Cat In A Leopard Spot

She should know that an hour is too long for the average cat to remain docile and obedient. As for an above-average dude like myself, I am ready to bust out of this low-rent trial-by-television.

In one graceful leap I am airborne and land on the opposition’s tabletop.

With a swift flourish of my front fang, I hook it into the hole in the carrier zipper tag and rip the teeth apart, a maneuver I have performed before in less public circumstances.

My darling’s adorable face pops into plain view, although nothing about the Divine Yvette could ever be called plain.

“Louie!” she mews with delight. The dames can never resist a swashbuckling kind of guy.

I assist her out of the collapsing pink canvas, ignore shrieks and admonitions from two sides, and urge my little pet into a leap to the floor. A quick flight through the onlookers creates a stir in our wake, but too late to impede our progress.

Then it is out the imposing double wooden doors (mostly painted plywood) and into the great concrete space that houses the technical set.

We speed over welts of black cables snaking across the floor and into the shadows behind the curtains used as room dividers in the massive space.

I can hear human footsteps and voices and consternation all over the place, but we snuggle down next to a cooler and are instantly alone on our own desert isle.

“Oh, Louie.” Yvette sighs. “You are très unpredictable. Such a merry chase we have led them. I was feeling so cramped in my carrier.” She catches her breath with a little gasp. “Oh! I am not used to such a sprightly romp since I first contracted my unfortunate condition.”

“And how are the little stripe-heads?” I ask, feeling it necessary to bow to the maternal instinct.

“Gone to the neighbors, one by one. I cannot say that I cared to be reminded daily of the criminal proceedings that led to their birth.”

I murmur sympathetically. I would not wish to be reminded of Maurice’s ugly mug either, even if that likeness was now adorning the faces of my own offspring.

“I am glad that they have found good homes.”

“Oh, yes. Unlike my mistress, her neighbors find having the offspring of Yvette and Maurice, the cat food mascots, quite a plume in their tails. They do not care about pedigree, as my mistress does.”

“And who are her blue-blooded antecedents, I would like to know?”

“Perhaps that is why she so prizes my own,” the Divine Yvette notes in a flash of perception and loyalty that is especially touching coming from one born and bred to think only of her pedigreed self.

Perhaps I have been a good influence on her.

“Will we ever work together again, I wonder?” I say.

“Will you ever see my sister, Solange, again, you may be wondering too? Do not deny it, Louie! You are as weak as any of your gender when it comes to those brassy blonds.”

“No, my sweet. You know that I prefer platinum blonds.”

That remark permits me to rub cheeks with the Divine Yvette as a purr of satisfaction ripples through the luxurious fur ruffling her shoulders and chest.

“I am sorry, Louie,” she says instantly. “I am in a bad mood because some foreign hussy is muscling in on my Á La Cat deal just as I was recovering from my…incapacitation and getting ready to resume my career. And the scandal had died down until your roommate gave it a kick-start again with this silly suit.”

I grit my teeth. I cannot tolerate my Miss Temple being criticized, but neither can I condone any actions that put the Divine Yvette into a less than flattering spotlight.

“I am sorry also,” I say. “There is no stopping these humans when they get a flea in their bonnet, or a bee in their ear, or whatever.”

She nods sadly, biting her shiny little black lip with one pearly fang tip. “I cannot excuse my mistress. I had no idea how harshly you were handled by her. Kidnapped! Falsely imprisoned! Operated upon without permission. Altered inalterably! I am tempted to leave Pretty Paws litter all over my mistress’s satin sheets the next time she is entertaining a gentleman friend.”

“Ah, your commiseration is welcome, my dear, but I must quibble about one point. I was not ‘altered’ in any crucial way. I am unable to sire kittens, but certainly am able to go through all the motions needed for that end. And then some.”

“Then why do anything?” she asks with touching innocence. “I cannot say that the actual act is anything to write home about. And, on top of the painful unpleasantness, one is labeled a naughty girl for doing what one did not even wish to partake of in the first place.”

There is no explaining to dames that they should like what guys like just because.

“But apparently your reviving good looks and the passage of time had restored you to favor with our sponsor, Allpetco.”

“So I thought, and what is worse, so did my poor mistress. She finds film work scarce these days, and depends upon my income a good deal, so you can imagine how upsetting it would be if I lost my position. I would even accept my sister’s replacing me if it would assist my mistress’s finances.”