The Tangled Tango: Part 1

Today Harrisonburg is cradled in a thick blanket of immaculate white snow. At least that's what humans think. But when sunlight hits snow, millions of transparent ice crystals shatter the beams into zillions of colorful photons that dart in every direction. The three primary color receptors in human eyes record all the reds, blues and yellows in equal amounts, so human brains level the chaos into pristine white. But Selafaine eyes from the fourth dimension, the transparent world, can't do that. To Hyaloid and Hyaline, the kaleidoscopic explosion is blindingly colorful. To protect their sensitive eyes, they've hidden inside. And we know where.

Recently the Dancing with Karen studio down the street started offering midnight tango lessons for felines. It's an outgrowth of H.A.T.S – the Harrisonburg Argentine Tango Society - and it's become quite a hit with the young ladies at the Cat's Cradle Adoption Center. Ella, Juliet and Bess are regulars, and the other night Juliet talked her brother into going, because Buzzy made such a dashing escort in his tuxedo markings. Buzzy, however, was not quite so happy about the whole thing and asked Brie to chaperone.

And again it was Brie of the tanzanite eyes who first saw Hyaloid. The shape-shifter had iced over the mirrors to watch the dancers, spreading himself to cell-thin invisibility. The following night, Sheena signed up for the class and confirmed the minute distortion in the mirrors as characteristic of Hyaloid.

It was a surprising move, hiding in a roomful of cats. Even though tangoing felines are not the most alert of clowders, the shape-shifter would never have risked such a thing had he known we were aware of his arrival in Harrisonburg. He was confident in his skills and was using them to spy on us. That put the element of surprise on our side.

When Boris and I arrived the following night, it was almost half past midnight and the class was well underway. Stunning mollys and stalwart toms slinked across the floor with flashing eyes. As I stood in the doorway, the room swelled with the heartbreaking bandoneón of Adios Nonino, a nostalgic reminder of my time in Argentina. Sheena flashed in front of me, gliding across the floor with a burly gray tiger. As a Manx, she had to finesse an alternative to the gancho-tail-step so popular among felines, and she did it beautifully.

Then I saw the instructor and my heart lurched. Of all the dance joints in all the towns in all the world, she slinks into mine. It was Uthopia, the magnificent molly who first taught me to tango in Buenos Aires. As I stood riven in the doorway, she glanced over and I heard her little trill of surprise. So did the entire class. A cat with my age and experience doesn't blush easily, but in that moment, I was grateful for the blessing of fur.

She came 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 purred.

© Silver Cat Works

The First Crew

We cats owe our nine lives to more than just our ability as escape artists. We have nine lives because when we dream, we are the guardians at the nine inter-dimensional gates. It has always been so. It is why the Egyptians, who were a highly evolved people, worshipped us. And that is why Pharaoh Siam gave me an infinite number of lives.

Allow me to introduce myself. I am Brumous Siam and as I told you last week, I am not a good cat. I am too fond of catnip and mollys. You will not find me curled up next to your fireplace or artfully arranged on your cushions. You will not feel me rub against your leg or hear me purr in your lap. But you will enjoy all these things with other cats because I make it possible.

Which is why I have been called to Harrisonburg. The bladed crystal suzerain of the fourth dimension is coming here. Lususnaturae of Selafaine, the colorless world, aches for the richness, the dazzling chroma of our world. And he will have it, unless I stop him.

To that end, I am gathering my crew from the fine clowder at the Cat's Cradle. Boris, the grey ghost, had a rough time of it as a lad, but he's still willing to risk one of his eight remaining lives on this adventure. I take it very seriously when it comes to that. Nine lives can go pretty fast, and no one knows it better than someone who has an infinite number. The lifespan for one is a pawprint for another.

Boris will head my first team and three charming mollys will lend a paw. Casseopeia is a gorgeous silvery-white cat with blue eyes. When she sits in the sun with her tail curled around her front paws and eyes closed, I think of Egypt. But it's her brains we'll be using, for she is a crackerjack linguist. It’s the Siamese in her. Sheena is a little manx minx with calico camo, perfect for undercover operations. Brie is a tortoise-and-Siamese mix graced with amazing tanzanite eyes. She has been tragically de-clawed, but it is her powers of observation that we need.

It was Brie who first saw the dimple hidden in the blue sky. It was only a pinpoint but as she watched, there were two nearly invisible pulses in the light around it and she knew: Lususnaturae was making another attempt to wormhole his way into our world. The light shifts were two of his scouts threading their way through the nanotube they have opened between our dimensions.

We have met before, the scouts and I. Hyaline is a polished operator, but completely degenerate. To listen to her is to skate with razor blades on a dangerously thin shell of deception. Hyaloid is a shape-shifter. His favorite disguise is to ice himself over an object or another living being, even a human eye. And if you were his victim, you would neither see nor feel him. Only the superior oculus of an experienced cat can catch the minute change he causes in the refraction of light.

The Hyal twins are here to make the wormhole large enough to accommodate the suzerain of Selafaine, a job that will take many months. But unlike Lususnaturae, the twins do not love our world. We are fortunate to have these days of constant rain and gray skies because the watery heavens remind them of Selafaine. Homesick Hyaline will be unable to resist swimming unseen in swollen creeks and rivulets, while wistful Hyaloid will play among you as a shower of raindrops or a puddle in the sidewalk. While they play, we will practice, and when the sun restores their visibility, we will be ready.

Brumous Siam: The Beginning

"There are times when a wide and silver moon rises above banks of iron clouds to illume their churning edges with lambent pearls…nights like that are, as any feline knows, the calling card for Brumous Siam."

It was my howl that inspired Allan Ginsburg. It was my grin Lewis Carroll drew on the Cheshire cat. It was my purr that moved Tibetan monks to chant. It was my profile Egyptians worshipped. But these are not the reasons I was called to Harrisonburg.

It began in the time of Pharaoh Siamun when the sun and Sirius rose together on the first day of Dhwt in the year 980 B.C. I was slumbering in my temple when the incense smoke, which had been rising in peaceful columns, suddenly twisted toward the ground as if trying to escape the terrifying shriek that clawed the air. When I saw the humans and dogs acting as if nothing had happened, I knew it was a frequency beyond their capabilities, a creature beyond their perceptions. Something was tearing into our dimension. Nothing was visible, so I opened my mouth to amplify the odors and there it was: the sharp, glassy smell of Lususnaturae.

Lususnaturae of Selofaine, the fourth dimension, the transparent world. To us, it looks as if it were made of glass and water. Smudged memories of color exist at certain angles, but disappear if you look too closely. Even the inter-dimensional barrier is transparent: they can see us. And to them, we are a dazzling, irresistible riot of color. And Lususnaturae, ruler of Selofaine, craves color. He would give up his throne to live here, but it is not allowed. There are beings of other dimensions who can and do immigrate to Earth, but no being from Selofaine is allowed. Their bodies are like crystals bristling with razor sharp edges. And they are large, almost 15 feet wide. Imagine the damage such a bladed creature could do walking down our sidewalks, hiking through our woods or swimming in our waters. Lususnaturae doesn't care. Red is his favorite color.

When he first arrived near my temple in the desert of Egypt, he appeared as a ghostly cloud, a shimmer of brilliance in the wide blue sky. Then he dropped to the desert like a mirage. It took six months, but we sent him back to Selofaine. That is when I discovered my talent, and that is when Pharaoh extended my nine lives to infinite because he knew that Lususnaturae would return.

And now Lususnaturae is coming here. I am gathering my frontline crew from the fine clowder of felines at Cat's Cradle. But your cat will also work with us. The next time you see your kitty sleeping, feet twitching in hot pursuit, don't lull yourself into the tender reflection that he is mousing. He is not. He is guarding your world. And the next time you think your cat is staring at nothing in particular, remember this: it is the duty of all felines to repair the small inter-dimensional leaks that occur almost daily. A simple glare from our magic eyes will do it. But when the leak becomes a flood, the call goes out for Brumous Siam. I am not a good cat. But I am very good at what I do.

Caught in the Act

I promised Freddie I would have this blog up by 9AM this morning and it would have been, too, if Josie hadn't worked so late on the night I was supposed to write it. I don't know what she was thinking. She cut off the storefront lights, headed to the back room, and sat down at my computer for hours!

It wasn't just my blog that was delayed – it was our entire cat business agenda. We are nocturnal, after all. Superb night vision, sensitive hearing, an exquisite sense of smell…you get the picture. The point I'm trying to make here is that for us, it was nerve-racking to be in the glorious dark, yet unable to exercise these primo night skills. Especially at a time when there was so much depending on them.

Ultimately we had to ignore Josie's disregard for protocol (she was, after all, working for us) and get down to cat business, albeit with the utmost silence so that Josie could continue typing away, blissfully unaware of our front-room activities. After a few diligent hours, we agreed to take a feline break and the moment we did, Josie popped out of the back room and flicked on the light!

There I was, balancing on a teeny-weeny ledge heading to Little Man's crate for a bite of kitten chow. It was really embarrassing, but I just wanted some comfort food and it's not as if Little Man cared. He was too busy playing with the other kitties in the window, which, of course, was another complete surprise for Josie since Little Man is usually hiding in his crate. Then she saw the desk drawer kitty, Cassiopeia, lounging in the middle of the floor with a big grin on her face. Why? Because the bashful Velveteen cat was industriously licking the itty-bitty Cinnamon kitty. At that point, Josie just laughed out loud and asked what we'd done with her demure daytime felines.

We all breathed a sigh of relief. Our ploy was working. Even though Josie had caught us in the act, she didn't really know what the act was. Humans aren't very good at keeping secrets and it was important to keep this quiet…until tonight.

Anyway, as soon as Josie left I jumped on the computer while Little Man and the gang dashed back into our preparations. Several nights later, I'm proud to say that we are ready – and just in the nick of time. Because tonight there is a wide and silver moon rising above banks of iron clouds to illume their churning edges with lambent pearls…which is, as any feline knows, the calling card for Brumous Siam. It means that he is due at the stroke of midnight. Suffice it to say that life around here is about to get a lot more exciting in 2010. So from all of us to all of you – have a very Happy New Year!

Home for Christmas!

When I blogged about cat dreams last week, I had no idea my own dream was so close to coming true: I got a forever home!

I'd had my eye on the Cat's Cradle treasurer for sometime, but Peggy was already an eight-cat woman. Getting into her home required some tactical maneuvering. I mean, you have to be super-adorable to become the ninth cat. The first point in my favor was that she had a weakness for longhairs, so I always kept my fur fluffy and soft. But the deciding moment was during the last board meeting when I made my intentions blatantly clear by curling up on her lap for an hour. I guess this proves that the wiggle-worm-of-love approach is irresistible.

One advantage of moving into an eight-cat household is that the human is already so well trained. They have the right food, the right beds, the right toys, and a smattering of cat language skills. You can't expect them to understand all the complexities of the meow dialect, but it's important to have some interactions on a higher cognitive level. It's going to take some time to break in the other cats, but I know they'll be compelled to appreciate my charms eventually.

I got to meet Peggy's family the other night at a Christmas celebration. I was nervous about being around so many new people, but it turns out she comes from a long line of folks who know how to appreciate cats. Good breeding always shows.

The other good news is that my best bud Benny is back at the Adoption Center, much improved after being pampered back to health by Ashton. Now that my own dream has come true, I'm going to put my feline dream skills to work to find Benny a forever home, too.

But before I return to work in what might appear to be a luxurious holiday slumber, Merry Christmas to all – and to all a good cat!

Freddie Returns!

This is Freddie and I want to tell you right off the bat that it is not my fault this update is late. I was going to write as soon as I got back to the Adoption Center but heavens to murgatroid! From the moment I entered the door I couldn't get a moment's peace. The staff was all over me, picking me up, petting me, scratching me, and talking, talking, talking. It was exhausting.

And, of course, they wanted to know everything about my best bud Benny. I told them he sent his purr-regards and would be back as soon as his skin gets better. He's a sensitive fellow, you know, so we have to be extra careful. For now, Josie and the staff will just have to make do with me as the center of their universe. I must say they're doing a pretty good job.

I'm also happy to report that they did an excellent job taking care of the Adoption Center while I was gone – with one glaring exception: no one stepped up to the plate to assume my responsibilities. I know they're only human, but really, they could have made an effort. Was one catnap a day too much to ask?

Okay, I understand that humans don't have as much stamina for sleeping as felines. In fact, it does me proud to say there is not a mammal on this planet that works as hard at sleeping as cats. We are the masters! And for goodness sake don't bring up hibernation. That's practically a coma AND you have to forgo eating AND, well, have you ever tried waking up a hibernating bear? Talk about grouchy. Now when I wake up, I rise and shine, sweetly, daintily, a symphony of luxurious stretches, every move a work of art. One reason is because I know that while I slept, the Adoption Center humans were able to bask in the presence of my majesty. It's what you call a symbiotic relationship, least that's what Benny says.

And believe me, cats don't spend two-thirds of their lives sleeping for nothing. We are very busy in the dream world. I can't tell you any more until Benny returns. He's the studious one and can explain it better. I'll just say this: if we didn't dream so much, this world would be very, very different. Nuff said.

Well, it's time to get back to work. Usually, I put in thirteen to sixteen hours of shuteye a day, but obviously I have some catching up to do so I may go pro for a bit and hit twenty. A cat's gotta do what a cat's gotta do.

Late

The senior management “At the Center with Freddie and Benny” regrets the late appearance of the blog. We were delayed because… um

...we were abducted by aliens who realized that tuxedo cats were the most intelligent life-forms on the planet and wanted us to mediate intergalactic peace efforts and the flying saucer just dropped us off.

No, no, no too crazy. Well, not the ‘most intelligent life-forms’ part. But humans don’t like to be reminded.

…we were trapped in a helium balloon shaped like a flying saucer and went careening across the Midwest.

Been done. Something more local, maybe.

We were hiking on the Appalachian Trail without telling anyone, especially our nearest and dearest, where we are.

Sounds fishy. And not in a delicious way.

…Freddie invaded Rockingham County where the natives hailed him as a god and he could only tear himself away by swearing, paw-on-heart, to return.

Possible.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Oh, hi, Benny. I’m just coming up with a plausible explanation for why our blog is late.”

“Late? Our blog was late? Oh no! It’s a disaster! Call the board! Send all the volunteers to Siberia for cultural reprogramming!”

“I don’t think it’s really any big deal. We say we’re sorry and move on.”

“I don’t think so, Freddie. There’ll be hearings. We may have to resign. Our carriers are in ruins! Oh! I’m panting.”

“Here, use this paper bag!”

“Thanks!”

“I meant to breathe into, not to play with. Oh well, whatever works. Feel better?”

“Yeah. Thanks! Hey, why don’t we tell the truth? Our typist is a bit of a flake.”

“We could, I ‘spose. Honesty being the better part of not having to remember what you said later and all that. There’s just one problem.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“We’d have to get her to type it.”