Cat In An Aqua Storm

Listen, I come by my expressional elegance the same way I do my uncanny sense of balance—naturally. Forget all those has-been dudes like Marlowe and Hammer. There is only one Midnight Louie. It is true that I have dozed off over a few tomes in my time and left my marks on a book or two. (I particularly recommend hardcovers. The corners are unsurpassed as a scent deposit site and double as a good muzzle scratcher. Fortunately, my associate author has plenty of those lying about the office library.)

Anyway, these so-called critics are getting my influences all wrong, as usual. Even Miss Carole Nelson Douglas puts it about that my origins blend generic gumshoe with Damon Runyon, Charlie the Tuna (the TV ad huckster, not the comic) and Mrs. Malaprop.

I do not know this Malaprop individual from atom, but I have a bone to pick with this oversized Tuna dude (in fact, I would be delighted to discuss our differences over a long literary lunch—yum-yum). And, speaking of good taste, Mr. Damon Runyon had some admirable trends in that direction regarding the fair sex, so I will accept that comparison. As for the generic gumshoe charge, I do not share Miss Temple Barr’s affection for footwear, whatever the height.

As long as I am on the subject of petty annoyances, someone once accused cat mysteries of being “fatally cute” and even—shudder—fluffy. They have obviously not walked my mean streets. I have not answered to “cute” since Reno Ravioli tried it in nineteen-eighty-seven and has been known as Scarface ever since. Not even little dolls so presume. And nothing has been remotely fatal to me but charm since birth, with the possible exception of Free-to-Be-Feline.

Speaking of little dolls, I am told that the purpose of these mutual “About the Author” assignments is to mention a thing or two about my necessary associate, (I am physically challenged and need a little help in transcription, but she puts it down like I tell her. Period, semicolon, asterisk, et cetera.)

So here is some skinny about Miss Carole Nelson Douglas’s private life, and I am in a unique position to know plenty. (After all, she did find me in the Classified ‘‘Purrsonal" column under “pets.”)