Кэрол Дуглас - Cat In A Sapphire Slipper

Although I do understand the “last stand” notion of a bachelor party, in which lewd dudes drink and ogle and carry on, hopefully knowing when to stop, although some do not and that is when weddings are canceled.

Not this wedding. It was quite the classy event, I thought. Of course, me and my extended family (and, oi! it is ever-extending, all on the distaff side), are delighted to be guests and are always dressed in formal black to play key roles for such occasions. Miss Kitty saw to it that Miss Satin came along in a lacey off-white cape, and Midnight Louise managed to sneak Ma Barker in for the food line poolside, although the fireworks had her hackles at attention most of the evening.

The only black cat I am missing at this event—besides my old man out at Temple Bar on Lake Mead—is Mr. Mystifying Max.

And what is my esteemed collaborator doing on her own authority, putting him in dire circumstances in a far place?

That is cruel and unusual punishment for a poor guy who broke both his legs and misplaced his memory. That psychiatrist strikes me as highly suspicious. You will recall that the treacherous, or at least disloyal, Persian honey, Yvette, claimed to be French. And you see how she turned out. A little German on the father’s side is not going to cure the French part. Those French females are all femmes fatales.

I suppose I am going to have to nibble my nails over what is happening overseas, where I am not likely to go or be taken. This is a cheesy operation, if I say so myself. There are gambling mec-cas on the Riviera, in Bangkok and Macao, on cruise ships. Why could we not have the occasional holiday case there? Midnight Louie, Intercontinental Op.

My only consolation is that I can look forward to escorting my Miss Temple to her own nuptials. I have become resigned to domestic change. These human beings are terribly independent and self-involved and not trainable, and they will not listen to reason.

It is like herding lemmings.

I, and my millions of kin worldwide, still try our best to make them behave.

And so I will continue to do, as little as I am appreciated for my efforts.

Midnight Louie, Esq.

If you’d like information about getting Midnight Louie’s free Scratching Post-Intelligencer newsletter and/or buying his custom T-shirt and other cool things, contact Carole Nelson Douglas at P.O. Box 331555, Fort Worth, TX 76163-1555 or at www.carolenelsondouglas.com. E-mail: cdouglas@catwriter.com.

Carole Nelson Douglas

and Nitpickers

Usually, Louie, I don’t interfere with your closing comments at the end of our books.

You are, after all, mentioned on the cover and the spine, just like me.

I am politically correct in your case. I’ve never found anybody lesser for having four feet instead of two. I realize you contribute a lot to our mutual enterprise.

But you must recognize that some people, perhaps not felines, are very much interested in Max Kinsella’s fate and future. I might point out that having one member of the cast at large in Europe is quite enough.

If you were so longing for a Continental outing, you should have arranged for a history as an international counterterrorism agent and for someone to try to assassinate you.

That said, I think you have truly stretched yourself in this adventure. You’re becoming quite the executive, overseeing the situation and sending your agents out to do the leg, and ear, work for you. Also, you are playing much better with others.

I am even gratified to hear that you’re accepting the inevitability of a change in your domestic landscape with good grace.

On the other hand, I’m also worried that something is very, very wrong.

This is just too good to last.