Miss Kitty finished her house
cleaning in a jiffy, un-phased by the strange occupants of the house, Miles the
pack rat and Harold the almost headless ghost. She left with the broken banjo,
claiming she would personally deliver it to Fiddlin` Red when she went in for
her weekly fiddle lesson. Naturally, Miles added a generous bonus to her PayPal
account, to pay for repairs, delivery, and another order of stinky cheese.
“Miles,”
Harold stammered. “She saw me, and she wasn’t afraid. She didn’t have a heart attack,
or run away, or scream."
“Quite
right, old man,” Miles said. “I told you, Miss Kitty is exceptional. Harold, I
seem to remember Lenny mentioning something about a band you used to play in,
Panhandle Bank, hmmm.”
Harold
fluffed the green pillow Miss Kitty had brought over, and than sat his skinny
butt into the rocking chair. “That was a long time ago, Miles,” Harold replied.
“I played back-up guitar, mandolin, fiddle, banjo, and sang. Of course, not all
at once.”
“Did
you enjoy playing in the band, Harold?”
Harold
took his head off and placed it on his lap. “I did, Miles. We played covers and
old time songs. But, well, things change.”
Miles
got on his hind feet so he could look into Harold’s cavernous eyes. “Old man, you
played old timey music?”
“Miles,
Miss Kitty saw me.”
Miles
realized that Harold, with his one-track mind, needed a push in a positive
direction.
“Curious,
wasn’t it, Harold, that she noticed you after she found your banjo, hmmm.”
“Miles,
Miss Kitty didn’t notice me until after she found my old banjo. Do you think
that means something?”
“Brilliant,
Harold. I think you are correct. Thank goodness she’s bringing it to Fiddlin`Red’s Music to get it repaired, hmm. When she brings it back, I think, perhaps,
that you should try to play it; I would bet my bottom dollar that the banjo
will help you materialize. It’s a magical instrument, you know.”
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