sold the books as Uncle Moe did say, and with our inheritance, my wife and I and Mrs. T...and that orange tabby cat...do live a life of splendor. We live in that old Victorian house and have a room full of old and rare books. ~ Tom (tomWYO@aol.com) ~ © Photographs by Paul (AHikingDude@aol.com) & Marilyn (LaraOct7@aol.com) © July 7, 2003 Writers' Corner Index