Douglas Nelson - Cat On A Blue Monday

She is having nothing of it, but backs against the rear sofa cushions, her admirably unclipped claws snagging the fabric, a phenomenon that will not please Miss Temple Barr.

"These are my digs," I point out diplomatically, "although I do not mind an occasional attractive visitor."

"Possession is nine-tenths of the law," she responds without softening her defensive posture.

I hold my temper and back off to the sofa's far end. It is obvious, despite her furry fireworks, that my intruder is of a tender age and experience; so young, in fact, that she has not yet had that odious operation known euphemistically as "fixing." Obviously, she needs someone to show her the ropes.

"You must have sensed my previous possession," I point out.

She shrugs, allowing the ebony halo around her head to settle down a bit. "It was either this or Murder Inc."

"I take it, then, that my tenderhearted roommate has saved you from the animal pound."

"I encouraged her to intervene, yes."

I nod sagely. "She is a delightful companion, Miss Temple Barr, but not the best cook. Did you really eat that Free-to-be-Feline?"

"It is a highly nutritious food, well balanced in all essential vitamins and minerals."

"I can see that you and Miss Temple hit it right off," I note sourly. "I can be magnanimous. However, I must insist that you desist from eating Free-to-be-Feline. I am training Miss Temple to forget it."

"I will eat what does me the most good." She looks me up and down with less than an admiring flick of her long, black mascara-coated eyelashes. "It would do you a lot of good, too."

"Listen, I am head dude around here. You'll do as I tell you.

If you're nice to me, I might even let you stay a while."

"What does that mean?" she snarls quickly.

I have never heard such ugly sentiments coming out of such a beautiful little doll-face before. I wonder where she got her feisty temperament. A life on the streets can do that to some, but it is a shame to see such a comely little doll so warped.

"I mean that it is my place, and if you want to stay, you have to play to my hand of cards, and right now I am holding all the aces."

"If you mean to imply that I must extend you any personal favors because I happen to need a home for the moment, that is an extremely sexist and patriarchal statement, not to say coercive. I am sure, however," she adds with a satisfied purr, "that you did not mean any such thing."

"Uh . . . no." I frown, which wrinkles my broad forehead and is--I am told--a dignified, attractive expression. Her last statement sounded oddly like a threat of some kind, which I am not used to hearing at my size and age, and especially from a petite little doll of tender years. No doubt her rough months on the streets have made her somewhat . . . touchy.

"What is your name, kid?" I ask in a kindly, avuncular manner that it costs me much effort to produce.

"They call me 'Caviar.' "

I nod, savoring the moniker. "A tasty choice. I sampled some of the best beluga from Russia when I was house dick at the Crystal Phoenix. You have heard of the Crystal Phoenix Hotel and Casino, of course, the classiest joint in Vegas?"

"No," she says shortly, sitting down to lick her luxurious rear extremity into shape. I admire her tongue-and-teeth work.

"Anyway, this beluga stuff is like little black pearls, very costly and quite succulent, full of the salt of the sea. My old man has his own yacht, and is quite an expert in seafood, wherever he is."

"How nice. My old man was a scamp and a tramp and he left my mother flat. I do not care where he is, and I do not judge anyone by paternal lines. We cannot help who our fathers are."

"I can see that you have had some tough times, kid," I growl.

"You need someone older and wiser--and bigger--to look after you."

I get a solid gold eye cocked full at me. What gorgeous--and searing--peepers this doll has!

"I do not think so," she says.

"What are your plans?"

"To rest for the moment. I am tired of cages."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I have been in the stir a few times myself, even with a sixty-hour death penalty."

She eyes me with respect for the first time. "Why are you still here?"

"I broke myself out."

She looks impressed, a little. "I guess you are big enough to manage it."

"Actually, I used brains, not brawn."

Now she stares at me again, as if I am a bowl of Free-to-be- Feline and she is on a diet. "You are quite amusing," she concedes.

Well now, this is progress. I stretch out along the sofa, until my mitts are almost within touching distance. I have met these embittered street girls before. They take delicate handling, but soon recognize the wisdom of putting themselves under the protection of a powerful dude, like yours truly.

"I have to warn you, if you stay here, you are in some jeopardy."

"Miss Barr seems most thoughtful and civil."

"Yeah, but she has scruples. These are things people get from time to time. She will probably have you undergo an unpleasant operation that will not do much for your future sex life. I know you are a young thing and not aware of what you might be missing, but believe me, this 'spaying' is a fate worse than death."

"I am quite familiar with this form of birth control," she says coolly.

"I can find you a cozy place nearby where you will not be subject to forced sterilization."

She eyes the comfy surroundings, then me. "Some hole-in-the-wall love nest? With you? I think not. I prefer the knife."

"You do not know what you will be missing?" I argue, appalled.

"Oh, but I do know. I have had these alley dudes trying to jump me since I was a kit. No loss."

"But these were not worldly, suave, accomplished dudes--"

"Can it, bud. I have seen it with my mother and others. Some dude jumps you from behind, and all you get out of it is a bite on the back of the neck, some pawing and mauling and a lot of hungry little faces nobody wants who are doomed to be run down, locked up or gassed at an early age. No thanks."

"You do not want kits?" I try not to sound too skeptical, as I never did either, but I was a guy and that was natural.

"Not in this rotten world."

"What about . . . love and sex?"

"What about it? I told you my father was gone as quick as he had come, no pun intended. My mother walked herself to a rail to feed us four. She always said I take after my father more than somewhat, but he took off before he even knew my name."

"Sure, it is a mewing shame, but that is the way it is, kid. I know my old man only from hearsay, too. And you must admit that our mothers are A-one."

"Yes, but they dare not spare we kits more than a few weeks, because some other guy on the run comes through, makes like Dracula in heat, and more kits are on the way. Plus, if the old man sticks around, he gets jealous of the babies and might break their necks some night so Mama will go back into heat. I do not much cotton to persons of the male persuasion."

"So I notice," I note with alarm. Most of the ladies I have known considered a dude a necessity of life. This little lady seems to have sworn off a lot of things formerly considered necessities by the general population. She is one scary little doll, although as cute as hell.

"You say they called you 'Caviar' in captivity?" I ask for lack of anything sensible to say. I am more than somewhat shook.

She retracts her last set of claws and licks her front mitt into the sheen of a black-satin glove.

"Yeah, but that is not my street name. Actually, I am named after my missing, unlamented father, who appears to have made quite an impression on my deluded mother."

"You are?" I ask to gain time and collect my wits. Could this little doll be on the level with all this?

"Yes." She pauses in her elegant grooming to lift her head and regard me with the icy disdain she apparently extends to all of the male persuasion. "My real name is Midnight Louise."