Cat In A White Tie And Tails

Chapter 44

Midnight at the Oasis

“You may wonder,” Miss Midnight Louise says, sashaying back and forth in front of the Dumpster behind the police substation, “why I have called you all together this afternoon.”

There is indeed a convocation of cats crowded around the closed Dumpster, domestic shorthairs and longhairs, big, small, chubby, lean, striped, spotted, calicos, tabbies, tortoiseshells, black-and-white tuxedos, solid whites, and, naturally, the royal color, solid black.

Of course, cats do not come with birth certificates unless they are purebreds, so you could say three generations of the Midnight clan are present, if you believe Miss Midnight Louise’s claim that I am her long-lost daddy.

“Why indeed has your caterwauling awakened us?” Ma Barker grumbles under her Happy Meal breath as her forepaws box the sleep from her eyes. “This is the hottest part of the day and I need my afternoon beauty sleep.”

I try not to choke audibly on that last statement. Ma Barker, as leader of the clan of Las Vegas cats called a clowder, bears many honorable scars from fierce territorial battles, but she is no beauty and proud of it.

She and I have the family eyes, hers more at half-mast, but both green. Miss Louise, however, sports eyes of old gold, and her hair is not thick and full for battle in the wrestling ring, but long and fluffy. If she is a descendant of mine, I believe one of my showgirl flings is responsible.

Miss Midnight Louise is, however, quite a tenacious little dame, like my Miss Temple, and there is no underestimating her.

“Listen up,” she is saying now, passing among the troops with razor-sharp nails cocked as she gives some of the nodding-off nap crowd NCIS back-of-the neck slaps.

“I have been on solo stakeout,” she continues, giving me the cold gold stare she wields so well, so you feel like you have been whipped with a guilt stick. “I have covered not only a major undercover mover in Las Vegas, Mr. Max Kinsella, whom some of those among us do not feel is a worthy subject of interest—”

“I get it, Louise,” I howl. “Forget all this pointing paws stuff. I did underestimate what was going on when Mr. Max disappeared at the Neon Nightmare a couple months ago, but he is back and getting his black on, and that is old news now.”

She leaps to confront me with a bound, growling in my face. “He is back and about to make major fresh news.” Louise turns to rouse her minions. “And this emergency intervention involves another location I have been surveying on my own, the Oasis Hotel and its Lusty Ladies and Laddies sea battle attraction.”

A hiss stirs the assembly. Louise has made a tactical error. We of the feline family do not, as a rule, like water.

I spot my opening and seize it, stepping in front of her. “Excuse me. The junior partner of the firm has done some fine legwork—and you gentlemen will all agree she has the legs for it.…” I am not surprised to raise a hiss from among the clowder females. “Just pulling your legs, ladies, to get your attention.

“Obviously,” I go on, “we need a special ops team on this matter Miss Louise has brought to our attention. Midnight Investigations, Inc., offers services in all areas of crime prevention and detection, but we are a two, er, individual operation. Occasionally, we need to expand our arena of operations into a major public presence.

“So.” I look around at every yellow, green, yellow green, and even blue eye. “I am calling the Cat Pack back into action.”

The Cat Pack is the elite fighting cadre I put together for protecting my Miss Temple in matters involving major weapons, like a loaded handgun … in her purse. Not good. We all wear ninja black.

Ma Barker lurches in front of me. “Front and center, you volunteers,” she orders, her slightly skewed gaze raking every black-haired dude or doll in the clan.

“What about Three O’Clock at Gangsters?” Ma grumbles to me under her breath. “We need a geezer?”

Since she is probably older than my esteemed sire, Three O’Clock Louie, gourmand and restaurant mascot, that was a low blow.

“No time to fetch him.” Miss Louise blows past me to address the clan. One swipe of the fluffy train on that youngster’s skirt puts enough fine hairs and dander into my eyes and nose to shut down sight and speech for half a minute.

“We could use a special team of the tuxedos,” she adds.

A smaller but equally triumphal roar goes up. I have to admit these guys and gals look pretty sharp with their spanking white bibs and faces, white gloves and sox and formal black topcoats everywhere else.

Sadly, those snappy white areas also make it easier for predators to spy them in the dark. You cannot beat nose-to-tail black for camouflage.

Once I can sneeze out her loose hairs, I go abreast of Louise and whisper in her little perked ear. “Those tuxedos are a mixed bag when it comes to nocturnal operations,” I warn her. “Ma Barker will shorten our tails in tandem if we lose any of her gang.”

“Relax, Daddy-O. I have this upcoming clash of Titans thoroughly scoped out. All we have to do is throw a big monkey wrench in the unfolding events, and our guys at the Oasis will come out up on top.”

“We do not have any guys at the Oasis.”

By now the grateful tuxedos are making like a Broadway chorus line in front of Louise, they are so delighted to be asked to dance at our party.

Miss Midnight Louise, I am thinking, is biting off more than I can chew.