Cat In An Alien X-Ray

“Yeah, yeah, I heard the legend that the Birman’s coat coloring went from white to golden overnight after raiders killed an old temple priest, but the toes of their feet kept the pure white of his soul, and they also got the goddess’s sapphire blue eyes. It is actually quite a tale. I helped an ex-priest survive here tonight, but I do not expect to get white tippytoes out of it, and am glad. That would be a real cleaning problem for a street cat like me.”

Karma sighs. I have never heard a cat sigh like a dog so much. Her eyes grow as sharply blue as Miss Lieutenant Molina’s when she is on the warpath.

“The legends ends,” she intones, “‘Woe to he who brings the end to one of these marvelous beasts, even if he didn’t mean to. He will surely suffer the most cruel torments until the soul he upset has been appeased.’”

“That’s pretty definite, but I have no intention of ending anything about you besides this conversation.”

“Why do you resist the mystical side of life, Louie? Perhaps you do not realize what my breed has survived. Only two Birman cats were alive in Europe at the end of World War Two, Orloff and Xenia.”

“Manx, there must be a lot of cruelly suffering souls for that. News to me, but it definitely sounds like your breed lucked out, since Xenia is obviously a foxy lady and Orloff is definitely a boy’s name.”

She nods graciously. “So our breed has been reborn to thrive and be prized, in the process acquiring a certain mystical cachet.”

“Yeah, my people and me are all after a hidden cache ourselves.”

Karma sighs and dabs a white glove over one ear, as if my words are too, too lowly to penetrate that precious orifice. “The wisdom of catkind is lost on you, Louie, but after the stresses of this night wear off, you may thank me at my customary shrine.”

I would have said, “Well, la-ti-dah to you too,” except that I realize Karma is fading with the lamplight into a mere hint of gold body and white toes, with the blue peepers still bold and beautiful.

“You are addressing my astral projection, poor boy, and if you wish to keep displaying your ignorance, you may do so in person when you return home.”

And out the baby blues go, leaving me talking to myself on a deserted sidewalk as signs of suburban life stir all around me, from front doors opening to collect newspapers, to dogs being let out to water the grass and bark, to garage doors starting to grumble open.