Cat on a Cold Tin Roof Read Online Free PDF

took off the galoshes, kicked them into a closet, tossed the coat in after it, and went to the kitchen to pop open a Bud. That was when I discovered that we were out of beer. (I say “we” because I always put a little in a dish for Marlowe, who seemed to like it even better than I do.)
    I turned on the TV, hoping that TCM was showing All Through the Night or one of my other favorite Bogey movies when there was a pounding at the door. My first thought was that it was Mrs. Pepperidge and she was firing me, but then I figured there was no way she could find my apartment, or that having found it she’d soil her hands by knocking at the door, so I got up, walked over, opened it, and found myself confronting Mrs. Cominsky, my landlady, who reminded me of Comiskey Park where the White Sox used to play, though she was even broader around the hips than the stadium was.
    â€œWhat can I do you for?” I said.
    â€œYou’re tracking slush and mud all through my foyer”—which she pronounced “foy-yay,” though I’d swear she never made it past her sophomore year in high school—“and my staircase. I’ve warned you about this before, Mr. Paxton.”
    â€œSo you have, Mrs. Cominsky,” I said. “But until I learn to fly, I have to use the front entrance and the stairs.”
    She stared at me for a long moment. “So are you at least catching a gang of killers?”
    â€œActually, I’m trying to catch a cat.”
    â€œ In here? ” she bellowed. “You know my rules. I bent them for that mutt there”—she pointed at Marlowe, who opened his eyes when she yelled, curled his lip at her, and went right back to sleep—“but no cats.”
    â€œThe cat’s not here, Mrs. Cominsky,” I explained.
    â€œYou’re sure?” she said dubiously, looking around the living room.
    â€œHe’s out there somewhere,” I said, waving my arm in a gesture that took in half the continent.
    â€œCats are a dime a dozen,” she said. “Someone’s actually paying you to find one?”
    I nodded. “Yeah.”
    â€œDamn,” she said. “It’s chilly standing out in the hallway here.”
    She looked at me expectantly. I tried to remember if I was up to date on the rent payments.
    â€œWon’t you come in?” I said.
    â€œIf you insist,” she said, brushing by me.
    I think she was still looking for the cat. Marlowe opened his eyes again, stared at her, growled a couple of times, and turned to me. If she sits down on me , his expression seemed to say, I’m gonna give her a bite to remember .
    â€œWhen’s the last time you vacuumed this carpet?” she said.
    â€œIt’s not a carpet, it’s a rug,” I said. “And it’s got more miles on it than my car.”
    â€œStop avoiding the question.”
    I shrugged. “Been a long time, I guess.”
    â€œMaybe I’ll do it for you,” she said. “After all, it’s really my carpet.”
    â€œRug,” I said.
    â€œWhatever,” she replied with a shrug of her own. “Where’s your vacuum?”
    â€œI left it in my other suit.”
    â€œYou don’t have another suit,” she growled.
    â€œI don’t have a vacuum either.”
    â€œYou know, Mr. Paxton . . .”
    â€œEli,” I corrected her.
    â€œEli,” she said. “I put up with a lot from you. Any given day you’re late on the rent, you keep a mutt that acts as if the floor will gobble his feet if he ever gets off the furniture, and from what I read in the papers you’re always getting shot at.”
    â€œNot always,” I said. “Once, maybe twice a year.” I paused. “Three times at most.”
    â€œAnd what am I going to do if you get killed while you’re behind in the rent?”
    â€œYou’ll inherit Marlowe,” I said, who woke up at the sound of his name just enough