The Tangled Tango: Part 4

Even a cat who has walked the Earth since the time of Pharaoh Siamun can learn too much, as I did four weeks ago. Since then, I've entered Josie's office every Sunday night to write my journal. And every night, I've been unable to tap words into meaning. All I could do was sit on her computer in the darkness, licking my psychic wounds. I was alone in my thoughts, but I could not walk alone in the world, not with the minions of Lususnaturae free. It has now been a month and the Cat's Cradle crew and I have traveled far. Perhaps even far enough for me to look back and start writing clearly again.

In my last entry, Uthopia had just run out of the Dancing with Karen studio and Boris had stopped my pursuit, reminding me that Hyaline was our quarry.

"Hyaline is not here, Boris," I answered dully.

His distinguished gray face was expectant, but I could not tell him more. I had finally read all the scent data processed by my Sherlock organ and the conclusion was gutting all comprehension.

When I first walked into the Dancing with Karen 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, 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. I was no longer able to protect Uthopia from my suspicious nature; scores of suppressed questions rushed to reopen the Sherlock organ.

At first, I relived Uthopia's bright and genuine happiness at seeing me. I could have stayed there forever, but suspicion clawed 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. Encouraged by success, suspicion pressed my face into the sharp, odorous ire of a molly scorned, and it took my breath away.

"Brumous, where is Hyaline?" Boris asked, his eyes narrow and suspicion brushing his whiskers forward.

"Take Sheena home," I gasped, "Get Brie and Casseopeia. Now."

"And return here?"

"Yes - but just the three of you."

As Boris loped out the door with Sheena, she gave me a soft look. It was that twelfth sense of mollys: she didn't know what she knew, but she knew. I scanned the cat H.A.T.S. clowder as they diligently continued their search, despite the growing suspicion that Hyaline was not in the room. Confirmation would have to wait. The next step could not be taken until Sheena was safely home. Even as that decision returns to life on this page, I get a whiff of the madness that compelled it.

© Silver Cat Works