Douglas, Nelson - Cat with an Emerald Eye

Tiring, the protesters huffed off to march and shout other slogans.

"Well," came Crawford's deeply insincere baritone from beyond the hot circle of light. "Have you changed your mind about these creatures?"

"Yes, indeed," said Matt blandly. "We will definitely give them up for Lent in future."

With that they ducked past the camera crew and bustled down the sidewalk into the simple racket and bright lights of the Las Vegas Strip.

"Oh, that was ... intolerable journalism, trapping innocent bystanders between the devil behind the camera and those well-meaning protesters. Only Crawford Buchanan would pull such a stunt, and for Hot Heads , the sleaziest tabloid show on TV. Looks like the worm is still working for them, our bad luck."

Matt chuckled. "Worms. They forgot to include worms among the libeled victims of Halloween. We could have sworn off eating worms for Lent too."

"That was very wicked, but do you think everybody knows what Lent is?"

"Don't you?"

"Yes, but I did a lot of reporting for, a while. You sort of get a ... a catholic overview of different religious customs."

"I think they'll get the idea," he said a bit vaguely. "Temple, I didn't finish what I was going to say back there."

"Rats."

He smiled briefly, then sobered. "I may not know where I'm going yet, or what I'm about, but I do know I'm not going to accept a position of weakness again in any situation."

"You were just a kid then."

"I'm not now. So, although I can't say what I can offer ... any-one, or in what way, and though I need time to settle some old business before I can take on any new roles or relationship, I won't bow out just because someone else comes along and says this is the way it was or is. I won't walk away from what I believe in, no matter who says I should."

She couldn't quite believe what he was saying, though she could read in his eyes that he meant it. "You mean--?"

"Don't count me out. I've got to follow the path I started, but nothing says I've got to stay on it forever. He can't scare me away."

She nodded.

Even though it was almost Halloween, nobody she knew was much in the mood to be scared.

Chapter 9

... Need a Body Cry?

Temple was relieved to find Midnight Louie home alone when she got there, reclining regally on her zebra-striped coverlet, not a whisker out of place.

"Louie! I'm so glad to see you. Those protesters really had me worried."

She sat on the bed beside him, kicked off her shoes and stroked his sleek fur until his purr was droning louder than the buzz on her morning alarm.

"They do have a point, though," she told him meditatively. "Maybe I should close your bathroom-window escape hatch until Halloween is over. I don't know why I have this batty idea that you can take care of yourself. You're just a lit-tle kit-ty, after all."

Temple tried to bury her face in his neck fur, but Louie flattened his ears and tried to pull away, his purr on hold. She drew back to study his narrowed green eyes and air of deep affront.

Must not like too much petting. It couldn't have been something she said.

Knowing when to leave well enough alone, she changed into her fall fuzzies, a purple velour jogging suit and knitted slippers, then skated out to the kitchen on her slippery soft soles.

Time for a post supper snack. Temple hunted her cupboards, uninspired by anything she saw. Then she remembered her resolve and skated over the smooth parquet out the other side of the kitchen to her office. Papers fanned around the computer; she wrinkled her nose at the idea of tidying up tonight. After the stress of the haunted house, she just wanted to relax, but first...

She darted into the bathroom, pulled down the toilet-seat lids, climbed up on the closed seat, leaned out to reach the opposite wall, got both hands on the tiny window pulls and pushed it shut. No more Louie escapades until November!

Grunting satisfaction, she pushed herself away from the wall and clambered down from the seat. Something nagged at her, something she had forgotten to do ... a phone call? No.

Shaking her head, she sped back to the kitchen and resumed inspecting her shelves. Still nothing called to her, and she became aware that she was humming, humming something sort of familiar. Listening to herself, Temple finally found words popping into her mind ... that you do so well.

That old black magic won't work so well, she thought, when Mr. Midnight tries to make a fast escape out his favorite window. Funny she had never thought to name him Magic.

Temple stared dully at an opened box of Fruity Patooti break-fast cereal. She had forgotten something important, she knew it! Something, just now, that should have made her realize ...

some-thing due for work ... no. She yanked open the freezer compartment of her refrigerator, staring at a carton of six-week-old frozen yogurt. It would be a rubber ice sculpture by now.

Maybe if she microwaved it... What was she missing? Missing. Louie. Something about the cat.

No. Something about the cat's escape hatch ... or the pathway to it. Yes!

Temple felt the tight expression of consternation on her face stretch into horrified comprehension. Holy banana fudge!

At that very moment she heard a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping on the glass top of her coffee table.

She sped around the kitchen corner and took her first good look at the living room since she had come home.

Max Kinsella, dressed in cat-burglar black from neck to toe, was reclining full-length--

though not regally--on her living room sofa, browsing through a copy of Entertainment magazine.

He looked up, lifted his knuckles to the coffee table's glass top and rapped again. "I did knock, several times, but you didn't hear me.

"You were already inside!" she charged.

He shrugged and closed an article on Halloween disguises for celebrities (that he probably could have written) before sitting upright. Luckily, the reclining Max was long enough that his feet overhung the off-white sofa edge.

"You weren't home, and I make too good a target hanging around closed doors."

"You don't have a key anymore."

A duck of his head admitted the charge. "I can get in some places without keys." He smiled.

"Besides, I brought you something."

She watched him bend over and lift something from the floor. A small bag with an aluminum coating.

"You've been here a while," she suggested.

"What a detective!" He rose to hand her the bag. "I suppose you can tell just how long by checking the melting factor of the contents."

Temple hefted the bag, then rolled down the top to peek. "Oooh, caramel-pecan maple-marshmallow chocolate ripple, just the thing for a frosty October night. Too bad the manufacturer couldn't get any raspberry in there somehow."

She whisked it into the kitchen, not surprised to find that Max had followed when he lifted down a nest of glass saucers she was stretching to reach.

"So how did you figure out that I was here?" He leaned against the countertop while Temple used a serving spoon to pile colorful slabs of the low-fat frozen yogurt into two dishes. "And how did you know that I'd been here a while?"

"You won't be so smug when you find out. It's not my brilliant deducing faculties; it's one of your own unmistakable little ways."

"What? I need to know these things for future reference."

"Well, it'll only give you away to people who've lived with you. How many can that be?"

"Not many, and I'm certainly not going to give you statistics when you're holding out on me.

Stop teasing, Temple."

She handed him the filled dish and a tablespoon. Neither of them bothered eating ice cream with a teaspoon.