Douglas Nelson - Cat On A Blue Monday

My agile mind casts back on all the one-eyed beings ol my acquaintance, either first- or secondhand, including a few nasty deities from times gone by I have heard of. l mutter a plea for protection to Bast and shimmy forward on my belly over the smooth parquet floor.

I am as soft and slow-flowing as licorice syrup. Before you know it, l am up against a sola covered in cocoa-colored nubs interwoven with gold fibers. A cocoa-satin fringe undulates at my eye level, playing peek-a-boo with the one-eyed Jack, Jill or jinn lurking beneath the terminally ugly sofa. Could this be Veronica Lake's ghost I see'? I am open to any possibility.

Now is the time to make my move. l thrust my puss past the fringe, my whiskers twitching at this unpleasant contact. I repeat my interrogatory growl in a deeper tone of voice. I lash my tail back and forth behind me. I sneeze at the miasma of dust that rises both f ore a nd aft, thanks to my own efforts .

In the instant my vigilant eyes squeeze shut during my involuntary spasm ol reaction, something shifts. I am now staring into two hellish green gleams about an inch apart. Either Miss Electra Lark's VCR likes to hide under the couch and comes with dual warning lights, or something living is facing me.

"House security," I growl in my most Dobermanish voice. "Come out of there with your ears down and your mouth shut."

I hear no accommodating slither, instead, l hear a low, soft "No."

This is not a literal , "no," of course, but the message is unmistakable. l do not waste time arguing. l withdraw, then approach the sofa end. Taking a power stance, i dash at the arm with all of my nineteen pounds of macho might. The sofa lurches a few inches over the smooth wooden floor . Your average du de would not be able to do this, and I do not recommend trying this in your own home. It tends to aggravate the owners.

But this is an emergency. Con sider it a form of pest removal, even if the so-called pest could be a demonic being. I am not deterred. l rear back and launch my unbridled weight again. A screech of wood sofa legs on wood floor, an indignant and unearthly echoing yowl from beneath the sofa and--mission accomplished.

The lurker has ceased and desisted. l am now confronted by a spectral aura of bristling gold and silver. From the center of a dark face mask, two brilliant, perfectly round green eyes glare at me like twin earths it I were seeing double on the moon.

I have faced down many an evil eye in my day--feline, canine, human, even reptilian. I am not intimidated by the bigger, the meaner, the smarter or the sneakier. But now I have met my match. Never before have I encountered a stare of this magnitude, like indigo ice. I gulp and gather myself, not sure whether my best bet is to otter attack--or apology.

Even as I dither, which is most unlike me; an unseen wind lifts the aura that surrounds the surreal peepers. Something pushes me in the chest, hard. The next thing I know, I am head over tail by the pole lamp, which has kicked on at the impact. Six pools of relentless light pour down on my groggy form like interrogation-room lights from a Cagney gangster movie.

The eyes and the aura are stalking over to me on unnervingly noiseless feet. Four of them, l am alert enough to notice. That eliminates vegetable and mineral. But what kind of animal is this?

"How did you do that?" I gasp, untangling my various extremities.

"Karma," says the creature, stopping a whiskers breadth away.

I still cannot tear my gaze from the awful indigo eyes, though I notice that for all their unnatural roundness, they have a slig ht tilt, Could this bozo be a bozette'?

"Karma," I repeat, wondering i f it is some exotic form of martial art. I will have to observe Mr. Matt Devine's lessons with a more studious eye from now on. "You did not lay a glove on me," I add with a growl.

The low trill that comes from under the dark mask around the eyes is mocking. It I did not know better. I would describe it as a laugh, but demons do not laugh.

"l do wear gloves," my assailant points out in a deep, throaty voice that is oddly Tallulah. It waves two white fore extremities.

The silver-and-gold aura is settling down into a glimmering robe of soft fur. Flattened dark ears perk above the unblinking eyes. I realize, amazed, that I am staring at one of my own ilk, though I have never seen the like before.

"Karma, " I repeat, for lack of any stimulating repartee. I am not often off balance, but at the moment, my brain is screaming "Tilt!" like a broken pinball machine.

"That is my name," the creature says. "Yours is Midnight Louie." And it looks me over with a familiar stare. "l cannot claim the honor of your acquaintance."

"To my honor and your loss, I am . . . aware of your doings." I do not like the superior tone that is drenching me, so I struggle to a dignified seated position while I secretly check my physique for damage. "Just who--or what--are you?"

"I am a resident of these rooms."

"So you say you live here." I am getting my bearings now and use my best Lieutenant Molina snarl. "How come I never heard of you?"

"You have heard me," it answers with a hoity-toity smirk.

I narrow my eyes to their most laser like green slits. " You are responsible for those strange noises l hear two floors down in Miss Temple Barr's unit now and again."

"You have good . . . ears," it concedes, and in that moment I recognize it for a she rather than a he , A He would have been trying to pin back my ears by now, with m e at such a disadvantage. A She would stroll around and rub in the indignity.

"Just what kind of critter are you?" I ask.

"You mean my breed, or my nature?"

"They are the same thing."

"Only to the uninquiring."

"Listen, lady, I got as much curiosity as the next dude. Are you going to keep on making like a sphinx, or what?"

The brilliant baby-blues blink. Slowly, like the shutter on a very expensive camera. I can almost hear the mechanical sn ick as they slide apart and the motionless, blue-marble eyes fix on me.

"I was born a Birman," she says, as ii she has transfigured into something else since then, Yeah, sure.

"Birman," I repeat, playing for time. I have heard of a Burmese, on e of those many oriental breeds, but what is a Birman? I am never one to admit ignorance when I can play tight-Iipped and get informed for free.

I examine her in t he down-lights of the pole lamp, which cast unfortunate maroon, chartreuse and forest-green shadows on her pale fur . This is one big babe. I do not know yet how she swatted me without seeming to lay a white glove on me, but I can see she's big-boned, with a broad head as round as her intimid ating eyes. Come to think of it, she reminds me of Lieutenant Molina in that department. Even her whiskers are thick. Not Lieutenant Molina's--this character Karma's.

She has a long, massive body and sturdy legs with strong claws under those polite white gloves. The rest of her is creamy golden color shading to silver in the light, but her ear s, bushy tail and facial mask are as dusky as delta twilight. That mask is creepy; all th e better to see her big, bright, wolfish indigo eyes. I decide that it is no indignity to get sideswiped by this limousine of a lady.

"Listen," I say, licking my own gloveless paw apologetically.

"l did not know you were a legitimate resident. I am sorry if I messed up your furniture arrangement. I will replace it."

"Do not bother," she says, even as I look toward the sofa to figure how far I have to shove it back into place.

It is in place. I look to Karma, who is sitting there while her fur slowly settles. She does not look hall as fierce without her battle halo, but she is still one mysterious lady.

"I suppose you managed that the same way you knocked me into pole-lamp heaven?"