The Cat’S Meow

By Earl E. Somers

A fantasy of a young college graduate who had a dreaman impossible dream. Dream on, young man, and dont be discouraged by skeptics.

A young man and his pet cat confine themselves in his bedroom, which was strewn everywhere with computer housings, components, and microchips everywhere. His bedroom was not exactly conducive to receiving and entertaining company.

The rewards of fulfilling an impossible dream by virtue of diligence and perseverance go beyond self-satisfaction.

An unlikely mix of a young college graduate, his pet cats, his decision to join a fledgling Silicon Valley start-up in the microchip industry presided over by a twenty-three-year-old college coed who was responsible for getting the new venture off to a flying start.

Add a cat that fulfilled ones impossible dream.

Add an enterprising elder who was intrigued with the surname Greystoke and decided to conduct a heraldry search that culminated in linking the main character of this story with Lord Bradford Greystoke of English lore.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 31, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503591080

Earl E. Somers

Earl E. Somers was born in Fountain Hill, Pennsylvania, on September 28, 1927. He retired from the US Army in 1969. He married Gertrud Schaefer while stationed in Germany and fathered three sons. Additional personal data about the author may be obtained from any of his previous twelve books, except Sons and Daughters.

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The Cat’s

Meow

EARL E. SOMERS

Copyright © 2015 by Earl E. Somers.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is intended in the highest regard. The author assumes full responsibility for any erroneous information and references to the British royal family.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 07/29/2015

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

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CONTENTS

Foreword

Acknowledgments

The Cat’s Meow

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Epilogue

About The Author

FOREWORD

My books are listed variously online at

Amazon.com, Buy Books on the Web

(BBOTW), and elsewhere.

Several of them have been converted to

e-books—with more to follow.

Both hardcover and softcover books make ideal and inexpensive gifts for any occasion.

Books may be enjoyed over and over while candy is soon consumed and flowers are tossed. Do your book-reading family and friends a favor.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

As usual, I am indebted to my family, friends, and acquaintances who have encouraged me to continue writing.

My dear wife, Gertrud, makes my work a labor of love.

My good friend Steven Big Guy Strickland, a self-professed galley slave, proofreads and assists me, resolving errors and computer glitches.

Finally,

Whatever accomplishments

We enjoy in our lifetimes are only

Possible by the grace of God.

THE CAT’S MEOW

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B randon Taylor was sitting on the bed in Cope’s bedroom largely because there was no other place to rest one’s derriere. Everywhere you looked—on the chairs, on the floor—components of several computers were scattered about. Upon entering the bedroom, he necessarily had to tiptoe gingerly around the mess on the floor in order to reach the bed. I see four housings that you’ve evidently stripped of all their innards, Cope. What are you trying to do?

Just fooling around, Bran—it’s my hobby.

Strange hobby, if you ask me.

To each his own, Bran. You enjoy shooting baskets over at the Y for relaxation—I do this for relaxation.

Hmm… Relaxation from what, if I may ask? You still don’t have a job, and it’s been six months since we graduated. At least I have a job.

Bully for you, Bran. Anyway, I meant to ask how you like it at Google?

"It’s a job, Cope. I’ve got my own cubicle with a desktop, and I spend a lot of time researching projects. A lot of my time is spent in meetings and at training sessions—along with a dozen others who are also on probation. But I’ll get this year behind me, and then it’s big money time."

I’m pleased to hear you exude such confidence, and I wish you well—you know that.

Cope, with your degree in computer science and engineering, you could be right there with me. We’d be together again just like we were as undergraduates. Of course, you left me in the dust as a postgraduate student when you opted for such a highfalutin degree while I settled for social sciences.

You may be the smart one, Bran, after all is said and done. As for me, I have plans for what I want to do with myself—with my hobby.

What, for crying out loud—build a computer to compete with HP, Dell, and Toshiba?

Never entered my mind, Bran, but who knows what a tinkerer such as myself may stumble upon? No, I have other ideas.

Can you give me a hint?

At the risk of being laughed out of my bedroom? No, I’d rather not. If and when I eventually succeed in bringing my project to fruition, you’ll be among the first ones to know.

Cope, you fudged me when you told me you were just fooling around. Just now, you admitted you’re working on a project. You’re up to something, Cope. I’m just curious how you’re managing to remain unemployed and remain here in your old man’s house—and occupying the master bedroom to boot. My old man would’ve given me the old heave-ho after graduation had I not gone to work. Of course, he was delighted when I was accepted at Google.

Our situations are different, Bran. Both my parents and my grandpa have enough confidence in me that they assist me financially—believing that I’m on to something that has never been done before.

"Ha-ha! So you really are not just fooling around—you’re on to something big, huh?"

Look at the mess on the floor, Bran. Does that look like I’m on to something?

Changing the subject, Cope, I noticed your cat went into your bathroom minutes ago. I thought I heard the toilet being flushed. Now it has crawled onto your lap where you’re sitting on the floor and seems like it is listening to your every word—intermittently emitting a meow.

Stormy was already well trained when I got him from the animal shelter, Bran, and learns new functions very quickly. If you look in the bathroom, you’ll see a sandbox on a stand I jerry-rigged for him and placed next to the commode. Stormy uses the sandbox and then pushes his waste into the commode.

And you’re telling me this cat learned how to flush?

He’s a big cat and has no trouble pushing the lever down.

Amazing! So if I understand all you’re telling me, I’m to believe that cats are capable of thinking for themselves—able to adapt to situations, so to speak.

You know something, Bran, it’s always occurred to me that cats are in fact more intelligent than other animals. Take a dog, for instance—they have an intrinsic sense of loyalty for perhaps one person but are not capable of thinking for themselves. Throw a ball twenty yards, and they’ll dash away at breakneck speed to fetch it back. Take a horse—it can be trained to obey and perform commands from its rider. Try to train a cat to do something not to its liking, and you’re wasting your time. Yes, my friend, I sometimes suspect that Stormy is trying to tell me something with his intermittent meows.

Does any of this have any bearing on your so-called project?

As I said when you originally entered my bedroom, I’m just fooling around with ideas, and the mess you see on the furniture and floor is visual testimony.

Okay, Cope. Anyway, I stopped by here today to find out if you’ve decided to join us Saturday at the Boardwalk in Santa Cruz. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, so they say. Besides, my girl talked Dixie into joining us—I suspect she’ll be disappointed if you don’t show up.

Count me in then. That might be exactly what I need to get away from this clutter for a while. I reckon I could use a little sun and fun—I’m as pale as a sheet.

One problem I don’t have, my friend. You’re welcome to borrow some of my excessive skin color.

Which reminds me, Bran, are you among any brothers at Google?

Quite a few, Cope, much to my surprise. My immediate supervisor is a brother and has made it clear to all of us newbies at our training sessions that EOE notwithstanding, each one of us will be appraised solely on performance and nothing else. That was music to my ears. I expect to do well during my probation year and earn a salaried position next year on my ability, and nothing else.

And knowing you, Bran, you’ll excel at anything you set your mind to. You worked hard earning your degree and deserve everything coming your way.

Thanks, Cope, flattery will get you everywhere. I’d better be going. See you Saturday then. Don’t forget to bring your suit.

CHAPTER TWO

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C ope’s dad was in the living room, enjoying three televised sports simultaneously, baseball, tennis, and golf. It was Sunday afternoon when Scott Greystoke was most content lounging on the sofa watching sports. He did, however, look up when he noticed Cope in the kitchen area getting himself a cold drink. How’d it go yesterday at the beach, son? Hmmm. Looks like you picked up a little sunburn.

Forgot to take my suit with me, so I had to be content rolling up my pant legs and shedding my shirt. It was hot—I walked in the surf while the others splashed water on me. They had their suits and were venturing out into deeper water. But I gotta admit, I did enjoy the roller coaster rides and just about everything else. Dixie was hanging on me a good deal of the time and, later on, suggested we take off by ourselves in my car—she’d arrived there with Brandon and Lorna. So we left in my car and headed back this way, but we had no actual destination in mind. We couldn’t go to her place because I’m not exactly welcome there—her old man has criticized her for hanging around with a shiftless, unemployed bum like me. Our place here is out of the question with my room cluttered as it is with junk. I was pleased that she didn’t suggest shacking up at a motel, because I would’ve begged off. I don’t know why she wastes her time with me anyway.

Probably for the same reason why your mother wasted her time with me. But it takes two to tango. If you’re not ready to make a commitment, so be it. Don’t let anyone rush you, Son.

Pretty good advice, Dad. When will Mom be back from the East Coast?

Amy’s uncle Liam has taken a turn for the worse and she’s adamant about remaining there in Lowell, Massachusetts. As you know son, your mom and you are Liam’s only living relatives. She feels obligated to assist him in any way she can until the end, which she feels won’t be much longer.

That’s Mom for you. Anyway, being involved with Dixie—or any girl for that matter at this stage—would deter me from my work, my ultimate goal.

I won’t ask you how you’re doing, but if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.

In that case, I’d better tell you that I’ll be taking Stormy to the vet tomorrow.

I thought you’d taken him to the vet last week for a checkup.

That’s right, Dad. Tomorrow is for an altogether different reason.

It’s your cat and your decision, Cope, but I’m wondering what kind of device I’m embedding in your cat’s shoulder. Is it for locating him by remote control when he strays? RFIDs [radio frequency identifying devices] are being done now quite a bit with dogs, you know.

I guess that’s as good a reason as any, Dr. Muenster. I’m also attempting to train him as a household cat to perform certain functions. Working with chips is my specialty, you know, so I’ll most likely be returning here from time to time to replace the RFID with a modified version containing a PROM [programmable read-only memory].

Well, as long as Stormy is not undergoing any pain or suffering as a result of these minor surgeries, I’ve no objections. Be sure and let me know if he shows any signs of discomfort when he wakes up.

How do you feel, Stormy? Cope had returned to his room with his cat and was making some notes on his computer. Give me two meows if you understand what I’m asking you.

Stormy rose from his lounging position on the bed, padded over to the desk, stretched his length up to Cope’s lap, and emitted two meows. Cope rubbed his fur and, looking directly into the cat’s eyes, stated, But you still can’t express yourself in so many words, huh?

Stormy moved away and returned to his place on the foot of the bed without making a sound—concentrating his gaze at the TV, which was always on. Cope watched as Stormy pressed a button on the remote and changed the station to the Animal Kingdom. It’s not your fault, Stormy. I feel we’re so close to what we both know is going to happen. Already, you apparently understand everything I’m saying. Give me three meows if you agree with me on that.

Stormy meowed three times, giving Cope what appeared to be a forlorn glance.

Cheer up, Stormy. Bear with me a while longer—we’ll be talking to each other before you know it.

But in the ensuing days leading into weeks, Stormy seemed to grow despondent—if that is possible with feline creatures—and responded weakly with meows to Cope’s comments and queries. Somewhat concerned, Cope took him to the veterinarian for another checkup. After being subjected to his welcomed cleanliness ritual by the vet’s assistant with a wet, sudsy brush, and having his fur dry-brushed, Stormy appeared to be in better spirits. Within earshot, Stormy heard the conversation between Cope and the doctor.

Cope, I know you refused to have Stormy neutered, but my guess is that he, probably unknown even to him, needs having a sexual encounter to release certain juices from his system.

Gosh, Dr. Muenster, the last thing I need now is a litter of kittens to take care of.

The two humans were taken aback when Stormy went padding over to them, emitting two loud meows.

Dr. Muenster remarked, If I didn’t know better, I’d swear Stormy heard what we just now said about him.

Cope concurred, I wouldn’t be surprised.

Give it some thought, Cope. The sooner the better. Hmmm. I might be able to help you in this. We have a perfectly healthy female cat at the SPCA animal shelter that no one has shown any interest in adopting because it’s missing its left front paw, which was amputated as a result of being gnawed by a bulldog. You take Indira home with you, and when she conceives, bring her litter back to me. Baby kittens are the most desired adoptees.

Hmmm. An offer I can hardly refuse. I believe we have a deal.

CHAPTER THREE

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I t was always a joyous occasion at the Greystoke residence in Mountain View when both of Cope’s uncles arrived in town at the same time. Scott’s eldest brother, Luke, and younger brother, Randy, flew in from Florida. Randy, who was visiting his brother Luke in Florida had recently returned from Australia where he was contracted with a major corporation, servicing all its computer needs. Twice a year, Randy managed to return to the States for several weeks. It was an occasion for San Francisco residents Grandpa and Grandma Greystoke to collect their two arriving sons at SFO, and all four would then motor to Mountain View to gather at Scott’s mobile home for a get-together barbecue.

Cope particularly enjoyed Randy’s company inasmuch as they both had degrees in computer science and had much to discuss in that ever-emerging, ever-changing technical field. Randy being allergic to cats, it was necessary for the two of them to go walking around the mobile-home Space Park area during their discussion. Anyway, Cope’s messed-up bedroom wouldn’t lend itself to a comfortable exchange of opinions. Much of their talk centered on microchip technology. However, in the end, Cope never revealed his secret project to Randy. Certain confessions sometimes result in one losing credibility with others, even family.

Inasmuch as Scott’s residence was lacking extra bedrooms to accommodate visitors, the post-BBQ