The Cat Who Brought Down the House

Dear Reader, Twenty-five years ago, Jim Qwilleran walked into my life...huffing into his large moustache, spelling his name oddly, drinking black coffee at the Press Club bar. He was tall but seemed world-weary. His entire earthly possessions fit into two suitcases. He was a down-and-out crime reporter willing to cover any minor beat if it would get him back into newspapering. Then, almost overnight, peculiar circumstances made him the richest man in the northeast central United States. All that money made Qwilleran nervous, until he remembered the old saying: "Money is like muck; it doesn't do any good unless you spread it around." He established a foundation to spread it around. Now Qwilleran lives in a small town, 400 miles north of everywhere, and writes for a small newspaper. He stands tall and straight. He dates a librarian. His roommates are two abandoned cats that he adopted along the way, one of them quite remarkable. Despite his fame and fortune, Qwilleran's popularity really stems from his sense of humor, individuality, and willingness to listen. He has a writer's talent for sympathetic listening--half compassion, half curiosity--and it draws confidences from men and women, old and young. Qwilleran has a secret of his own that he shares with no one--or hardly anyone.