"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."
I would pale, if that were possible.
Chapter 30
Willy~nilly
Temple, Peggy Wilhelm and Sister Seraphina stood outside the Tyler house, eyeing its impressive bulk with an awe much resembling Dorothy and her friends regarding the Emerald City of Oz.
Temple was guilty of a lifelong identification with Dorothy, at least from the Judy Garland movie: she was a Midwestern girl with an inborn optimism in everything to be found over the rainbow; she really dug those ruby-red slippers;
and now she had--instead of Toto--a black cat named Midnight Louie as she ventured and adventured into evermore exotic terrains personal, professional and quasi-professional, if you count crime-meddling as a quasi-profession.
"You say that Lieutenant Molina okayed our going through the house?" Temple asked Sister Seraphina again.
"Cleaning the house," Sister Seraphina modified scrupulously. "It seems that there is no hard evidence of foul play.
The injuries that killed poor Blandina could have been received in a fall. The police have gathered what physical evidence there was, in case new information turns up, and the house with all these cats in it is a white elephant. If we don't deal with it, it will be declared a public health hazard, and Our Lady of Guadalupe is morally obligated to do something positive about the cats, having benefited from the will."
"And if we find anything . . . interesting in the house?" Temple prodded.
Sister Seraphina winked through her trifocals. "Then we give it to Lieutenant Molina and reopen the case."
"Forget it," Peggy said. "Sure, some flaky things happened at the fringes of Aunt Blandina's death, but there were no more incidents at the cat show. I bet a competitor just wanted to ruin poor Minuet's chances. She was a prime contender. And this phone and lights stuff--you know the way kids in this neighborhood act up."
"What about Peter?" Seraphina reminded her in a suddenly sober voice.
"How is he?" Temple asked, for she had delivered the cat, hot-pink bandages wrapping each front paw, to the convent the day before.
"Fine, but he won't be wandering for a while. Sister Rose is keeping him close to home." Sister Seraphina smiled at Peggy. "I know this is hard on you, dear. You've taken responsibility here from the first, with no hope of personal gain. I can't say I approve of your aunt leaving you out of her will, even if the church benefits. You will know you did your duty, as years go by, and that will be a comfort."
Peggy nodded sudden gratitude at the nun, and then glanced around through tear-glazed eyes. "There's a lot of history in this house."
"And cats," added Temple, pushing up the sleeves on her CATS! sweat shirt.
Peggy glanced at her sweat-shirt logo, as did Sister Seraphina.
They all three linked elbows and skipped up to the gates of this feline Emerald City.
Emerald eyes greeted them at the door, and meows and upturned bewhiskered faces pleading not just for food, but for attention. The cats were obviously missing the daily ministrations of Blandina Tyler.
Temple marveled at the dead woman's stamina. She was like the Old Woman in the Shoe with her flock of children. Temple was already wondering if she could handle two cats, and here Blandina had opened her door to dozens of hungry mouths and hearts.
The trio soon found that Blandina Tyler had been a collector of all sorts of things. String, for instance. Balls of it occupied the kitchen drawers. Temple threw them down for the cats, which schooled like piranha around the playthings.
"Look at this!" Peggy pulled a fistful of what looked like a limp tan octopus from the bottom vegetable drawer of the refrigerator.
Temple blinked, while Sister Seraphina came over with a puckered face, then grabbed the booty and laughed. "Support stockings! you know, those cast-iron things that require girdles and garter belts that old ladies wear. These things are as