Cat In A White Tie And Tails

I would bet all the money in the out-front treasure chest that the clever Norse pattern the Ikea store on a route where you can walk and walk and never quite exit. That way you see all the wares and make impulse buys. Same thing in a casino.

Just as I am about to be terminally overcome from the floor level foot odor, I am making a three-foot dash to the next craps table when a white tornado comes churning in my direction.

Busted! I am caught out in the open, the object of every eye that is not pinned to a slot machine or a gaming table.

Luckily, that is very few people. Unluckily, my right ear is the target of a hot wet slap in the face.

“Louie, old pal,” yaps the white dust mop of fur sporting hot pink satin bows about the ears, “whatcha doing here at the Oasis, huh, huh?”

Before I can answer this silly creature, a dog that weighs less than half what I do, speaks for himself.

“I have been riding at human shoulder-height for hours, sucking in secondhand smoke. I envy you having a job where you work best at foot-odor level.”

The little guy has a point. There are no health warning labels on Odor-Eaters. Some might sniff at this dainty excuse for a canine as a “ladies’ lap dog” but Nose E. has one of the most dangerous assignments around Las Vegas: hanging around the big social events and casinos, using his small but potent sniffer to target illegal drugs and explosives. Usually he is carried around by a hot chick or a big beefy guy like Mr. T who can flatten anyone prone to snicker at a man with a purse pooch.

“So what is up here at the Oasis,” I ask, “besides the million bucks awarded Friday to the gambler of the week?”

“That is chump change.” Nose E. paws at the inner corner of one black button eye, and seeming to stroke the side of his valuable nose like giving the high sign. White breeds have a tendency to eye stains, not a problem for one born to be black and beautiful. “The management is concerned about explosive traces in the casino.”

“This place could blow?” I cannot help sounding alarmed. “You are investigating the pirate ship attraction on the cove?”

“Not in the assignment. I am not as credible in the great outdoors as you are, Louie. No, my beat is the casino. I am picking up very faint traces, meriting only a muttered whimper, not a full-blown aria of alarm accompanied by a paw lift and head tilt, which signals imminent danger.”

“Manx! Are you a prima donna or a narc?”

“A bit of both,” Nose E. growls. “It is a very specialized position.”