As the bandoneón cried Adios Nonino, moonlight wept through the windows. Her vague, silvery memories of sun-drenched days flashed on the pyramid ears and rhythmically twitching tails of the feline tango class. The scene flickered like a film on the cusp of the grass-green eyes that held my attention. Suffused with Uthopia's scent, my jaw dropped. 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 swayed, I could read the last week of Uthopia's activities with stunning clarity. Her home was close, her route a dull glow in my receptors. She lived alone and she walked alone. I was grateful to detect no tom.
It had been wrenching to leave Uthopia in Buenos Aires but I could not take her. 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 was. Her grass-green eyes blinked inquisitively. I decided 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 was 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 smiled, "I have the same five lives as I had when you left," the last word was almost a sigh, "Brumous."
My name was never so at home as when it slipped through Uthopia's sharp little teeth. Why did hers sound so alien on mine? I tried again.
"Uthopia…" I said with a pang that must have been guilt, "When did you get here?"
"Six months ago."
"It didn't take you long to become the belle of the Dancing with Karen studio."
"Only because the felines in Harrisonburg are so sweet," she said modestly, "Are you here to meet someone?"
"Yes, my friend Boris," I answered smoothly, not wishing to admit that we had been casing her joint.
"Which one is he?"
She scanned her students curiously and that was when we noticed that they were all making a point of not looking at us. I turned back to find Uthopia blushing.
"They wonder about this mysterious cat with their teacher," she murmured with a smile.
"Brumous!" Sheena's howl crashed across the room.
As I bounded over, I could see Sheena's claws just miss the almost invisible sliver of light as it darted under the window. The slippery Hyaloid of Selofaine had made his escape. I pressed my nose to the glass alongside Sheena and we watched him streaking down East Market Street, his trail nothing more than a series of staccato nanoglimmers.
We turned to find Uthopia staring at us, stricken. Seeing the look, Sheena swiveled back to the window before whispering sotto voce.
"Brumous - Hyaline is still here!"
© Silver Cat Works
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