ignatz
By RON GOULART
Cats! He couldn't stand the
things—even when they had
once been his best friends!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, March 1960.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Glenn Wheelan stepped back out of the way as the water came hissingup across the quiet night beach. He rolled his pants cuffs a turnhigher and looked back at Karen Wylie. "And the whole thing is worse.Teachers, you know, look forward to vacations as much as kids. More.But I was almost afraid to come back here."
Karen's cigarette glowed red in the darkness. "But San Miguel is muchbrighter and cleaner. They even have a theater that shows nothing butforeign movies. And three laundromats. Now the place is building up,Glenn."
"Because of a bunch of oddballs who're tired of all the lunatic outfitsin Los Angeles." Wheelan moved to the girl's side. "Why, even inPasadena people talk about San Miguel."
Karen caught his hand and led him up the beach away from the water."Well, every town is noted for something. Like one's the lettucecapital and another's the wine center. It certainly doesn't hurt SanMiguel to be known."
Wheelan turned from the glare that the city's lights made against thefaintly overcast sky. "Ever since I was a kid I've hated cats. Theymake me feel crawly all over. Like persimmons do."
"Persimmons don't do any such thing," Karen said, tossing her cigaretteat the foam below.
"So I come back to my old home town. Unpack my bags and walk into myaunt's homey kitchen, and she springs it on me."
"What?"
"She's one of them now, too. It's not bad enough a bunch of retireddentists from Omaha go along with Balderstone. My aunt now! I'll have ahell of a time forcing down second helpings. I get this crawly feeling."
"You're as touchy as Pavlov's dog. Everything makes you crawly."
"Well, look, Karen. You've been up at Cal most of the year. Doesn'tthe place seem odder to you?" Wheelan stepped next to a driftwood log."Doesn't it bother you?"
Karen sat down on the log and put her elbows on her knees. "I told you,Glenn. San Miguel looks newer and cleaner. Why, even the slums lookbetter. I think they've painted them."
"The only time we ever had a cat, when I was eleven, it made me sneeze.My aunt made me give it away. I wanted to drown it in a gunny sack butshe talked me out of it."
"Oh, you couldn't have. You're too tender and kindly." She held herhand out and motioned him down beside her.
Wheelan sat, feeling the sand seep in over the sides of his loafers."Maybe I'll talk to Neff. There should be a law against this kind ofthing."
"Chief Neff? I doubt if he'll do anything."
"Why?"
"Because he's so active on our Civic Public Relations Committee. And heowns a couple of motels."
Wheelan absently put his hand on Karen's shoulder. "Now, somebody mustbe against this. Maybe Dr. Watchers. He was even against free papertowels in the public johns."
"He passed away," Karen said, moving Wheelan's arm around her with hershoulders.
"I could write to the governor," Wheelan said, noticing Karen's softdark hair fluttering faintly over the tip of his nose. "There must be alaw against lycanthropy."
Karen shook her head. "No. They checked on it. There is in one of theNew England states. The dunking stool is the penalty, I think."
"Why?" he said in a loud voice.<