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On the screen, about a dozen people had taken a seat around the table. At the head of the table an old woman sat, and when I say old I mean ancient. She looked about a hundred, was seated in a wheelchair, and was sucking from an oxygen mask. Behind her stood a sturdy female nurse, administering the oxygen from a bulky tank on wheels.

For the rest there were plenty of men and women in suits, and they all looked very serious and businesslike.

“First off, I think I speak for all of us when I say we’re all deeply shocked and saddened by the tragic death of our friend and founder, Leonidas Flake,” suddenly spoke a man with a natty little mustache and thick-rimmed glasses. He was dressed in a charcoal suit, and his hair was combed neatly back from a high forehead. He now raised a glass of what looked like champagne. “A toast. To the man. The myth. The legend.Monsieur Leonidas Flake.”

Echoes of his words rang out around the table, all those present standing for a moment—except the lady in the wheelchair—and raising their glasses in a salute to Leo Flake.

“I call this meeting to order,” said the chairman. “And I think I speak for all of us when I say that the tragic events have shaken us to the core. Leo’s death came as a shock to me personally, but I think it’s imperative that we carry on. Leo would have wanted the company that he built from scratch to continue and to flourish, even without him.”

“Is it true, Xavier, that Gabe is the culprit?” asked a woman with wavy blond hair.

“It would appear so,” said Xavier, adjusting his glasses. “At least that’s what the police have told me. Gabe has been arrested, and he has been charged.”

Sounds of shock reverberated through the room.

“But why?” asked a well-coiffed older lady. “Why did he do it?”

“A lovers’ tiff?” said Xavier, who seemed to be the one in charge. “A jealous rage? A momentary lapse of sanity? Who knows? I’m sure the police will keep us abreast of the exact circumstances of Leo’s death. The only thing we need to concern ourselves with right now is the appointment of a new president and CEO and figuring out how to take this company into the future. Leonidas was a strong leader. A hands-on leader. And until the very last he designed all of his own collections, with the assistance of a small cadre of minions like myself,” he added with a smile, “but always under his guiding genius. So the first question we need to ask ourselves is this: can we continue existing at the high level of excellence that we have, in the absence of the master couturier?”

For the next half hour or so, a discussion ensued on what, exactly, constituted the Leonidas Flake brand, and if it was possible for anyone to step into the shoes of the master, and provide continuity for a company now officially in crisis. Apparently in the recent past several talented designers had been hired to assist Flake, only to be kicked to the curb by the old master within the space of weeks or sometimes even days. It would appear he’d figured he’d live forever, and hadn’t condoned anyone to take the baton.

The only one who’d come close was this Xavier person—full name Xavier Yesmanicki—who confessed he was more a glorified administrator than a creative genius like Leo Flake. At the end of the discussion, Xavier had assumed the role of president and CEO, and now the conversation turned to the recruitment of fresh talent, either in-house or outside the company, to create the spring collection—the fall collection had been created by Flake.

“This is not very interesting,” said Dooley as the discussion flowed as easily as the champagne.

“No, it’s not,” I said. “And not a word about Pussy.”

“I think they completely forgot about her.”

“Yeah, just like Odelia has completely forgotten about us,” I said with a touch of bitterness. Humans weren’t as trustworthy as I’d always imagined. When push came to shove, they preferred to be surrounded by other humans, not the feline species they professed to love so much.

But then, suddenly, the old lady in the wheelchair piped up. She’d put down the oxygen mask and spoke with a croaky but clear voice.

“You’re all nuts!” she declared, and silence immediately descended upon the room. “Don’t you realize you’re wasting your time? My son decided to leave his entire fortune, and the company he built, to a cat!”

“I don’t think—” Xavier began with a little smile.

“A darn cat! Who cares who the new CEO or president is? From now on, Leo’s cat is in charge! She’s going to sign the paychecks. She’s your boss!”

“But surely a cat can’t run a business,” said the well-coiffed woman.

“Yes, that is simply ludicrous!” said another.

“You’re right! Cats don’t run companies! So my son appointed a guardian for his cat, and so this guardian will effectively run things from now on.”

“Who’s the guardian?” asked one of the suits.

“And how do you know all this?” asked another.