 The CBS Radio Workshop dedicated to man's imagination, the theater of the mind. According to Fonkin Wagner's Desk Standard Dictionary of about 83,000 words and phrases and 1,200 pictorial illustrations, a mystery is something unknown, unexplained, or incomprehensible in its nature. The definition could add that nobody likes a mysterious situation indefinitely, including the police whose job it is to make the unknown known and to apprehend the incomprehensible. And so it is tonight that we present George H. Faulkner's story of a mystery. If now can be told, the case of the White Kitten are seen, a police station in the suburbs of a large city, possibly the city of New York. Now my name is McGonagall. I ain't a cop. I'm a police officer. Duly sworn to uphold the laws of this state, be they good or be they lousy, such as they may be. Once upon a time there was a small white cat or kitten which he got lost. Said small white kitten or cat which he got lost. Hey, McGonagall, what is this? Who are you talking to? Upside Brennan and get your chin off in a desk rail. Now, once upon a time there was a small white cat or kitten named Blanche, which means white in French, Brennan. How would you know talking to yourself? According to secret but recently declassified files of the Shawfield Township Police Department 3rd Precinct, this here in our small white cat or kitten was three months old when first apprehended in 1954, two years ago. Previous record, none. Occupation, cat, color, white, all white, including the ears. Sergeant McGonagall, you are positively nuts. Brennan, I am not nuts. Not whatever. I am testing. Just testing. You know, one, two, three, four, woof, testing. Testing what? And don't woof at me. I scare easy. I'm trying out the new tape recorder, this thing. Oh, another gadget. What's it for? For the convenience of duly elected public officials and for the confusion of the criminal classes, especially drunken drivers. How so, for instance? Well, for instance, suppose you pull in a drunk and a brand new Farrer makes sports car for speeding down 25A under the influence of intoxicating libations. Oh, no, not me. Not no Farrer makes sports cars. Right, you are. Make it a 1938 Rio. All right. So you drag some poor, square type drunk in here, falling over your feet as usual. We invite this lush to read the Gettysburg address into the gadget here. And, brother, it tells Arnhem. Oh, suppose, for instance, the honorable Charles A. Peabody, justice of the peace. Supposing he wants to record one of his bad jokes for posterity. Yeah. He just presses a button. He talks into this. And then press another button, and I'll listen. Hey, what in the world is that? And it's you going backwards, which is what you are usually doing. Now, wait a minute. And you see, we've got to go backwards before we can go forwards again. All right. Here we go. Now, listen, listen, boy, just listen. Now, once upon a time, there was a small white cat or kitten, which he got lost. He said, small white kitten or cat, which he got lost. That's you. You know, maybe I don't talk so good after all. Well, how would you know talking to yourself? According to secret, but recently de-classified. Yeah, but I've got a very nice, deep voice. This here, our small white cat or kitten, was three months old when first apprehended in 1954. That ain't so bad, isn't it? Previous record, none. Occupation. Sergeant McGonigal, you are positively nuts. Trit, big pal. Do I sound like that? Boy, your sins Patrick Brennan, you too. Oh, no, no. And so do I. And all at the taxpayer's expense. Yeah, but what's all that stuff about a cat? I'm telling a story, Pat, into the machine. On account I've got to learn how to operate the thing. A story? Yeah, yeah. I'm telling a story, Pat, into the machine. On account I've got to learn how to operate the thing. A story? Yeah, yeah. A mystery story. Oh, like in the movies. Movies. The movies wouldn't touch it. This story probes too deep, Pat. It lays bare to human heart. Honest? Really bare? I don't know. I haven't sold it yet. Now, let me see. Let me see. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. Once upon a time, there were three small trees. A, B, and C. All three trees aforementioned are guaranteed to contain chlorophyll, sap, bark, and buds, which are waiting for the springtime. And behind the three trees, let me tell you, there are three houses. A, B, and C. Said three houses are all alike, but said three houses are not altogether in a row. Scattered they are all over hillside manner, which it ain't got no hill and not so much manners, but it is now in precinct three for better or worse. On paper, hillside manner looks like this on a map here behind my desk where I'm pointing to. See? Police think... Get that, Brennan. Police think that the cat or kitten in question came from approximately here for an open kitchen door. And it is surmised by police that at on or about this point, the poor little feline was scared stiff by a large airdale terrier known to frequent the neighborhood after dark with evil companions. So what does she do? She hightails it out of there to about here, approximately, where she sits down to sort of think, near house A here. Our reconstruction of the circumstances can now proceed only by way of conjecture. And you, Officer Brennan, will kindly note that beautiful expression. Police think the youthful cat may have been alarmed once again by this. Which has been known to scare the pants off anybody since they give up steam whistles on a railroad. She couldn't know it's just the commuters getting home worried like her. So she winds up here at house C all tucking out. The back porch looks familiar, very familiar. And inside, inside house C, there's the Curtis family, just Joe and Louise, very nice people at Curtis. They're sort of educated. Dear. Yeah, it's just a second, darling. Oh, what is it, Joe? First sign of spring in newsletter, believe it or not. You ever hear tell about skunk cabbage? No, I haven't, and I don't think I want to. First sign of spring out here says so. Oh, spring. Why, it's only February... Oh, February what? February 21st. Spring. Would you listen to this? Up and down the northern shore, our first harbinger of spring, now visible, is simple carpus fitidus, the common skunk cabbage, which, as Thoreau put it, sees over the brow of Winter's Hill. Thoreau said everything. Just about. Well, the editorial goes on. This lowly, rank and stinking member of the Lily family possesses, in lieu of beauty or pleasant scent, a remarkable hardiness and the property of increasing its interior temperature as it forces its bud through the window. Like a species of green fire, it literally burns its way up out of snow and ice to find the sunlight. Atta boy, cabbage. Find me some sunlight. Oh, continue, Joe, don't mind me. Yes, well, with the air at 59 degrees Fahrenheit, the temperature in the interior of a... nascent? I don't know. I'm not a skunk cabbage. Well, where was I? With the air at 59 degrees Fahrenheit, the temperature in the interior of a... budding skunk cabbage has been found to be as high as 123 degrees, 25 degrees above blood heat and 64 degrees higher than the surrounding atmosphere. Well, now, what do you know, hot diggity? There's more, I hope. Yes, it ends with a poem in praise of the skunk cabbage. What? Yep, I'm not kidding. This is in the newspaper. It's a good newspaper. Intelligent. Oh, silly. All hailed a simple corpus, the harbinger of spring. Inside his leafy carcass, he boils like anything. Although he doesn't smell so sweet, this fenside fellow yearns to break the ice and be complete, and as he yearns, he burns. Not snow nor rain nor gloom of night can stay his hot desire. Let's learn from him and warmly fight to lift ourselves up higher. For we are... Louise? Yes. Louise, you're not listening. No, I was listening to something else. Well, what? Joe, be quiet. Listen. Oh? Cat. The neighborhood is cat full. Oh, it's right outside our door, I'm sure. I'm gonna see. Louise, I don't like cats. I know you don't. Just skunk cabbages. They kill birds. Not if you put a bell on them. Skunk cabbages? No, nature boy, the cats. Beat up on your own head, Louise. Just a little stray kitten, but white. White all over. Well, kittens I can take, but they grow up into cats. Any color, they get to be cats. Oh, poor little thing. She must be starved, wandering around in the snow. Here, Joe, you hold her a minute. I'll heat some milk. Me, hold her. Yes, yes. Here, now, she won't bite you. Oh, listen to her purr. Nice kitty. Nice kitty. Maybe you are. Where are you from, Miss Cat? Catalina? Catalonia? Cat skills? Kitty Hawk maybe, huh? You left your motor running, Miss Cat. Does your mother know you're out? All right, all right, Joe. Here, here's the milk. Now, here, here, put her down. I sit here where she is on my shoulder. She's a happy cat. All right, but she must be hungry. We'll see. Nope, Miss Cat. I'll tell you. She's hungry, all right. What are we going to do with her? That is indeed the question. Seeing that we already have one cocker spaniel, one parakeet, 24 tropical fish, and 15 dependent chickadees outside the window. Louise? Yes, Joe. Could we keep her? No. No, we couldn't. No, I guess we couldn't. Lonely as we are. What I want to know is where did she come from? She's lonely, too. Like the tree out in front. Watch for House C, the courtesies, which are stuck with the cat. At this point, where the police were baffled. Police ain't even ever heard of this here, Cat, yet, George. That's why we have the police were baffled, Brennan. I am telling the story in introspect. What does that mean? It happened two years ago. Do I hold your interest, Brennan? Do you wish to know more about this cat or kitten? Uh-uh, no. But I like to watch the recording machine go around. It fascinates me in a mild way. So don't ask questions. We proceed now to House B, 62 Habadash Lane, people name a Benson. The Benson's are just moving in. There's White D. Benson, aged 10 months, wet or dry. Clark Benson 10 and Gregory Peck Benson 8 are upstairs in the expansion attic, which is not finished, walking the open floor beams, which we have to warn kids around here not to do all the time, unless they should maybe fall through the ceiling. Downstairs unpacking are Miss Gloria Benson 12, Mrs. Greta Benson, Housewife. Here comes Mr. Benson, Woodrow W. Benson, Woody. Woody is carrying in a bed. He is very large. Greta! Where do you want the youth bed? Upstairs. There ain't no upstairs, only the attic. Up there, just beams. Expansion, it says. I keep forgetting. No cellar either. I tell you, Woody, tote it upstairs to the expansion attic and put it down crosswise on the floor beams. We'll figure it all out later. Okay. Okay, manager, up we go! Evil! What is it, child? Oh, good heavens, did we bring her? Sure we did. I helped her myself. Well, sort of lonely. So many houses. Like one big apartment house, only spread out all over the land. With one tree in front of each house. Homesick for the Brooklyn flat already, huh? Oh, no, no, but... we don't know anyone around here. I feel lonely, Woody. Well, in two weeks we'll know twenty people, sure thing. I hope so, Woody. I hope so. And so we pass by logical deference to house A, the home of Mr. and Mrs. Richard Andrews with tree. I guess we'd have to say there is a much hope here, not just now. There's Mr. Andrews and a doctor. Doc? She may have waited too long, Mr. Andrews. But I told her, I kept telling her, if she got one of them spells, she should call you. Well, your wife probably will recover. Tomorrow we'll tell, by tomorrow evening. Can I see your doctor? No, no, the nurse is in there. It's lucky I sent for her. Now, you just take it easy. Easy. Easy. Andrew and me, we've been married twenty-five years. The kids are all gone away. We're alone now. I know. Well, I'll be here at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. I advise you to go to work as usual. There's nothing you can do. Now, where can I call you, if necessary? The pet haven over on the turnpike, stray dogs and cats. It's the animal shelter. I run it for the kennel club. Well, I'll phone you there tomorrow. And, uh, Mr. Andrews. Hey, yes, Doc. That whiskey bottle, put it away. It can't help you. Or your wife. You know that. Yeah, yeah. Don't disturb your wife. Please. The nurse knows what to do. Good night. Night, Doc. If Angela were to... No, I won't think about it. I must not think about it. What do you want? We lost our kitten, Mr. Over back there. A white kitten. Did you see a white kitten, Mr? No, no, I didn't. Get out, you brat. Live all alone. Leaving the three houses A, B, and C. Yes, Sergeant. Wake up. Did you ever try to get any person to adopt a stray kitten? Don't answer her, because take her from me. It can't be done. Either person's got a cat, or they wouldn't have a cat not at no price. And so kittens is a drudge on the market. In hillside manner, we got definitely a surplus of cats. Of course, there is only one sensible thing to do which people should learn, but since when did people learn? Since when? They didn't. Except the courtesers. They fooled me. And I entered one loss and found white kitten right in the blotter. And when we changed shifts on the desk, I handed the blotter over. Over to you, Brennan. Remember, only two years ago? I refuse to answer on advice, unless somebody should kick me out of my job. Don't worry, Brennan. With you gone, who would listen to me? Nonetheless, the courtesers called me up like good citizens about to see a homeless cat. And not five minutes after I had wended my homework way, there were you reading a comic book where Mrs. Benson comes in here to the station house as I reconstruct the conversation. Ma'am. We just moved in on Habadash or Lane, and our phone isn't connected yet. So, ma'am? Well, has anybody called up about finding a stray white kitten? It's my daughter's kitten. We like her very much. No, ma'am. Not tonight. Not yet. If you'd leave your name and address, we'd get an awful lot of kitten trade. Which is habitual? Next afternoon, in front of the courtes' residence. Sure, I know it's sensible, but since when have we been sensible people? Now, Joe, we've got to think of the kitten. What's best for her? The police have had no calls. I phoned the pet place on the turnpike early this morning, and the man said he knew a photographer who wanted two white kittens for an advertising picture. Yeah? What happens then? Does Miss Cat here get to go to Hollywood, maybe? Or stand in for Marilyn Monroe? Oh, I don't know. All I know is we can't keep her, and this is the best thing to do. Well, it's a good thing it's Saturday. I just couldn't take her myself. Okay, let's go. Poor Miss Cat. Over the hill. Come in, come in. Mr. Andrews? Mm-hmm. Yeah? Yeah, what you got? This little white kitten. I gave you my address and phone number this morning. I told you... Oh, yes, yes, I remember. Hey, Elwin! How do you want to leave this? You're going to leave the cat. Elwin, come in here and bring the cat box. Hey, what is this? You want to have to get rid of the cat? You give him to Elwin here with the box. But this box... When you sign the papers, you pay me a dollar, and that's all there is to it. Now, I find him a nice home and take care of the cat and I'll get him a best home and the crazy man who'll photography... Louise, yes, Joe. We are not putting this cat in that box. Besides, this man is drunk. Let's get out of here. Let's go. Now, just a minute, please. In spite of the pursuit of police duty, it became necessary for me to take a personal interest in the case of the White Kitten as follows. Mrs. and Mr. Curtis? Yes. Won't you come in, officer? Oh, Joe, this is Mr. Curtis. Evening, sir. Pleasure indeed. Evening, officer. What can we do for you? P.B.A., tickets for the ball? No, no, no. Well, due to the inefficiency of a subordinate on my staff... What was that? That's Roman Brennan. He's so dumb. Well, uh... Well, I see Mr. Curtis has got a White Kitten on his shoulder. Yes. Anything wrong with that? No, but according to information, we have the police have recently received... I'll get it, dear. Joe, it's that awful Andrews man. Oh, no. Andrews? Joe! Joe! Mr. Curtis, please, let me explain. I'm sorry I was drunk, sir. You sure were. What are you doing here now? I'm doing my job. I can't afford to lose my job. You must listen. Well, we're listening, people. Come in. I don't know how to tell you, and my wife, Angela, she's sick. She's terrible sick. I couldn't take it. I was waiting for the... for the doctor to call, and there wasn't anything I could do at home. So I went to work. The doctor said I should die. I couldn't sit still, not, you know, waiting. I had to, oh, please. I had to... Here, officer, you take the cash. Come here, kiddie. Mr. Andrews, my wife and I have discussed reporting your conduct to the people you work for. We don't like to do things like that, but in this case... I know, Mr. Andrews. Curtis, he's all right. He may be all right in your book, sir. Please, that call may be for me. I had to come here, but I left word with Dr. Walton. You don't mind if I answer the phone. No, no. Go ahead. You might as well. Yes. Yeah, this is Andrews. Doctor... Oh, thank God. Yeah. Yeah, I'll be right back. Angela, she's my wife. She's better. Much better. She's not going to die. She's not... Angela... Good heavens. More people? This is my husband. And this is my wife. Pleasure, Missy. If you will kindly take chairs, I think we can clear up this case in an inimical fashion. Hey, who are you? I'm a police officer, sir. So I notice. We'll go on. Don't let me stop you. I don't think you could, sir, if you wish to do so. Would you wish to try, pal? I might, pal. I might. This here's our cat. The cat my daughter's got. That's our cat, that there. That there, sir, is your cat if and when I choose to say so and not before. How come you can say whose cat is whose cat around here? Because I represent the law in hillside. I think I'd precinct. This, sir, is my life work. Wait a minute, wait a minute, Tutu. Officer, it seems clear that the cat must belong to... I'm sorry, what was your name? Benson. Benson? Yes. The cat must belong to the Benson because you can see she knows there, little girl. The cat does not as yet have an owner. Not officially, Mr. Case. Not until I say so officially. Why don't you say so? Because this... citizen has chosen to make an issue with my authority. I do not permit my authority to be questioned. Or fluted. Greta, would you mind if I sock this copper in the jaw? He won't be the first one. Wait a minute! I said, nobody is going to sock nobody in the jaw in my living room. The living rooms are four. Not primarily. This little girl has the cat in possession of nine points of the law. Not in the third precinct. And besides, in addition, a cat has nine lives, and that makes everything extremely legal. Can't we settle this without any... without any right hooks? How about it, officer? I do not actually wish to engage a fisticuffs over and above a cat, no kidding? How about you, Mr. Benson? Woody? Well, all right. All right. So it's okay, officer. You win. Very well. Officially, the cat is yours, ex post facto, or from here on in. Oh, look at it. What, officer, what I don't understand is, how did you happen to come here to our house? On account of blinds. On account of that flatfoot Brennan, my colleague, ladies and gentlemen, what he ain't got hardly any little gray cells. Otherwise, okay. Had Pot Brennan been able to put so-and-so behind each other last night, police would have thrown out a... What are you calling? A dragnet? No! Spectacle of Dick Andrews' distress. Oh, I'm all right now, Fred. And it is thanks to Mr. Andrews that police were able to solve this case. Having sobered up somewhat late this afternoon, Mr. Andrews called me, which is always a sensible thing to do in these parts. So all to look up the white kitten or cat in the headquarters blotter was but the work of an instant. Well, all's well that ends well. Could I offer you people some coffee? Mr. Andrews? Oh, I'm so sorry about this afternoon. I can't say... Not as sorry as me, ma'am. It was the first time. But I think I better go home now than Doctor said I could see Angela. She's gonna get well. Oh, well, we're glad for you. Poor little guy. They're very lonely people, folks. The Andrews is awful only. They're sort of left over. Well, not anymore, they won't be. Will you see to that? How about it, Mrs. Curtis? You bet, Mr. Benson. But now, will you folks have some coffee? Oh, so you must have... It's hard to know somebody. You're out here. Things are going to go. In the meanwhile, nature has happened like always, and the French has blossomed out into glorious feline womenshood, providing further kittens for the pensons, the courtesies, the Andrews' and each and sundry throughout our charming community. And so, we leave to three families. A. B. And C. And that's the end of the story, Brennan, end of the tape. That's a mystery story. When nobody got sapped or knifed or shot up or even kicked in the stomach, what's the mystery? Everybody lives somewhat happily ever after. That's the mystery, Pat. That's always a mystery. Yeah. Yes, ma'am. Right away, ma'am. Hey, Brennan. Yeah, Fred. 94 candlestick makers laying dog. It's got a white kitten up the tree. Get down there on a double, Pat. Life continues, which is also habitual. It's a B.S. radio workshop and the case of the white kitten written by George H. Faulkner. Music by Charles Paul and directed by Ira Ashley. Featured in the cast were Audrey Christie, Kenny Delmar, Barry Kroger, Ed Latimer, Arlene Blackburn, Don Briggs, Lynn Loring, Bill Smith, Frank Milano and Mason Adams as McGonigal. This is Bob Hyde inviting you to join us again next week when Hollywood will present Sarah Churchill in Portrait of London, a personal recollection. The CBS Radio Workshop is produced in New York by Paul Roberts. America listens most to the CBS Radio Network.