Cat In A Leopard Spot

Chapter 14

Heaven Scent

I cannot believe that a day that started out so foul has turned so fair.

From across the huge chamber naked of any amenities wafts the sublime scent of my lost ladylove, the Divine Yvette.

I forgive Miss Temple for her cruel and unusual act of incarcerating me in a lowly cat carrier in an instant. No means of transportation is too humiliating or humble when it whisks me into the presence of such a unique and adorable example of feline beauty and breeding.

What can I say that would do justice to the Divine Yvette?

How could a collar, a bone, and a halo of hair manage to turn a cattle barn into a cow palace? Wait. Maybe I have not put that right. What I mean is that this huge, brutal space has suddenly been visited by a breath of spring, by the dainty passing of a goddess, by a presence so ephemeral, yet striking, that it seems the surrounding humans, affected, should break out in joyous mews at the phenomenon.

But they are blind, deaf, dumb and—most important—scent-challenged at the way in which our very atmosphere has been honored. In fact, while there are words to describe a human bereft of sight, hearing, and speech, there are none to describe a human defrauded of the sense of smell. This just goes to show how low the species really is on the ladder of evolution.

Scent is truly the prime and primordial sense, and look at humans! Forced to douse themselves in aromas borrowed from the plant and animal kingdoms even to experience one good, uplifting whiff.

No wonder they have not noticed the advent of the Divine Yvette, although my Miss Temple, being a superior sort of human, has. That is why she is such a super sleuth. She is attuned to the animal world. I manage to peer through the air slots in the top of my loathed carrier. Even now Miss Temple is gazing toward the Divine Yvette hidden in her portable boudoir.

No doubt she is longing as much as I am to see the lovely form lifted from her temporary prison and shown to the whole wide world.

Then I notice that Miss Temple’s expression is not the rhapsodic one I expect. It is quite something else indeed. In fact, it is rather deadly. And it is directed far above the Divine Yvette’s carrier, directly at the puzzled profile of Miss Savannah Ashleigh, who is agonizing over some entry on a piece of paper she is filling out.

No doubt it is the line asking her age, or perhaps her name.

I hope this is not going to turn into a crime scene, or worse, a catfight of the human sort. That would be so upsetting to the Divine Yvette.