THE CASE OF THE TANGLED TANGO
Recently Tabby Tango started offering midnight lessons for felines. It’s become quite a hit with the young mollies around town. Blossom, Juliet and Tress are regulars. On Saturday night, the three kittenish beauties trick Jayne into going because he will make such a dashing escort with his tuxedo markings. Though a brilliant and virile mouser, Jayne is shy and clumsy in social settings. When gentle Sheena sees the giggling group skipping off with their miserable prey, she takes pity and slips alongside the anxious Jayne, purring gentle comfort and counsel. His dilated eyes turn to her in gratitude.
By the time the little group arrives at Tabby Tango, the girls are breathless and laughing. Even Jayne is unable to restrain a lopsided grin as he bursts into the studio surrounded by a bevy of animated mollies. But when the surprisingly strong Tress pulls him onto the dance floor, his grin freezes. It is quite a contrast, the bubbly young molly giggling and wriggling in the stiff arms of the deeply embarrassed Jayne.
The young felines are right about Jayne, Sheena thinks, he is a handsome beast on the dance floor. Underneath that nervous exterior lurks the natural panther grace of a superb tango dancer. She wonders if Tress’s unabashed exuberance will prove contagious and free the big cat from his self-conscious prison. As the couple move across the room in front of the mirrored walls, Sheena suddenly realizes that she is also looking at Hyaloid. The shape-shifter has iced over the mirrors to watch the dancers, spreading himself to cell-thin invisibility.
The Selofainian is right to think that tangoing felines are not the most alert of clowders, but it is still a surprising move to hide in a room full of cats. Hyaloid would never have risked such a thing had he known we are aware of his arrival. He is growing more comfortable in our world, Sheena realizes, more careless. Then she smiles as if enchanted by the dancers.
When Tomtom and I arrive the following night, it is almost half past midnight and the class is well underway. Stunning mollies and stalwart toms are slinking across the floor with flashing eyes. As I stand in the doorway, the room swells with the heartbreaking bandoneón of Adios Nonino, a nostalgic reminder of my time in Argentina. Sheena flashes in front of me, gliding across the floor with a burly gray tiger. As a manx, she has to finesse an alternative to the gaucho-tail-step so popular among felines, and she does it beautifully.
Then I see the instructor and my heart lurches. Of all the dance joints in all the towns in all the world, she pads into mine. It is Uthopia, the magnificent molly who first taught me to tango in Buenos Aires. As I stand riven in the doorway, she glances over and I hear her little trill of surprise. So does the entire class. A cat with my age and experience doesn’t blush easily, but in that moment, I am grateful for the blessing of fur.
She comes toward me, grass-green eyes and a rosy pink nose centered in a delicate triangular face. Uthopia doesn’t so much walk as undulate, her lithe dancer’s body eloquently sheathed in silky black fur and suffused in the intoxicating scent of musk.
“Brumous, is it really you?” she purrs.
Moonlight weeps through the windows
As the bandoneón cries Adios Nonino, moonlight weeps through the windows. Her vague, silvery reflections of sun-drenched days flash on the pyramid ears and rhythmically twitching tails of the feline tango class. The scene flickers on the grass-green eyes that hold my attention, black pupils wide and questioning. Suffused with Uthopia’s scent, my jaw drops. It is the unfortunate side effect of our Jacobson’s organ. Located just behind the front teeth, an open mouth gives the Jacobson a direct line to the nasal cavity. Cats call it the Sherlock organ for its ability to deduce copious amounts of information from microscopic bits of evidence. Even as the music sways, I can read the last week of Uthopia’s activities with stunning clarity. Her home is close, her route a dull glow in my receptors. She lives alone and she walks alone. I am stupidly grateful to detect no tom.
It had been wrenching to leave Uthopia in Buenos Aires, but taking her with me had been inconceivable. Even with my experience, the trip had cost me five lives. Although that is a drop in the bucket to my infinite span, it is more than half of her nine-lifespan. Like many feral felines, she’d already lost several lives in kittenhood. A journey like that could have cost her all that remained.
And yet here she is. Her grass-green eyes blink inquisitively. I decide to store the rest of the scent data and read it later.
“Uthopia.”
“I’m as surprised as you, Brumous. I lost your trail in D.C.” Her accent is a melody sweeter than any bandoneón.
“But how…”
“I knew you had come to the States so I insinuated myself with the first two-legged American accent I could find.”
“And they brought you here…safely?”
She smiles, “I have the same five lives as I had when you left,” the last word is almost a sigh, “Brumous.”
My name is never so at home as when it slips through Uthopia’s sharp little teeth.
“Uthopia…” I say with a pang that must be guilt, “When did you get here?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“It didn’t take you long to become the belle of the Tabby Tango studio.”
“Only because the felines here are so sweet,” she says, “Are you here to meet someone?”
“Yes, my friend Tomtom,” I say, not wishing to admit that we are casing her joint.
“Which one is he?”
She scans her students curiously and that is when we notice that they were all making a point of not looking at us.
“They wonder about this mysterious cat with their teacher,” Uthopia murmurs.
“Brumous!” Sheena’s howl crashes across the room and the entire feline tango class drops into a battery of defensive postures. Fur of every stripe explodes into full-body Mohawks while tanguero hats tilt over dangerously blazing eyes. Some of the younger toms hiss in tense accompaniment to the faint breathing of Piazzolla’s bandoneón solo.
As I bound over, I can see Sheena’s claws just miss the almost invisible sliver of light as it darts under the window. We stare down Main Street as the last nanoglimmer of the Hyal twin twists out of sight. The shape-shifting Selofainian has eluded us.
“I didn’t see Hyaline, Brumous,” Sheena whispers giving me a sidelong glance, “and they are always together. I think she’s still here.”
We turn to find Uthopia staring at us, stricken.
Longhairs should have better manners
We hear a sharp spitting tussle and Tomtom shoulders casually between us, shrugging at my frown.
“Longhairs should have better manners,” he growls, tail twitching.
I turn to see the offended Persian rapidly licking himself, as if such an unmannerly skirmish were utterly beneath his notice, much less his participation. It might have been convincing had it not put him at such odds with the rest of the class. His was the only pair of elliptical eyes that were not staring at the three of us with expectant menace. Most have retracted their fur from red alert, though their backs maintain a brushy warning caution. We have disrupted their fun and they are waiting for a good explanation. I give a sharp, guttural growl and speak.
“That was Hyaloid. Hyaline is here.”
A kittenish calico gasps and looks around with wide eyes.
“Lususnaturae?” demands the burly tiger, who had been dancing with Sheena.
The music drifts to a gypsy singing Tango Notturno in a sultry tremolo purr, but at the mention of the ruler of Selofaine, the chords of love are forgotten. All felines know of Lususnaturae, bladed suzerain of the fourth dimension who grows stronger with each attempt to enter ours.
“Not yet,” I say, “Never if we do our job.”
There is no need for more explanation. The clowder has already begun to prowl around the studio in search of Hyaline. Ears twist at every sound and tails flick as they jostle one another in distracted concentration. I reflect that the midnight Tabby Tango class does not have to dance to exude its powerful grace.
Sheena’s delicate murmur slides into my ear, “Brumous, I think you need to talk to Uthopia.”
In the bitter realization that I’d forgotten the molly who had followed me here from Argentina, my eyes dart around the room until they find her. She is near the door, staring at the floor. Her slender back is toward me and her silky ears tremble with tension. She hears me walk up behind her and raises her head, but refuses to turn around.
“She’s beautiful. And smart,” Uthopia says, twitching her tail in Sheena’s direction, “the little manx.”
“Sweet, too, but she’s not mine, Uthopia. Sheena’s looking for a human home.”
“You can’t expect me to believe that Sheena hasn’t had her choice of homes, Brumous. She’s adorable.”
“There are a lot of homeless cats, Uthopia.”
She faces me abruptly, “And what happened to our home, Brumous? What good was having five lives if you weren’t in them?” She darts out the door.
I want to go after her, but a thick white-gloved paw stops me. Tomtom plants himself in my line of vision, white chest and chin emphasizing his serious gray face.
“We’re here for Hyaline.”
Closing my eyes, I allow the scent data stored earlier to wash over me. A mocking illusion of Uthopia heats my eyelids and for the hundredth time, I consider my infinite lifespan as nothing more than an echo chamber for regrets. I turn back into the studio.
A whiff of madness
Tomtom swiftly moves back in front of me. A cat of few words, he simply fixes his yellow tiger eyes on mine and waits.
“I know where Hyaline is, Tomtom.”
Knowledge is power, but it can also be the excoriating recognition of just how powerless we are. When I first walked into the Tabby Tango studio, the surprise and pleasure of seeing Uthopia had stunned my suspicious nature. I had been suffused with the Proustian scent of her, and inappropriately comforted by the absence of other toms. I’d read what I wanted to read of her perfumed biography, and stored the rest for the day-after-never.
But the day-after-never arrived when she darted out that door with Hyaline artfully woven into the fur of her left hind leg. I hadn’t so much recognized Hyaline as identified the dissonance in the silky fur that I knew so well. At that instant, I can no longer protect Uthopia from my suspicious nature and scores of suppressed questions clamor to open the Sherlock organ. Like a tsunami, the scent data rushes out, pulling me into a toxic brew of anger and darkness that leaves me gasping for air, gutted of all comprehension.
At first, I relive Uthopia’s bright and genuine happiness at seeing me. I could have stayed there forever, but the churning waves of information push me down to the shadowy engine underneath her pleasure. In Buenos Aires I hadn’t just left her with a broken heart, I’d left her humiliated. She had come here for revenge, and when she saw me, she knew it was at hand. Buffeted and bruised by these revelations, I am helpless to resist as my suspicious nature presses my face into the sharp, odorous ire of a molly scorned, and it takes my breath away.
“Brumous,” Tomtom finally spits, impatience brushing his whiskers forward, “Snap out of it.”
“Take Sheena home,” I gasp.
“Why?”
“Because you don’t want her hurt.”
His eyes narrow, “How bad is this?”
“It’s never been worse.”
As they lope out of the studio, Sheena turns back to give me a soft look. It is that twelfth sense of mollies: she doesn’t know what she knows, but she knows she knows it. I turn back to the studio and scan the clowder as they diligently continue their search, despite the growing suspicion that Hyaline is not in the room. Confirmation has to wait. The next step cannot be taken until Sheena is safely home.
Even as that decision returns to life on this page, I get a whiff of the madness that compelled it.
A moebius prison, uncomforted by walls
I howl. A howl stretched thin with the anguish of knowing that I love my worst enemy. An enemy I had created. It had been one year since I ran through the soft shadows of Argentinian moonlight, leaving Uthopia behind. It is true that I did not want to risk her lives on the journey, but there was a deeper reason. By leaving her in the throbbing heat of our romance, she would always be alive to me, a solace in dark, lonely times. Her inevitable death would be a distant abstraction, easily molded into a romantic sigh about the vagaries of time. It would not be the searing pain of a beloved face worn into a haggard mask, sunken eyes peering out from some place I could never go.
Abandoning Uthopia was the less painful choice for me, and I had gilded my cowardice with excuses. But for a creature as proud and passionate as Uthopia, abandonment is a long, hollow word, a moebius prison, uncomforted by walls.
Tomtom returns to the studio and strides toward me, his pupils black and demanding.
“Did you get Sheena home, Tomtom?” I say.
“Yes, she is safe.”
I shake my head, “No one is safe.”
“Does Uthopia hate you so much?”
“Betrayal begets betrayal.”
Tomtom looks at me with hard tiger eyes, “You are not a good cat.”
I consider Tomtom’s big heart. In the peak of his feral life, he had taken in and raised a pair of abandoned kittens. Is it mortality that breeds such kindness?
“No, I am not a good cat,” I say, “But I am good at what I do.”
“Indeed,” Tomtom growls softly, “That remains to be seen.”
He could be right this time. With Uthopia as an ally, Lususnaturae has never been more dangerous, and I have never been more weak.
“I’m waiting,” Tomtom says, “For you to be good at what you do.”
I had never considered failure before, but it is all I can think of now. It is the only way to save Uthopia.
I caught a lovely rat
We follow Uthopia’s scent along the rain-soaked bricks of the downtown mall. It is a dismal weeknight, so human traffic is low and intent on staying dry. Torrents of rain drum their umbrellas with a hard, steady beat that drowns out my anxious heart. We pass a pale man pressed into a doorway, holding his sign like a shield, the word “help” bleeding in the downpour. He watches us warily, gloomy street lights glinting in his eyes.
Tomtom hisses as Mosby suddenly appears like a ghost, his silver-grey fur hardly differentiable from the night fog.
“Got here fast as I could, Tomtom.”
I twinge. Were things so bad that it would take three toms to confront a single molly? I remind myself that it is not just Uthopia we are tracking, it is the Hyal twins. For if Hyaline and Hyaloid open the interdimensional gate, we will not be able to stop the bladed Suzeraine of Selofaine, Lususnaturae, from entering.
The twins do not share Lususnaturae’s desire for our world. Here, their dark senses long for nights like this, when even the glow of neon signs is confined by the heavy mist. But if Lususnaturae were to arrive, these gunmetal streets would run with blood.
Reading the scent-data trail of my Sherlock organ, I run alongside buildings, darting in and out of foyers, closely followed by Tomtom and Mosby. I don’t know if the storm is passing over us or if we are outrunning it, but just as the deluge slows, I am assailed by a familiar odor.
“Here.” I stagger to a clumsy stop. “Uthopia lives here.”
We stand at the entrance to an alley, a gated community of trash cans.
“Hm,” Tomtom mutters as he peers through the bars, “If she lives with a human, it is a homeless human.”
“Hardly the first,” I say, and slide under the iron gate.
As we pad into the pitch-black lane, our pupils open wide, exposing our tapetum lucidums. They reflect and magnify every shred of light in the Stygian alley, throwing shadows into clearly defined shapes. It is then that my peripheral vision sees it, a silhouette watching us from the deep ledge of a window on the second floor.
“Uthopia?”
“Brumous,” she breathes, scanning slitted eyes over Tomtom and Mosby, “I caught a lovely rat,” she gestures at a lifeless form beside her, “But I guess an intimate dinner is out of the question.”
“I don’t think you expected me for dinner.”
“Well, I did think about killing you,” she laughs softly, “Until I remembered that you always come back.”
Another little piece of my heart tears away.
“I suppose I could murder you over and over again,” she purrs thoughtfully, “There would be some satisfaction in that.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Mosby slinking onto the roof of a car, bringing himself closer to Uthopia’s perch. To keep her attention on me, I ask a question that would shame a self-respecting feline.
“Are you so fond of Lususnaturae?”
Uthopia is unruffled, “The bladed Suzeraine has been kind to me. I’ve not lost a single life since we met.”
She smiles, but it does nothing to warm her eyes. Her gaze is so cold that I can almost see her breath as she says, “I lost four lives after meeting you.”
“Four! But you said-“
“I said what you wanted to hear, Brumous,” she coos in a kittenish voice, “It’s almost beautiful, isn’t it, the way lies can erase truth? It makes everything so…tidy. I really feel like I’m starting with a clean slate.”
Her eyes are open, but her gaze is not on this dark alley. Her elliptical pupils are inappropriately thin, barely scratch marks on her grass-green irises. I pray Mosby is close enough to launch now so that he can catch her unawares.
“Of course the most important part Is to make sure you are on the right side of a lie,” Uthopia continues dully. She is quiet for a minute, then her head turns fast and sharp to aim her now-inflamed pupils straight at me, “You know what I mean, Brumous. You don’t want it to stain your fur, so you push the messy pain away. But it has to go somewhere, doesn’t it?”
She holds my gaze until a small sound makes her turn quickly. My heart stops, fearing it is Mosby, but it is the black shape next to her paws that has shifted.
“Oh, Brumous, I almost forgot,” Uthopia giggles, “I caught this for you, a moogie.“
She kicks something to the edge of the window ledge, something limp with four legs but no tail.
I gasp and look at Uthopia. Her grass-green eyes are wide and blazing so bright that even the raindrops hiss at their heat.
“I only have one life left, my love, so I have to be judicious,” she pushes the unconscious Sheena off the ledge.
I dive hard and fast, hoping to break the little manx’s fall. The last thing I hear is Tomtom screaming behind me.
Mosby pulls out a joint of catnip
With the soundtrack of Tomtom’s anguished cry filling my ears, I dive beneath Sheena’s falling body. Suddenly, her small, black figure balloons and rockets sideways, skittering onto the awning above the doorway. Tomtom clambers up the gutter, leaping between brackets and clawing into the soft concrete of the old building. When he reaches the awning, I hear low, guttural growling, then silence.
“Tomtom!” I call, “Is she okay?”
Two heads peek over the edge.
“She’s coming to,” Mosby says, “Drugged.”
“Mosby’s airborne tackle jolted her awake,” Tomtom says.
Relief floods over me. It had been Mosby, his silver-grey fur a shadow among shadows, that had leapt from the roof of the car to grab Sheena midair, his momentum propelling them both onto the awning.
When Sheena recovers enough to walk, we slowly head back to the empty studio. The rain has stopped, but the streets are wet and cold when we pass the pale man again. He has left his doorway and is huddled underneath the thin, reedy branches of a paradise tree in the alley, using his sign as a pillow. His eyes widen as we pass and I wonder if he recognizes this clowder as a slightly larger, more bedraggled version of the one which had passed him earlier.
The midnight tango class had closed long ago, but no one had remembered to turn off the music system. The first lonesome notes of Hugh Laurie playing St. James Infirmary drifts down to the street. By the time we cross the mirrored room, he is midway through the piano intro and I can hear waves of regret and pain crashing against a rocky shore. As we enter the office, Mosby pulls out a joint of catnip. We barely speak as the music slips into something deep and blue, and Hugh begins to sing. I have no doubt that each of us is pondering our own thoughts about the lyrics that almost came true that night.
She was stretched out on a long, white table,
So cold, so sweet, so sweet, so fair
Tomtom passes the joint and I catch a look that shoots from his yellow tiger eyes. If Sheena had been hurt, it was pretty clear I would have lost some lives. In and of itself, that’s no big deal. Basically, I just go to the endless closet and pull out another one. Tomtom, of course, knows that so he would have made sure that I lost them in a most unpleasant and memorable manner. I sigh. In the hands of an angry cat, having infinite lives is most assuredly a liability. Being near death over and over again wreaks havoc on my nerves. But as the music moves into Weed Smoker’s Dream, our tension begins to melt away. It is deeply reassuring to hear that sultry voice urging us to ‘do right’ in naughty, unconventional ways.
Uthopia had dragged Sheena’s unconscious body a long way to get her onto the window ledge, and the little manx was deeply embarrassed at the condition of her coat. It was tangled and chaotic, covered in dirt, grease, and unspeakable things. She has been quietly grooming herself in the empty studio so that by the time she pads into the office, it is as if the night had never happened. Her fur may be a glossy wonder of forgetfulness, but her steely blue eyes remember events very well.
“From now on, there will be no selfless lines like ‘Take Sheena home to keep her safe,'” she says, then looks at Tomtom, “From now on, you go, I go.”
Tomtom glances me with another one of those ferocious tiger looks, “Yes, there was a slight flaw in that line of thinking, quite possibly indicative of a flaw in the thinker.”
Sheena laughs, “More like a hardworking Y chromosome. It got its muscle in the Eocene era, needed it for 40 million years, and now it just can’t figure out when to stop flexing it.”
She shines her eyes on us affectionately, “I love you all, and I thank you, but for your own safety,” she grins, “Don’t you dare bogart that joint, my friends.”
Several hours later, our appetites honed to an exquisite desire, we go out for breakfast. With all the restaurants on the downtown mall, we don’t have to go far before we find a big, healthy mischief of rats dining at their favorite eatery, a trash bin slick with leftovers. Normally two of the juicy creatures would suffice, but tonight we catch one for each of us. Even Sheena ate her entire rodent and is now daintily washing her paws and whiskers.
We had lost a night to fear and regret, but as we head home, the sun is rising, staining the sky with an orange glow and warming our faces with the promise of a new day. And it really will be a new day, because seeing Sheena come so close to death vanquished my guilt about Uthopia. She is making her own choices now, and it is my business to stop her … and nothing under this vibrant sun is going to stop me.
Her tanzanite eyes consumed me like winter starlight
Moxie, a lynx point siamese, leans over the billiard table, intent on strategizing her shot. She loves a challenge, and this is a doozy. For the discerning viewer, her small, dove-grey paws hold the cue stick with an ease that denotes more strength and control than you might expect from such a delicate creature. Certainly the burly tom she is playing is not prepared for what he is about to see. By Max’s estimation, this is a nearly impossible cut shot. The seven ball is on the center of the rail, and the cue ball is to the left of the center spot. Max leans comfortably against the wall, hat tipped over his sly eyes, a small smile moving his whiskers forward in preparation for purring an amiable compliment about how Moxie had almost made the shot, and surely she is one of the best mollies he has ever played. He also plans to get Moxie home later, but that is yet another indicator of how little he knows his opponent.
Tomtom sits watching at a table with Brumous and Sheena. He, too, has an expected outcome, but his purr will be full of praise for his feisty daughter.
Moxie’s face, a small triangle of champagne fur with a fine blush of silver, is a marvel of concentration. Soft grey stripes run from her narrowed eyes, and her little grey-trimmed nose flares. In a flash, she uses a combination of front-paw and back-paw English to shoot her cue ball into number seven, cutting the ball along the rail. She uses a slight draw to create drag and maximize the English, thus reducing the cut angle to slightly more than 90 degrees. Beautifully engineered and executed; the ball shoots off the rail and goes straight into the pocket.
Max does not move. The tilted hat that has hidden his confident expectations now hides the surprise widening his eyes, and shadows the embarrassing blush on his nose.
Moxie puts her cue stick away, gives Max a small salute, and heads toward us. Tomtom stands up and claps as she approaches, and she responds with a winking grin. I, too, am clapping but when she turns to me, her tanzanite eyes consume me like winter starlight. With no preamble, she speaks her mind.
“Let me see if I have this right, Brumous,” Moxie says, “The girlfriend you jilted has joined up with Lususnaturae.”
I nod, unwilling to release words for Moxie’s target practice. Tomtom watches complacently, but his smugness dissipates when Moxie turns to him, “Maybe if you had invited me to this little party, Udopia would-“
“Uthopia-” I say.
Moxie’s tanzanite eyes turn back to me with a cold fire, “Ur..dopia,” she enunciates, emphasizing the first syllable, “Would not have been able to kidnap my sister, drug her, and nearly kill her.”
“Or maybe she would have gotten both of us,” Sheena says softly.
“That would have been way harder, and I’m all for making it way harder for friends of Lususnaturae.”
“So,” Sheena smiles, “I guess you’re in.”
“Seems like you could use the help.”
“Now, now, let’s be fair,” Tomtom says, “Brumous is very good at what he does.”
I sigh. It is so much easier to be a legend around strangers. For them, my exceptional abilities are possible because my failings have never been on display. For my friends, Uthopia has been a failing of epic proportions. But if I’ve learned anything from my infinite lives, I’ve learned patience. Events change us. And next week is going to usher in huge changes for this team.
It’s like being inside a diamond
This is the most dangerous time for Hyaloid and Hyaline. The wormhole is stable, but not yet large enough for Lususnaturae. However, it is perfect for Grimalkin, the ship that will transport my crew. And even though it took the Hyal twins ten weeks to reach this point, it will only take them one more to finish. The time for us to close the gate to Selofaine is now.
“This ship will survive the entrance to a black hole?” Moxie says, scanning the compact, cigar-shaped vessel with a thin, saturn-like ring around the center.
“Black hole?” Tomtom says, “I thought we were traveling through a wormhole.”
“Wormholes need black holes for the spacetime distortion.”
“We’re going to turn into spaghetti,” Tomtom growls.
“Not in Grimalkin.”
“This,” Tomtom looks around the little ship incredulously, “is going to protect us?” He looks skeptically at the thin ring around the center. “It’s wearing a tutu.”
“Grimalkin was built in another time and dimension, the home world of Pharaoh Siamun, and it can survive far more than a black hole.”
Sheena examines the bridge controls, “That explains all the hieroglyphs.”
“Which we can’t read,” the big cat fixes Brumous with his tiger yellow eyes, “What if something happens to you?”
“He’s an endless cat,” Moxie says, “And I’m pretty sure we were all scanned when we came on board.”
“The ship is also scanning your voice prints,” I say, “Because there is one verbal command you can give that she will respond to: Grimalkin, Home.”
“So,” says Moxie, “What will it be like? In the wormhole?”
“Imagine being inside a huge telescope. Our town is on one side, Pellucid, the ruling city of Selofaine, is on the other. As you move forward, you can see Pellucid, but the gravitational lensing will make it spherical, as if you are looking at it through a highly polished crystal ball. If you look to the sides, you will see a series of rings that become more and more dense as they approach our destination. These concentric rings are circularly-distorted, immensely compressed repeats of the same view: Pellucid.”
“And if we look back home?”
“You will see increasingly concentric rings that lead to a spherical view of our town.”
“How come they have wormholes and we don’t?” Moxie says with a whisker of petulance.
“In order to curve spacetime so that it forms a wormhole, you need matter with negative energy density – up to a billion times more than the density of a neutron star. And in order for us to survive a trip through the wormhole, this matter cannot interact with normal matter, nor with electromagnetic radiation. We don’t know of anything in our universe that has these properties. Selofaine does,” I scan their tense faces, reflecting on how consistent it is for felines to be more worried about the trip than the destination, “But I can assure you that our arrival in Selofaine will be far more dangerous than our trip.”
“Except that they won’t see us,” Tomtom says, “I mean isn’t that why we’re wearing these girly suits?”
The mollies twitter. They are all decked in crystal-covered suits, catpacks, and helmets, every square inch paved in what appeared to be glittering rhinestones. It is not an image that suits Tomtom’s testosterone comfort level.
“We do have neutron laser guns, Tomtom,” Sheena says.
Tomtom pulls the sleek, cylindrical weapon out, “It is the only thing that makes this suit bearable. What does it do to a crystal being?
“It’s like dunking them into liquid nitrogen, 320 degrees below zero. Instantly frozen. Whack them and they shatter into millions of bits.”
“Cool.”
“And you will not use it unless I say so, correct?”
Tomtom looks at me reluctantly, “Until you say so.”
“Unless…I say so.”
“That,” Tomtom says.
The mollies giggle. Before Moxie and Sheena, Tomtom had been a loner. To this day, teamwork was as miserable for him as wearing the crystal suit. But he knew that without it, Moxie and Sheena would have lost all their lives, and he would have had no more use for any of his. So even when pride makes him gruff, love and loyalty make him utterly dependable.
“They won’t see Grimalkin,” I say, “It will be on cloak. But outside the ship, without these suits, our colors would make us wildly conspicuous. Remember these suits are camouflage only – they won’t make us invisible.”
“Well, there’s no time like the present,” Moxie grins.
Even though we travel at a sedate, subluminal speed, it only takes a few moments to arrive. As Grimalkin hovers, the great city of Pellucid stretches out below us. It is a glittering matrix of crystalline spires that rise in breathtaking complexities of design, gorgeously complex facets that in the Earthian world of crystallography are only exotic theories.
“Wow,” Sheena breathes, “It’s like being inside a diamond.”
“Only better,” Moxie purrs.
“Now what?” demands Tomtom.
Suddenly the ship lurches. Two Selofainian vessels appear out of nowhere, charging toward us at terrific speed.
“What the-” I say, looking down at the controls, “Cloak is on! How can they see us?”
“They knew we were coming!” Tomtom says.
“They always know Grimalkin is coming,” I say, “But this is the first time they could see it!
It’s was bad enough having to wear a sparkly girly suit
“How can we be visible?” I scan the controls for a clue, “What are they registering?”
The two crystal ships which had been hurtling toward us veer at the last minute and come to a complete stop, hovering effortlessly on either side of Grimalkin.
“Brumous Siam!” an authoritative voice calls through our translator system, “This is Captain Shard. The Suzeraine of Selofaine requests the pleasure of your company. Please follow us.”
“They think you’re alone,” Moxie says, turning her tanzanite eyes to me.
I had not expected Moxie’s mind, supple though it was, to maintain speed in such alien surroundings. I turn on the com.
“I just exited the wormhole, Captain Shard. It will take a moment to adjust my ship for planetary travel.”
There is a slight pause as the my message is translated and sent. The answer leaves no wiggle room, “Sixty seconds and you move, or we fire.”
I turn off the com, “You guys need to jump.”
“What!?” say Tomtom and Sheena.
“Where?” Moxie says.
“Your crystal suits are nearly invisible on Selofaine. You can talk to one another, and no one outside of these suits will hear anything, even if they’re standing right next to you. If you get separated, each suit has a beacon, and they’re all programmed to read one another. The signals are disguised to fit within the natural frequencies of crystals. Someone listening for discrepancies could pick them out, but if Moxie’s right, and they think I’m alone, they won’t know to listen.”
They watch me closely, but none of them move.
“Secure your face shields. Selofainian air is full of nanobots that are programmed to transform all organic matter into crystal.”
Tomtom cringes. It is bad enough having to wear a sparkly girly suit. He does not feel that diamonds are a Tom’s best friend. The idea of turning into one makes his stomach churn.
“Should. If. Think. Lots if room for error here,” Tomtom says.
“Thirty seconds,” I say, “What’s your alternative?”
“Come on guys, how many times do we get a chance to fly?” Moxie laughs.
“How will you explain the open hatch?” Tomtom says.
“Pilot error. Let them think I’m nervous. After all, if I’m captured here … it will be my forever home.”
“We’re not going to let that happen, Brumous,” Sheena says, pulling down her face shield, “We’ll find you.”
“Find the palace. That’s where they’ll dock Grimalkin, and we need Grimalkin to close the wormhole.”
I scanned the trio to make sure their faceshields were secure, and my heart lurches at our predicament. Grimalkin had never been spotted before. It had always been a possibility, and a tremendous amount of preparation had gone into surviving this scenario, but it is rife with unknown perils. I look down at Pellucid and it almost seems to be staring back. Crystal spires jab the air around jagged pools of grey and black, as if prodding for some relief from their colorless world, a refreshing rain of red, red blood.
“Stay together. The thrusters on your suits have to recharge periodically, so use them wisely.”
I open the hatch and hear Tomtom laugh, “Okay youngsters, let’s go see what the inside of a diamond looks like.”
Why don’t cats have wings?
“It feels like we’ve been falling for weeks!” Tomtom is unsure the mollies can hear him over their laughter.
“Less gravity,” Moxie pulls her limbs tight to her sides and aims down.
“Moxie! Slow down!” Tomtom says, “It’ll last longer.”
“Thought you said it was taking too long,” Moxie arches her back and stretches her arms wide to break the dive, “Why don’t cats have wings?”
“At least you’ve got a tail,” Sheena says.
The little manx may be rudderless, but she compensates quite well with deft positioning of her legs. And with Tomtom staying close enough to swoop in if there are any problems, she has the courage thoroughly to enjoy herself. Billions of crystal motes in the atmosphere make it seem as if they are flying in a diamond snowball. But as the soaring spires of Pellucid begin to loom larger and larger below them, the grays and blacks of the colorless city are becoming more strange and ominous to Tomtom.
“There’s a flat area that looks empty,” he points to a smooth expanse between a quintet of twirling spires, “Let’s try landing there.”
“You sure that’s not water?” says Sheena.
“No ripples.”
“No wind,” she counters.
Tomtom shakes his big head, “Still too smooth to be water.”
“Is it even there?” Moxie says, “It’s almost vantablack.”
“Like a black hole,” Sheena says.
“I’ll go first.” Tomtom ignores their mews of concern. He clenches his limbs against his body and aims for the black bulls-eye. When he is about twenty feet above the ground, the thrusters of his suit activate, slowing him down so that he can easily twist and stretch out his paws. As he lands gently on a hard surface, they all hear his sigh of relief, though it is slightly abbreviated when he realizes that despite his glittering diamond suit—not to mention bazillions of microcrystals floating in the air—there is absolutely no reflection on the black surface. He stomps up and down a few times, then calls out.
“Seems okay!”
Sheena lands next, slightly tripping as she skitters to a full stop. Moxie cannot resist adding a few swoops to her landing pattern before falling light as a feather between them.
“That was a good practice run,” the lynx point grins, “But I think we need to go again to be sure.”
“There is something wrong with you, molly,” Tomtom growls.
Moxie and Sheena wink at each other, then close in to squeeze the big tiger in a traditional hug, guaranteed to both embarrass and please their best friend in the whole world.
“Alright, alright,” he says, “Let’s get our bearings so we can rescue Brumous, because he’s so, you know, so good at what he does.”
“Don’t be a meanie,” Sheena purrs, “You look too handsome in your diamond suit to be mean.”
“I look like a rhinestone catboy,” he says.
From the deck of the Grimalkin ship, Brumous can no longer see his crew. Their diamond suits have disappeared, lost in the murmurations of crystal motes that float in the Selofainian atmosphere. When they had been falling, his experienced eyes could see the slight disruption of their path, like a barely perceptible comet’s tail. When that disappeared, he knew they had landed and it was safe to turn his attention back to the two Selofainian ships.
“The Grimalkin is ready, Captain Shard.”
“Very good, Captain Brumous. Follow me to the glorious Suzeraine Lususnaturae.”
All the guest rooms are full but he has some lovely oubliettes
“This may not have been our best choice,” Tomtom says.
Moxie and Sheena follow his look and see something glimmering toward them at a disturbingly fast rate. Even at a distance, they can see it is enormous.
“Oh my Bastet,” Sheena says, “Lususnasturae.”
“How can he see us?” Tomtom says.
“Hello, my darlings,” a familiar voice purrs.
“Uthopia?” Sheena scans the galactic mass to discern a smaller feline-shaped nebula gracefully swaying in front of Lususnaturae and his guard.
“Do you like my new look?”
At first glance, it seems Uthopia is dressed in a sleeker, more sophisticated version of their diamond suits. But as she draws nearer, it is clear that Uthopia does not have on a suit at all.
Her colorless eyes sparkle as she laughs, “Beautiful, am I not?”
“You’ve been breathing the air.”
“Well yes,” Uthopia says, “My, aren’t you observant … Moxie, isn’t it?”
“But Uthopia, you can never come home,” Sheena says.
“This is home, darling,” Uthopia stretches out a delicate paw admiring it as if it were a new diamond glove, “Unfortunately, my transition is not quite complete,” she observes as her keratin claws shoot out, “Which is too bad for you because my eyes and ears are still feline.”
“You’re how they found Grimalkin,” Tomtom says in a low, whispery growl.
Uthopia nods in regal acknowledgement, smiling as she slides her icy gaze to Sheena. Even with her new crystallized face, they can see the look of contempt as she contemplates the little manx.
“I’m so glad you came,” she purrs dangerously.
Tomtom inserts himself between them, “I don’t believe you’re the one we want to talk to.”
Uthopia gives a throaty laugh, “Hi, Tiger. New here? Must be, because I’m the only one you can talk to.”
Uthopia opens her mouth and a high, singing sound surrounds them, like some cross between breaking glass and chalk on blackboard.
When the glittering mass behind her answers, the sound is even more sharp and uncomfortable.
“My Bastet! Is this what passes for language here?” Moxie folds her ears back to muffle the noise.
Tomtom and the mollies turn their faces upward to absorb the full force of the looming Lususnaturae. It is almost impossible. Not because of his enormous size, but because the Suzeraine is not a single shape from one second to the next. Moxie flashes on Duchamp’s Nude Descending a Staircase, and decides that surely Picasso and Braque had been inspired by this dimension when they began the cubist movement.
“My darlings, the glorious Suzeraine Lususnaturae has invited you to his palace. Unfortunately, all the best guest rooms are full, but he has some lovely oubliettes that will be perfect.”
Moxie gives a guttural growl, confirming Tomtom’s suspicion that they are about to be imprisoned.
“We have to pick up another guest. I believe you know him,” Uthopia looks at Sheena meaningfully.
“Brumous and I are only friends,” the little manx says.
“What a coincidence!” Uthopia gives a dazzling smile, “So are we!”
“I seriously doubt you have any friends.”
Uthopia turns her cold attention to Moxie, “And I thought Siamese cats were supposed to be smart.”
Regretting her outburst, Moxie again bites her tongue and watches an ingratiating smile light up Uthopia’s face.
“My apologies, Moxie. I’m going to be an empress soon and I should be kind to my subjects. The truth is, my friends are in such high places, I doubt insignificant felines can even see them. Not clearly anyway. Let’s test that theory, shall we?”
Uthopia looks up at Lususnaturae and issues another piercing trill, quickly followed by his own cacophony. In a mesmerizing shift of shapes, the feline trio is flanked on all sides.
“Now, line up behind the Suzeraine Lususnaturae, glory of Selofaine and soon to be the glory of Earth,” she licks her paw with a glassy tongue, “Or gory, it’s hard to say.”
The feline trio looks around helplessly while Uthopia laughs a crystalline laugh. When she has her fill, she moves in front of one of the shapes, and makes a low rumbling sound that is not quite a purr, not quite a growl.
“You will learn to recognize Lususnaturae, my darlings … once we remove your suits. Now this way, if you don’t mind.”
Hundreds of years and I’m still an idiot
For centuries, Lususnaturae and I have been locked in battle – but this is the first time I’ve actually set paw on Selofaine. As my escort guides me down the corridors of the Suzeraine’s magnificent palace, it is a fascinating validation of all my extrapolations. Only the art is surprising. The crystal sculptures that line the hall on either side are fantastic. Some are exquisitely beautiful, others brutally ugly. It isn’t until we reach the human shape, I know. These are not figments of an artist’s imagination. These are lifeforms from other dimensions. My Bastet, there are hundreds of them. Does Selofaine have visuals on all these dimensions? How many has he destroyed? A sharp prod from his escort sends me marching again.
At last we turn into the great hall. Even if my eyes had not adjusted to the shape-shifting Selofainians, the vibrating figure of Lususnaturae would have been obvious. A massive monitor curves behind him showing the neon lights of Las Vegas, their brilliance muted to a barely perceptible symphony of pastels. With a sharp intake of breath, I also register the crystal suits of my crew.
“Hello, my love,” Uthopia purrs, confident in her glittering coat of diamond-like crystals. She smiles even more contentedly when I am unable to disguise my shock.
“Uthopia – what have you done?”
“Oh,” she trills delightedly, “I’m not done.”
“Why would you choose this?”
“Let me see now,” Uthopia says, “Why would I choose to live hundreds of years?”
Before I can respond, the cacophonous voice of Lususnaturae fills the hall. Uthopia listens but keeps her colorless eyes locked on me.
“The master wants to know why you are here, the silly dear. Humor him, darling.”
“Tell him I came to rescue you.”
Uthopia tilts her head, her whiskers a constellation of micro-flashes. Then she gracefully lifts her triangular face to gaze up at the Selofainian ruler, and fluently translate the answer to his question. He shrieks in in a volley of ear-piercing bleats. Uthopia turns back with a small smile.
“Thank you…for entertaining us.”
“Oh that’s nothing,” Moxie says, “What’s entertaining is watching a catty feline trying to become a citizen of the transparent world.”
Uthopia’s hard crystal eyes look her up and down, “I’m not sure crystal will become you, but you will be a citizen here. And I will be your empress.”
“Empress of the corridor?” Brumous is drowned out by another burst from Lususnaturae. It is clear that the Suzeraine is not happy to be left out of the conversation.
“Uthopia,” Brumous says, “Tell Lususnaturae that I am dazzled by the majesty of his world.”
“Tell him yourself,” she says
“You know I can’t speak Selofainian.”
“You’d think that might have been important in your epic battle.”
“It would have cost me the battle.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps you would have gained a loyal friend.”
When Lususnaturae interrupts this time, even Uthopia has to acknowledge he is angry. The negotiations do not last long. Capturing Brumous is a coup Lususnaturae intends to enjoy for as long as possible. So despite Uthopia’s protestations, their suits will not be removed just yet. Lususnaturae wants Brumous to see him as he enters Earth, and that is only a few days away. Only after that victory will he have their suits removed, one by one, beginning with the crew.
As the guards lead them to their oubliettes, Brumous moves up beside Uthopia.
“You sold yourself so cheaply,” Brumous says.
Her mouth barely opens in a delicate yawn, “I liked it better when you were pretending to rescue me.”
“Have me killed, but let my crew go.”
She stops and motions for the guards to continue with the others.
“No one’s going to be killed, Brumous, and believe me, after Lususnaturae gets to Earth, you’ll be thankful you’re Selofainian.”
“My crew will die if you remove their suits.”
“Do you see me, Brumous?”
“Of course.”
“Then why are you being so willfully obtuse?” she says with genuine wonder, “I am not dead.”
“No, you’re not. You’re dying.”
She laughs, “Look at me, Brumous, I’ve never been more beautiful.”
“You’re the glittering edge of an abyss.”
I ran away from Buenos Aires to escape seeing the molly I loved fade away but now here I am, staring at her ghostly form. How can this be a just reward for my cowardice when it is Uthopia paying the price? Only the barest hint of grass green remains in those luminous eyes, and the blush of her rosy pink nose is so faint it might simply be my imagination.
“It’s my intelligence Lususnaturae appreciates,” Uthopia says, “He depends on me like the pharaoh depended on you.”
“Does he?”
“Is that so hard to believe?” She brushes a cloud of crystal motes off her fur and they shimmer in a fine glow around her. She laughs with delight.
“Tell me again how the transition ends, Uthopia.”
“Metamorphosis, Brumous. This is a metamorphosis.” She pets her shoulder to release another shimmering cloud. “And I want it.”
“How is your vision? Can you still see color?”
Even surrounded by a halo of crystal motes, I can see she is giving me the patient, encouraging look dams give their kittens as they begin to understand meow.
“Lususnaturae explained it all to me beforehand, Brumous. Does that surprise you?”
“Oh I am sure he had a long and detailed explanation.”
“He certainly did.” There is a flash of humor in her crystal eyes. “He covered every little facet in excruciating detail.”
“Like what happens when you are past the point of being able to eat food.”
“I must say life is simpler and more elegant without it. Masticating in public is so unladylike.”
“Then perhaps it is good that the register of your voice is higher. Do you feel more feminine?”
“Soon I will be able to shatter glass. Won’t that be amusing?”
“Except that it is getting more difficult to even open your mouth, isn’t it?”
She pauses as the crystal cloud dissipates.
“Can you jump?”
“For Bastet’s sake,” anger flashes across her face, “Once the metamorphosis is complete-”
“-You will not be able to move at all, Uthopia, so choose your spot in the hall now.”
She stops, staring at the long chain of figures embalmed in crystal.
“How about your hearing, Uthopia? Do you need me to talk in a higher pitch?”
“Stop it, Brumous.” Tears are glistening in her eyes. “Please stop. This is my last life.”
“Then don’t spend it here.”
There is a faint sound of windchimes
“Uthopia, your only chance is to return with us. We can’t reverse this…metamorphosis, but we can stop it.”
She closes her eyes on the funereal hall of crystal prisoners, “There is no escape.”
Gently, I lift her chin to look into those crystal eyes, “As many times as I have battled Lususnaturae, Uthopia, do you really think I don’t have a plan for this? Do you really think I would let him steal Grimalkin knowing he will use it to open the wormhole wider and invade Earth?”
“You didn’t plan to be outwitted.”
“Even an endless cat can be outwitted, Uthopia, which is why there is a failsafe, always a failsafe. If we do not return to Grimalkin in one hour’s time, the ship will detonate. Nothing on Selofaine will survive.”
“You would kill your crew?” Uthopia watches me closely, “Even the little manx?”
“I am not a good cat.”
She pulls back. The look she gives is confused, unreadable. Finally she sighs, “I should have known not to cross ears with an endless cat.” She sits down and curves her tail elegantly around her paws. Even in this ghostly state, Uthopia is the most graceful cat I have ever seen. The noble temple cats of Pharaoh Siamun would take her as one of their own. She raises a paw and as her glassy tongue glides across the crystal fur, there is a faint sound of wind chimes. It is not a cat sound. As if hearing my thoughts, Uthopia stops and looks at me. It comes out before I can think.
“Leaving you was the hardest thing I ever did.”
She bows her head. Is that a purr, I wonder, a warm little purr that survives her wintry crystalline state? I softly rub my cheek against hers and am enchanted by the muted sound of silver bells. When the purr grows stronger, my heart soars. She is still there, the magnificent molly I loved is still there. My voice is husky.
“Come with us, Uthopia.”
“I will be a freak.”
“You will be the most beautiful, the most extraordinary cat on Earth.”
Let’s get the hiss out of here
The night is silent except for the light tapping of Uthopia’s pellucid paws in the corridor. Brumous pads quietly behind her until she stops in front of the oubliette and stares through the invisible door. Tomtom, Moxie, and Sheena look back warily.
“Can you open it?”
The sound she makes can be most closely described as a whistle. Only five notes, and the transparent barrier blinks out of existence.
“What is this,” Moxie demands. Tom pushes her back and comes to the opening, gingerly pushing his paw through. When there is no resistance, he walks out closely followed by the two mollies.
Moxie scans Uthopia and Brumous, “Are we all friends now?” Her voice is pure acid.
“Get your catpacks. We’re going home.”
“Not with her,” TomTom growls.
Sheena softly bumps against the big tiger’s shoulder, “She did just free us.”
“To what end,” Moxie says, “No matter, let’s get on with this little charade. It’s better than being inside that nasty room.” She motors down the corridor, quick and low, tail down. Tomtom slinks up beside her. With a nervous glance at Uthopia, Sheena follows.
“You see?” Uthopia says, “I am a freak.”
“Give it time.”
It is a rare thing for a new cat to be welcomed to a clowder with purrs and catnip. There are always skirmishes and tussles at the start. For now, all we have to do is play our parts to make this work. Tomtom, flanked by Sheena and Moxie, moves quickly through the crystal world. Even the mollies are no longer impressed by its achromatic sparkle. The ghostly Uthopia glides gracefully beside me. It isn’t long before we see a landing field in the distance. There are four ships, but only one is cigar-shaped.
“No guards?”
“No Selofainian would dare cross Lususnaturae,” Uthopia says.
“Really,” Moxie looks her up and down, “Not one single Selofainian?”
“I am not Selofainian,” Uthopia’s voice trails away miserably, “Not on the inside.”
“Go on,” I tell the crew, “I’ll be right behind you.”
They board Grimalkin cautiously. When Uthopia reaches the portal, I block her. “If the ship scans an extra being, the countdown will not stop. Wait til I give the all clear.” I hurry to the deck and find Tomtom, Sheena, and Moxie nervously watching a flashing red light. As soon as I enter, a thin blade of green light glides across us and the flashing red switches off to steady, serene blue.
“We made it!” Tomtom yells, grabbing Sheena and Moxie in a big bear hug, “Now let’s get the hiss out of here!”
Those crystal statues are alive?
“Wait,” Brumous says, “I have to get Uthopia.”
Moxie’s eyes flash and her tail twitches furiously, “Why?”
“She just saved our lives,” the little manx says.
“She tried to kill you, Sheena, twice. How do you know she’s done?” Moxie turns to Brumous, “And when the hiss are you going to get it through your head that your beloved molly chose Lususnaturae? She chose Selofaine.”
“What is it about Uthopia that makes you a fuzzy doormat?” Tomtom moves toward Brumous menacingly.
I look at my angry crew. “Without her, you would still be in the oubliette, Tomtom. And tomorrow, Earth would have been conquered and your suits would have been removed. In a week, maybe two, all of us would have belonged to Lususnaturae. Forever frozen and, for a time, alive.”
“They’re alive? Those crystal statues are alive?”
“At first, yes. They live out their lifespan.”
“Or lose their mind,” Tomtom says.
“Uthopia saved you from that. Do you really wish it for her now?”
“Yes,” Moxie says without hesitation, “But Sheena suffered the most. Let her decide.”
Brumous can see the weight of this on the little manx but even as she trembles, her golden heart is clear and steady.
“We are given nine lives for a reason. To learn. To be better felines. If Uthopia wants to return to Earth, despite knowing that she will be a freak, she must have learned something.”
“How to manipulate us,” Moxie says.
“And if we are to learn,” Sheena says, “We have to open our hearts and give her a chance.”
“Are you sure?” The big tiger is torn by his pride for Sheena, and his fear for all of them.
“I am.”
Surely there are no better cats in all the universe, I think. Even Moxie, whose felid fury is almost boundless, is bound by her love for her clowder.
“I’ll get her.”
Don’t worry your pretty little head
Uthopia enters hesitantly, “Are you sure?”
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Uthopia,” Moxie says, “Brumous says we’ll be fine, unless one of us leaves the ship, of course, or dies. Then, kaboom!”
“Oh,” Uthopia says, her crystal mouth trembling.
“Oh well,” Moxie shrugs her shoulders, “Scat happens.”
“Brumous,” Sheena says looking at the hieroglyph keyboard, “Can you reset it so that our lives are in a little less danger from our own ship?”
“So say you all?”
Three crystalline helmets nod. Everyone is quiet as I key in the code, then lean in for an iris scan.
“Now as long as one of you is alive, Grimalkin will take you home. No matter what.”
“Thank you, Brumous,” Uthopia says, “Or, as they say in Selofainian…” She speaks in the piercing voice of a crystal being and they are instantly surrounded by a cacophony of shrill and bitter bells. The minions of Lususnaturae swarm in.
“Uthopia!”
“Oh my goodness! Darling, whatever did I say?” She turns to Brumous and her voice becomes a sneer, “Talk fast. I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to understand meow.”
“It’s your last life.”
“Said the endless cat,” she spits, “Thank you for letting me complete my transition in the comfort of knowing that you will be by my side.” She purrs viciously and turns to Sheena, “And the darling little moogie will be under my foot.”
I may be an endless cat, Brumous thinks, but her hatred will surely outlive me. How many of the exquisitely beautiful statues in Lususnaturae’s corridor were there because they hid a powerhouse of hatred? And how many of the ugly brutes had been kind, gentle, and easily tricked? Hundreds of years, he thinks, and I’m still an idiot.
“Uthopia, remember who you are.”
A grin tries to inch across her face, “I remember that as a feline, I would only have one life left. I wonder how many lives you will use before you lose your mind? I can’t wait to find out.”
Her next words are in Selofainian and the guards move toward him. Brumous presses a button and the ship fills with vibrating color, instantly blinding and terrifying the minions. Uthopia shrieks and crawls toward the line of crystal beings writhing their way out of the ship.
“I guess with no color around you, save the faint remnants of your own once-glorious palette, you couldn’t really tell that you can no longer tolerate color. Did your close friend forget to tell you that? It’s all part of being a glorious Selofainian, Uthopia,” I pause, heartsick at what I’m about to say, “It’s who you are.”
As soon as all the Selofainians are outside, Tomtom closes the portal. Then all three turn to me, mouths open, Sherlock organs avidly searching.
“Later,” I tell them, “Did you get the crystals?”
“Our catpacks are full. Is it enough?”
“More than enough. Now empty them into the chute – seal the connection carefully! Don’t want any loose crystals floating around when we take these bloody suits off.”
As the ship begins to rise, I look down at the receding Selofainians. The glorious Lususnaturae is so enraged he cannot see or feel the tiny Uthopia clawing her way up his body. You can never really ride the hatred you harness, I think, let alone steer it where you want to go. It always drags you into the abyss. As Grimalkin gains speed, the Selofainians shrink into nearly invisible microbes swimming in a petri dish. I wish that diminishing image would be my only memory, but I know that Uthopia will always haunt me. I should have told her that. It would have been a comfort in her crystal prison to know that she will haunt me all of my endless life. The petri dish winks out of existence.
Let her go, let her go, Bastet bless her
We light candles in the lounge of the Tabby Tango Studio and stretch out on the soft upholstered furniture with our White Russian cocktails.
“I missed your furry faces,” Sheena says, drinking in her friends.
“And color,” says Moxie, “Dazzling, sublime, ravishing color!”
“I hated those stupid crystalline suits,” Tomtom grumbles.
“Yeah, but thank Bastet the crystals in our catpacks worked.”
“That laser was amazing, Brumous! All those crystals diving toward the opening of the wormhole and bang, it’s filled with a solid crystal plug.”
“How can a laser do that?”
“The laser is only the transport. Nanobots are the wizbang.”
“Nanobots were inside the laser light?”
“Yup, until the laser hit the crystals. Then the nanobots spread out and trigger a very particular type of transformation twinning, only on an exponential scale. Bottom line, thousands of crystals meld into one solid crystal hard as nuclear pasta.”
“Nuclear pasta?”
“Basically, it’s the bottom of the crust of a neutron star,” Moxie says while cleaning her claws, “Is the wizbang part of your Pharaoh Siamun inheritance?”
“It is.”
“That must be one hiss of a treasure trove.”
“I still don’t get how a crystal plug stops a crystal being,” Tomtom says.
“Because the plug is the host for a huge amount of neutron radiation, courtesy of the second tier of nanobots.”
“Thank you, Pharaoh Siamun,” Moxie says and spits out a talon sheath.
“It does the same thing to Selofainians as the neutron laser.”
“But,” Moxie says, “Neutron radiation only has a half life of, like, twelve minutes.”
“That’s all we needed.”
“Cutting it pretty close,” Tomtom says, “That explosion was nipping at our heels.”
“That was the plan.” It was scary close, I admit to myself. “What I’d like to know is how you all managed to get enough crystals in such a short time.”
“The thing about crystal beings,” Moxie says, “Is that they look a lot like crystal walls.”
“No,” I say, even though I’m pretty sure that is exactly where this is going to go. Dust to dust and all that.
“Yes,” Tomtom says, “Hit one with the neutron laser and he froze.”
“How do you know it was a he?” Sheena giggles.
“I just figured all the guards were male,” Tomtom says in masculine innocence. He sees Sheena and Moxie share the dreaded look, and quickly tries to talk past the moment.
“The freeze was instantaneous so we just rolled him over to the wall. When the other guards came in, they didn’t seem to notice anything. You know men, right? Just thinking about themselves.”
“Hm,” Moxie looks a Sheena, “A sacrificial save.”
“My favorite kind,” the little manx grins, “Do go on, Tomtom.”
“Or maybe they thought he’d gone on ahead. Anyway, they, uh, locked us in, secured the opening, whatever it was that kept us in the oubliette, and left.”
“And?”
“You’re right about the brittle part,” Sheena says, “One little whack from Tomtom and he splintered into thousands of pieces.”
“It was a big whack, over and over,” Tomtom says, “Still hurts like hell. Pass the catnip.”
Sheena passes him the joint and grins as he takes a big toke, “There, there. All better?”
He leans back in his chair and closes his eyes, “Will be soon.”
“Okay, I’ve waited long enough. I’m going to Sherlock,” Moxie says and opens her mouth. Tomtom and Sheena quickly follow suit. They rush down the time machine of microscopic evidence, past the explosion, sealing the wormhole, securing Grimalkin, escaping the oubliette. They stop when they feel enormous tension flooding Brumous. This is the moment. They are in the hall of crystal statues. Uthopia shimmers among them, tail elegantly curled around her. Brumous is filled with hope as Uthopia raises a paw, her glassy tongue gliding across the crystal fur. There is a faint sound of wind chimes. It is not a cat sound. The three felines close their mouths and return to the present.
“You do speak Selofainian,” Tomtom says.
“Enough to know she was sending a message.”
“I’m sorry, Brumous.”
I turn to the wide-eyed little manx, “And I’m sorry Uthopia was so cruel to you.”
Sheena grins. “Nothing that couldn’t be fixed with a bath. Besides, I have a great clowder.”
“There is no better clowder in the seven known dimensions,” I say, raising my glass, “To all of you!”
I down my drink in one gulp, “Where’s the music? I want more St. James Infirmary.”
We curl up in our chairs as Hugh Laurie’s piano opening washes over us like a dirge. I close my eyes and imagine we are in New Orleans, part of a solemn funeral procession mourning the loss of a magnificent molly. When the piano pauses, a drum softly begins the march that will take us home. A bass dances in and Hugh Laurie begins to sing. On the second verse, a deep growling voice joins in.
Let her go, let her go, Bastet bless her
Wherever she may be
I open my eyes and find tiger eyes laughing under a jaunty tanguero hat.
We can search the seven known dimensions
And never find another cat like you.
He pulls me out of the chair and by the third verse, we are all singing and dancing around the studio. When the song ends, the big tiger reminds us just how dashing he can be by tearing from one end of the studio to the other, leaping across the chairs, and bouncing off the mirrored wall. Rolling out of a somersault, he snags three more tangueros and throws them to us, then stands there grinning as we whistle and cheer.
“We can’t stop now,” Sheena says bouncing over to the music system, “More blues?”
“Anything but tango,” I say.
“Disco!” Tomtom says.
The studio throbs with the Bee Gees’ ‘Stayin Alive’. Someone turns on the disco ball and we are surrounded by brilliant scraps of light in every color imaginable. They soar around the room and we revel in the sheer joy of being alive together. It won’t last forever, Lususnaturae will try again, but isn’t it the transitory nature of joy that makes moments like this so achingly memorable?