Cat In A Quicksilver Caper

Louie Agonistes

What is a loyal bodyguard and bedmate to do? (And I am not asking you, Mr. Kevin Costner; I am no fan of anyone who dances with wolves.)

My charming roommate, Miss Temple Barr, is obviously undergoing a major life crisis. Now, were a serial killer breaking into our humble but homey unit at the Circle Ritz, I would not be at a loss for direction.

I would leap upon a pant leg, ratchet my way up to his chest and shoulder area—making three-inch tracks a quarter-inch deep—lash out with my built-in switchblades and take out his eyes, then execute a thorough bit of plastic surgery on his mug for a finishing touch.

All of the above before the average bear could say “Hannibal Lecter.”

But nerve and brain, my two greatest assets, will not work here. I am at a loss for once, waylaid by the tangled webs of human emotions when it comes to what are such simple matters to the rest of the animal world, i.e., what people call the Mating Game.

This is not a game, folks! It is the call of the jungle, the survival of the species, and the triumph of the Alpha Male. Of which I am, naturally, one. Although perhaps not so naturally anymore since I was relieved of the possibility of fatherhood by a villainous B-movie actress who had hoped to de-macho me. Whatever. Despite Miss Savannah Ashleigh doing her worst, I am still catnip for the dames and no back-alley offspring will ever come back to haunt me.

I am the 007 of the feline world, four on the floor and one in the backseat, with an unlimited license to thrill. Even the animal protection people cannot fault my condition and habits.

And I face no messy consequences who might want to slash a dude across the whiskers and call him a philandering absentee father. I am thinking here of Miss Midnight Louise, my erstwhile daughter from the old pre-chichi cut days. According to her.

Anyway, this stuff among my own species I have aced.

Humans are a different plate of Meow Mix entirely.

I pace back and forth in front of the French doors that lead to our triangular mini patio. By now my Miss Temple is out for the day, pretending that she is going about business as usual, but I saw her disarray the previous evening and am most . . . unsettled.

True, she lavished more than the usual affection on me, even clutching me to her breast (which is not such a great treat for a dude such as I, if you wish to know; we do not like forced confinement, even in comfy places). Please, let us come to you. It works out much better.

Anyway, I put up with this mushy stuff because we go back a long way and have done some heads-up crime-solving together. A dude owes it to his partner, even when the going threatens to get slushy.

And it is not that I am such a big fan of Mr. Max Kinsella, who previously occupied pride of place here at this Circle Ritz unit, i.e., the bed. I mean, he is probably an okay magician and he does have undercover aims for the betterment of humankind—not that humankind much deserves it, from my observation—but there is only room for one black-haired, agile, and sexy Alpha Male in this unit, and it is I.

You will note that I am schooled in the nuances of human grammar as well as kung fu.

And I have nothing against Mr. Matt Devine, who once devoted himself to the service of humankind (boy, they do get a lot of devotion for such a sorry species) and, during his priesthood days, actually gave up using what I almost lost. Even Miss Midnight Louise has a soft spot for him and she is one hard mama, let me tell you, speaking as her delinquent supposed-daddy. So I do sympathize with a well-meaning dude who is trying to enter the Alpha Male sweepstakes so belatedly in life. Not everyone can have my advantage of being born to be bad.

But my first and foremost loyalty is to my Miss Temple. She is not only Recently Blond, she is recently tempted by the New Dude on the Block.

Well, I am the grayer head here by a single hair. I will not tell you where it is.

So, I sense that I will have to seek advice outside my usual, normal guy-type venues.

Ick!

However, for the good of my devoted roomie, no sacrifice is too extreme.