Cat In An Alien X-Ray

The front door swung fully open; he recognized the slight groan in one hinge. The house controls were no longer at his fingertips and he couldn’t risk taking his eyes off Kathleen to look down and secure the door.

“What’s really ironic is that her shift was up and they were on their way out when the bomb went off.”

Max suddenly stood in a world without sound, or rather, with only the sound of Kathleen’s soft Irish singsong lilt. “She broke a leg and had multiple lacerations, but the last she saw of Sean Kelly, fine Irish name and lad, he was staggering away with a badly bleeding, almost blinding head wound.”

Thunder crashed somewhere down the hall and echoed in his head, words reverberating, not making sense. Badly bleeding, staggering away.

“Sean is alive?” Max saw himself mouthing from a distance, in one of those slow-moving dreams of utter shock.

“Max!” someone called.

“Kathleen, don’t!” someone else called.

And then he felt a swift lightning strike of pain in his right temple.

Temple?

And faded to black.

Chapter 50

Night Stalkers

Am I slicker when I am on a running streak than wet tar!

I race through the Goliath down to the entry, happy to see Mr. Matt’s very tailable blond head bypassing the main exit for the route to the big outside parking lots. After that, it is easy for me to ease unseen around the base of gaming tables and out into what is left of the night.

I am Louie-on-the-spot to eel inside the Jaguar by the last hairs on my second loftiest member and settle down for a smooth glide into my home plate, the Circle Ritz. My tootsies have done all the walking tonight, and they are aching for a time-out.

Mr. Matt Devine is obviously disturbed by his shock-and-awe moments with Miss Kitty the Cutter. I say, sock it to her! But being a kinder, gentler soul than the average thug, he is making penitential murmurs to a higher power.

I have never found making penitential murmurs to Bast too productive. To the contrary. Being a female goddess, she likes her subjects to scrap and scratch and bring her sacrificial prey in her honor.

Anyway, I have long been out of the Great Black Hunter game and am longing to sprint up the palm tree when we arrive home for some world-class snuggling and snoozing before dawn.

In not too long, the Jaguar pulls into its home lot. I crouch behind the driver’s seat to leap out at the first crack of the steel door, or whatever they are making cars out of these days, but the door remains shut. Come on! I need some shut-eye tonight.

I hear the automatic hiss of the driver’s side window going down and pounding footsteps heading our way.

I immediately assume flat-belly posture, ears down and eyelids at half-mast to better blend with the dark carpeting. (I certainly do not want my glittering greens to betray my presence.)

“Temple!” Mr. Matt says, sounding both relieved and perturbed.

She is breathless to see him herself. “Haven’t you checked your cell phone lately?” is her lovesick greeting.