Cat In A White Tie And Tails

“Speaking of ‘position,’ why are you not—?”

Before I can finish my query, our down-low floor-side confab is joined by a third … I guess I should say … twins.

They are a pair of female feet attired in towering platform spikes that would be a nine on the Lady Gaga Scale. My poor Miss Temple is only a six even at her most extreme. Some are not born for glitter rock ’n’ roll.

Anyway, I have not seen the rest of this babe, but the ladder of leather strings from her toes to well above her ankles is severely challenging to my chaw-and-claw instincts. Ah, leather! So tangy, so pierceable, so … dead prey.

She is obviously Nose E.’s partner on this assignment and an updated clone of Miss Savannah Ashleigh, whose day has come and gone.

This new-model starlet bends down to regard Nose E. “Here you are! Cozying up to the house mascot. Naughty, naughty, boy! That is not your job. Oh. Speaking of jobs, if you had to have a bathroom break, you need only have done the blink-and-arf signal and I would have escorted you to the sward out beside the elephants.”

Bathroom break? I mince backwards. Nose E.’s kind is known to lift, aim, and spray on carpeting like this, whereas my breed is civilized enough to dig our own latrines far from the madding crowd. “House mascot”? What does that mean? I am nobody’s mascot.

She bends down again, no doubt attracted by my movement. “Oh, you lovely thing!”

A small improvement.

Her taloned hands feel my neck. Is this a Jacqueline the Ripper? I try to wriggle away but she is quite … firm.

“You are supposed to have a prize charm on your collar, but you seem to have slipped your collar, you naughty girl!”

What a dim bulb. This woman is twelve on the Savannah Ashleigh meter if she has mistaken Midnight Louie for a girl. And a common collar-wearer! Blasphemy, O Bast, hear me and be avenged.

I show my fangs.

“You must be tired,” she coos. “Such a big yawny-wawny.”

I … am … being … forced to discharge a hair ball onto the carpet like a misbehaving dog. Begone, foul temptress!

By now, thankfully, she has swooped up the unfortunate Nose E. to silicone bosom height. “You naughty, naughty boy. It is off to work we go.”

Nose E. is right. I have the better job.

The pair of stilettos stomps off, damaging the carpet with every steel-heeled step. I hear a hiss behind me and turn to find the object of my quest glaring from under the craps table. Her fabled golden orbs are in full phase, the pupils mere black dagger slits.