The first thing Ms. Edith Wormly did when she woke up was put on her slippers and lean over to pet her Persian cat, Mr. Snuggles, who, not wishing to rise yet, opened one eye, looked around, and shut it again. His eyes slanted downward toward his pushed-in nose and small mouth, as though he was permanently in the presence of smelly French cheese. His luxuriant black and white fur made him look like a royal who was waited on hand and foot, which—in terms of Mr. Snuggles—was accurate: Ms. Edith Wormly doted over him, and he spent his days grooming himself and being groomed and waiting to be served.

Ms. Edith Wormly put on her terrycloth bathrobe and went to do her toiletries. She drew a warm bath into which she easily fit, being only five feet, two inches and now somewhat stooped, and she was careful to cover her white hair with her shower cap. Refreshed, she walked carefully over to her kitchen and soft-boiled two eggs and toasted two pieces of white bread. When the kettle began whistling, she poured the steaming water over a tea bag and sat down to breakfast. She cut strips of the buttered bread and dipped them into the warm egg which she had sliced open at the top. While she carefully maneuvered the bread and scooped out the egg with a small silver egg spoon, she listened to the news on all-news WTOP—it would be overcast that day but no rain, and there was a water main break at P and 35th St. so drivers should use an alternate route. She picked up The Georgetowner, looked over the front page and found out that the recent spate of burglaries had been solved when a local gardener named Gonzales—a Mexican national—was arrested. She was glad that there was a strong man back in the White House because things were getting out of control.

After washing the breakfast dishes, she settled into the window seat with her tea and opened her day book.

Mr. Snuggles sauntered in, looking for breakfast. He butted his head into Ms. Edith Wormly’s leg to let her know that he was hungry. She petted him and right away fetched his turkey gravy feast which he then leaned over and ate noisily.

Edith sat back down and read the inspiring quote for the day:

“Keep your face always toward the sunshine – and shadows will fall behind you.”

“What a nice idea,” she thought. She was a cheerful sort and always tried to show a happy face to every person she met. Even when she had a bad thought about someone, she smiled at them and said a kind word. The bad thoughts then went away.

She dressed in her green flower print dress and her brown flat leather shoes. Before opening the front door, she patted Mr. Snuggles on the head and whispered, “Goodbye, Mr. Snuggly-wuggly. Now behave until I get back.” He paid no attention to her as he had become engrossed in the birds in the trees just outside of the window.

Ms. Edith Wormly walked down the street humming a Glenn Miller tune which trailed off as her eyes paused on the red cat named Nacho—its owner loved Mexican food—who was sometimes even called Macho Nacho. It would be fair to say that Ms. Edith Wormly disliked him very, very much—hated him actually−and made it a point to always walk around him and never to bend over and pet him or say anything sweet. How dare he frighten Mr. Snuggles with his strutting around in front of the house like he owned the sidewalk…Some sunny days, Mr. Snuggles meowed to be let out to sit on the front stoop in the sun but then that Macho Nacho strode over and stared at him from the sidewalk. Mr. Snuggles could only cower in the shadow of the hall, not daring to venture out. During such occurrences, Ms. Edith Wormly uttered several insistent “shoos” to the loathed cat which he ignored, eyeing her with disdain. If they had not been on a public street, she would have swatted him with a broom but in this case, she did not want a neighbor to see her and think, “What an unfriendly lady!” And so it went that the carrot-colored, crew cut cat, Macho Nacho, stood erect, impudently glaring at poor Mr. Snuggles whose fur Ms. Edith Wormly stroked to calm him down.

Fortunately, after she had skirted Nacho, she passed several neighbors on the block to whom she smiled and said, “I hope you have a wonderful day,” “So good to see you,” and “Your flowers look lovely,” and who nodded back and thought, “What a sweet old lady.”

She proceeded to St. John’s Church where Mrs. Ethel Worthington, an ample-bosomed and busybody parishioner, was speaking on the front steps to another lady. Ms. Edith Wormly greeted them cheerfully. In the course of their chat, Ms. Edith Wormly expressed relief that a suspect in the burglaries had been caught. Ethel added, “Yes, and I hear now that he is going to be deported!” “Isn’t that just like her,” thought Ms. Edith Wormly, “Always has to top me.” She remembered unpleasantly last Sunday when she announced the upcoming raffle at the church picnic after which Ethel rose and revealed what the first and second prizes would be. The congregation, which had been silent until then, applauded her.

She arrived in front of the door marked ‘archives,’ took the key out of the small corner pocket in her purse, placed it carefully into the old brass keyhole and turned it to the right. Entering the musty quiet of the archives, she breathed in the scent of decades of parishioners’ records. She sat down at the large table on which stood stacked membership lists from the 1940’s which she was collating and researching for an upcoming church anniversary. The church council had asked for someone to help with this tedious task, and Ms. Edith Wormly volunteered, and all the Council agreed, “She is so helpful.” Over the course of the morning, the minister popped his head in and greeted her. She was delighted to be welcomed in such a cheerful manner by the minister who thought, “What a good lady,” as he walked back down the hall.

Ms. Edith Wormly made sure to be home by noon to feed Mr. Snuggles who by that time was lying on the radiator in the entrance glaring at the front door. As soon as it opened, he stood on all fours and arched his back, ready to eat. “Mr. Snuggles! Did you have a good morning? Hmmm…Mr. Snuggly-Wuggly?” asked Ms. Edith Wormly. Not interested in conversation, Mr. Snuggles jumped to the floor and paced in circles around her feet sometimes nudging them in the direction of his bowl. “Oh, Mr. Snuggles! I’m so happy to see you too…,” and she proceeded to tell him about her morning as he listened for the tell-tale sound of the can opener. He plunged his mouth into the wet beef with gravy lunch that she had lovingly dished out. “There you go, Mr. Snuggles! Bon appetite, as the French say!” She continued chatting as she warmed tomato soup and toasted bread, though he was too busy devouring his meal to pay much attention.

After lunch, her first stop was the CVS. She found the hosiery she needed and put it down on the counter. The cashier was smacking her gum loudly. Ms. Edith Wormly tried to catch her eye to give her a friendly “Good afternoon” but the girl ignored the attempt and spoke loudly in Spanish to the cashier next to her, handing back the hosiery in a plastic bag without even a “Thank-you for shopping at CVS.” “Such manners,” thought Ms. Edith Wormly, “would never have been tolerated in the past.” She remembered her daily reading and thought a happy thought as she did not want this rude foreign girl to ruin her day.

On the way out of the CVS she passed a few college students who were chatting by the umbrella stand and smiled at them and said, “You won’t need those today. It’s cloudy but it’s not going to rain! Have a good morning!” The students smiled out of surprise and after she had left, whispered, “Awww, what a sweet old lady…”

Her next stop was the dry cleaners to pick-up the silk runner for her commode on which Mr. Snuggles had spilled some of her prune juice. She was sure that the stain would be permanent but, lo and behold, when Mr. Pak handed her the runner, the stain was gone. When she tried to catch his eye to give him a smile and thank him for his work, though, he only took her money and put it in the register, saying something incomprehensible on his way out to smoke his cigarette. “What a brute,” she thought, “And my sister’s husband fought in a war to help those people.”

∞∞∞

In the evening, Ms. Edith Wormly sat in her armchair organizing her coupons while watching an old Edward G. Robinson movie.

“Do yourself a favor, will you, Rico? Leave your gat home on the piano the next job you pull. Yeah, park it next to your milk bottle.”

Mr. Snuggles crouched by her side, silently reminding her to give him his treats.

“Hey, run your own mob, Arnie. I’ll take care of mine.”

He purred as she stroked him…

“Yeah, I’ll park it. I don’t need no cannon to take care of guys like you, Mr. Lorch.”

…thinking about the treats to come.

Ms. Edith Wormly’s sleep that night was anything but restful. She dreamed that the CVS girl was going around her apartment snatching up her belongings while speaking an incessant stream of Spanish accompanied by deafening pops of gum. Her face then morphed into Mr. Pak who was taking her clothes while speaking gibberish with his head enveloped in cigarette smoke. His face disappeared into a cat’s face—but not any cat’s face—that of a huge Macho Nacho face glaring at her. She woke up in a start, terribly upset.

She put on her slippers and walked into the kitchen where she made a cup of warm milk to calm herself down. Sitting at the table, she sipped the warm milk slowly, perseverating on her intense dislike of the loud Spanish girl, the impolite Korean, Ethel “the one-upper” Worthington, and, most of all, Macho Nacho, who made Mr. Snuggles feel uncomfortable. How dare they! Who did they think they were?

Just then the dark outline of Mr. Snuggles stalking the night appeared in the doorway, and the solution of what to do about these people came to Ms. Edith Wormly.

She would rub them out.

∞∞∞

Ms. Edith Wormly woke up the next morning full of a new energy. After breakfast, Mr. Snuggles lay on the window ledge by her armchair, his chin resting on his right arm, and his eyes fixed on her as she cogitated about her plans. He wanted to make sure she followed through on her vow to make the orange cat disappear, so he stared at her until his eyes got heavy at which point he fell asleep into dreams of catnip and small birds.

In front of her stoop, her neighbors were chatting animatedly about how Nacho had spent the whole night out of doors. One neighbor had seen him patrolling the alley. While they were speaking, Nacho made his way around each person’s legs making sure to rub them and mark his turf. He even had the gall to leave his scent on Ms. Edith Wormly’s ankles, but her heart swelled with a feeling of magnanimity towards all—even Nacho—because she knew that, soon, he would be sleeping with the fishes.

Continuing down the street after wishing her neighbors a happy and productive day, she whistled the melody of “Let a Smile be your Umbrella.” Walking by the dry cleaners, she looked towards Mr. Pak with his head shrouded in smoke as he puffed on his morning cigarette and greeted him with a cheerful, “Good morning, Mr. Pak,” to which the dry cleaner lifted his right hand at her while looking down the street. Nevertheless, Ms. Edith Wormly felt lighthearted as she thought, “He won’t have to quit smoking, since he’s gonna disappear.”

Entering the CVS, she walked by the Spanish girl who was talking loudly to a girl standing just two feet from her and staring actively into her phone. Ms. Edith Wormly walked by in a dignified manner and gave her a broad warm smile which the girl did not even notice but rather kept yammering on and looking around the store and then into her phone and back around again. But Ms. Edith Wormly remained unperturbed because she knew this loud girl would soon be leaving her shift feet first.

After purchasing special treats for Mr. Snuggles who was in the apartment still sleeping on the window ledge, she spent a fruitful morning in the archives organizing old photos which she enjoyed looking at because they reminded her of a politer time. On her way out to have lunch and feed Mr. Snuggles, the minister came over, followed by Ethel Worthington. He was delighted to run into her because he wanted to remind her to come to the lunch that the church’s volunteer appreciation lunch. Ms. Edith Wormly assured him she would be there, adding that there really was no need for such an honor as the service was its own reward. “What a nice lady,” thought the minister. Just as he had this thought, Ethel Worthington piped in that she would be there as well and would bring a homemade pie made from her grandmother’s special country recipe. Ms. Edith Wormly merely smiled at this and did not become upset at being topped in front of the minister because she told herself that Ethel would soon be buying the farm.

After dinner that night, she took a notepad and got out her special pen to make notes on her plan. Mr. Snuggles sat right next to her purring to encourage her. The television was playing Arsenic and Old Lace:

“You got twelve, they got twelve.”

“I’ve got thirteen!”

“No, Johnny, twelve — don’t brag.”

The weapon used in the movie was poison.

“Thirteen! There’s Mr. Spinalzo and the first one in London, two in Johannesburg, one in Sydney, one in Melbourne, two in San Francisco, one in Phoenix, Arizona…”

“Then three in Chicago and one in South Bend.”

She makes a note, “Poison?” and then a to-do list which includes “Have an alibi.”

“You cannot count the one in South Bend. He died of pneumonia!”

“He wouldn’t have died of pneumonia if I hadn’t shot him!”

Mr. Snuggles was purring loudly now. As she ran her fingers through his long luxurious hair, she decided that her first project must be the elimination of Nacho, and it had to go down when she was at the volunteer thank-you lunch on Saturday.

“No, no, Johnny. You cannot count him. You got twelve, they got twelve. The old ladies is just as good as you are…”

She checked off ‘alibi’ with her special pen.

∞∞∞

All week, Ms. Edith Wormly followed her daily routine, remembering to greet all those she met to make sure they would think that everything was as usual with the nice old lady.

One afternoon she was walking down Wisconsin Avenue and passed the hardware store when she spied the word ‘poison’ on a bag in its front window. She stopped, turned and looked discreetly to the left, then even more discreetly to the right. She saw no one she knew, so she went inside. A chirpy-voiced young man with a head set on told her his name was Jerry and asked her loudly how she was doing and what could he do to help her today? She asked about the yellow bag in the window. He said it was a liquid concentrate to attract and poison mice called Motomco Tomcat® Liquid Concentrate Rat and Mouse Bait. He added—with some urgency—that you had to be very careful if you had a cat because cats loved Motomco because it smelled like a mouse, but it would poison them if they licked it and then asked if she had a cat. Ms. Edith Wormly looked slightly left then slightly right and answered quietly that she did not. While waiting for him to ring up her purchase, she noticed a bin of realistic looking plastic brown mice.

Her plan now came together in her mind.

She picked one up and said to the young man that she would also get one of these things, and he exclaimed that they looked so lifelike, he thought they were real mice when they first came into the store. Carrying out the door the bag with the poison and the fake but-very-real-looking mouse caused her butterfly-like excitement.

Approaching her front door, she saw Nacho sitting upright in the middle of the sidewalk like a general patrolling this territory, but this didn’t bother Ms. Edith Wormly because soon, he’d be taken out−but it wouldn’t be to any sidewalk. She made sure to place the poison safely away in the cabinet while she got treats for Mr. Snuggles who had waited longer than usual that afternoon and had spent the time tearing up toilet paper.

She followed her evening routine, even dozing in her armchair while watching Rear Window in which a neighbor witnesses a murder. Mr. Snuggles sat next to her, unrepentant about the damage he had caused in the bathroom. They waited until the appointed hour.

At eleven p.m. her alarm clock rang, and she rose and turned off all the lights in her apartment. Then she walked to the kitchen cabinet, took down the plastic bag and picked up a small bowl and brought all these into the bathroom. She put on latex gloves, the kind she used when cleaning her bathroom, and placed the bowl in the sink and carefully poured the poison liquid into it. Holding the toy mouse by the tail, she turned it around and around until the head and body had a coating of the poison. Then she walked ever so quietly in the darkness, opened her front door and placed the mouse under her neighbor’s bush where Nacho was sure to see it. Back inside, she put everything away, taking great care to dispose of the gloves correctly.

The next day Ms. Edith Wormly looked out of the window. There were no signs of Nacho. She quietly opened her front door acting as if nothing was unusual and walked around the block like she was going about her daily chores. No sign of Nacho who normally walked up and down the sidewalk every day like a general surveying the field. And it was the same situation again the next day. All was quiet next door. Her plan must have succeeded.

On Saturday, she put on her best dress and shoes and sprayed on a few puffs of perfume. She wanted to make a good impression on the people at the church volunteer luncheon who all clapped very graciously when the minister called her by name to come up and receive a special award for her service. Ethel Worthington clapped along but couldn’t wait to tell a humorous story about something she had done with her. The minister praised her as such a trustworthy, good person and so on and then got so caught up in his praise that he said she was someone you would want on your side if your life depended on it.

What Ms. Edith Wormly didn’t know, though, was how well Nacho knew the streets and that he had realized that the mouse was no mouse. The smell had been suspicious to him so he had gripped the tail in his teeth and had dragged the mouse-that-was-not-a-mouse under the old lady’s bush next door after which his owner came out, picked him up in a somewhat undignified way and put him into the SUV as they were late leaving for their country house which is why he had not been around.

Sure, that Nacho was history, Ms. Edith Wormly let Mr. Snuggles out that Saturday morning to bask in the sun out on the stoop. Mr. Snuggles caught a whiff of mouse on a sudden breeze. Never one to turn down food—most especially easy to get food—he stood for the first time in three hours and walked towards the delicious odor and saw a mouse lying under the bush. He would also score easy points with the old lady by leaving this mouse for her which would then surely lead to extra treats.

And so it was that just as Ms. Edith Wormly walked up to the minister and shook his hand and smiled facing all the church volunteers and assorted parishioners who clapped energetically for her and thought, “What a good lady,” Mr. Snuggles bit down on what he thought was a mouse.