blue disc to unclick it from the cylinder again.
Her hands were sticky with sweat, her fingers felt awkward and clumsy, and it happened so that instead of one disk two clicked off the cylinder – the blue one and the yellow one.
A bright green beam shot out of the cylinder, stretched across the room like a taut thin line and hit the armchair in the corner by the floorlamp. One second later, the chair… vanished. That is, Allie thought so at first. Only later, when, panic-stricken, she placed the disks back and the beam disappeared, she saw next to the floorlamp a tiny little toy chair – an exact copy of the big one that had just been there. Now it was only fit for the smallest of Allie’s dolls. Allie just shook her head and cautiously turned the cylinder in her hands, checking it around. Then, very slowly and carefully, she managed to pull off just the blue disk. Lu stirred and sat up. Then she turned her head from side to side, moved her arms and legs and finally looked at Allie and said in a stern voice:
“You might want to be careful next time. Try not to do that again, OK?”
Allie assured her that she would never-ever do that again. More than that, she suggested that Lu should keep the cylinder. The little zipped pocket on Lu’s overalls would be perfect for that. It was just the right size. The suggestion was accepted, and the cylinder was moved to Lu’s pocket.
“Well,” mused the cat as he touched the little chair with his paw, “it would be nice to have a manual for this toy. I mean the cylinder.”
“Well, then why don’t you go find it, Lemonade?” said Lu. It’s time for you to go scouting.”
“I believe it is,” agreed the cat. “I’m going then.”
“Be careful out there,” Allie petted his head and scratched behind his ear.
“Listen, Lemonade,” the monkey said suddenly, “you never told us your story. How come you can talk now?”
“What is there to tell? Always been a cat, just a smart one. I’ve always been able to talk, it’s just no one could hear me.”
With a shot of his green eyes, Lemonade made his way to the door.
***
A large tiger-striped cat slowly walked into the sunlit courtyard. Squeamishly making his way around the puddles, he headed toward the playground where some young moms were watching their kids. After he picked a good spot, Lemonade (it was, of course, him) made himself comfortable on the bench, drawing all his paws under his belly. He looked as content as could be, and an unsuspecting observer could have easily have thought that the cat had fallen asleep in the warm sun. But that person would be far from the truth. Lemonade’s eyes were indeed almost closed, but he had an excellent view of everything that was going on around him. So, when Jean emerged from the building and left for her usual morning rounds, the cat got up, stretched, jumped off the bench and slowly ran off in the opposite direction, as if on his own feline business.
Jean lived on the first floor. Both of her windows faced the courtyard, so Lemonade had no trouble picking the right moment to jump through the open one into her house.
The interior of the apartment puzzled the cat. To tell the truth, he had expected to see a dark dingy room overrun with cobwebs, perhaps a hearth and a boiling cauldron with some magic potion in it. Nothing of the sort. The studio apartment was unexpectedly spacious on the inside and very tastefully, and even elegantly, furnished. He saw massive polished dark-wood furniture that was clearly not from a regular furniture store. Lemonade was especially surprised to see the high-tech electronic gadgets around the room. He was even doubtful whether it was the right apartment, but, thinking about it, decided there could be no mistake. He was also surprised to see the heavy dark-green velvet drapes on the windows that made the room dim, almost dark. Lemonade could have sworn that from the outside it looked like the windows were covered with light tulle curtains. However, the darkness didn’t bother the cat, quite the opposite.
Lemonade began with exploring the whole apartment, but didn’t find anything suspicious or interesting. There were no magic books, but even if he’d found some, it was hard to say what he could’ve gotten from them.
Half an hour passed. The mistress of the apartment was supposed to come back soon, and Lemonade decided to look for a good hiding place. He decided to crawl under the couch, which would allow him not only to hear but also see all the happenings. He got under there just in time. It wasn’t two minutes later when the key turned in the front door. Mean Jean was back. She spent a few minutes in the hallway, then there was the noise of running water in the bathroom. In a few more minutes the door opened, and someone entered the room.
Lemonade peeked out cautiously and almost froze to the spot. It wasn’t Mean Jean, or, at least, not the Mean Jean everybody knew. The woman who entered the room was stately, clothed in a long black-and-red dress made from some kind of heavy opalescent fabric. Her long black hair, parted in the middle and braced with a silver diadem, fell on her half-bare shoulders. Silver jewelry shone on her neck and arms.
Lemonade, forgetting caution, peeked out even more in order to get a good look at the woman’s face. It was definitely Jean, although it was hard to recognize her now. She always looked elderly, if not old. No one would dare to call this woman old. There was not a single wrinkle on the strong haughty face. It was even beautiful; no one would call Jean’s face beautiful. But, it was the same person none the less.
The woman sat down in the chair by the coffee table and lit a long brown cigarette. She was smoking with her head thrown back and her eyes half-closed. Sometimes her face twisted into a crooked grin; she even laughed quietly a few times. The laugh sent a shiver down Lemonade’s spine and made his hair stand on end.
A couple of minutes passed. Cigarette smoke filled the dim room, curling into fancy patterns in the air and slowly falling to the floor. A stream of smoke reached Lemonade’s sensitive nose and made it itch intensely. Lemonade covered his nose with his paw and carefully scratched it.
Finally Mean Jean looked at the clock, put out the cigarette and turned on the TV. The newsperson on the screen was reading a long announcement. The woman was sitting upright on the edge of the chair, looking straight at the TV. She was drumming her fingers nervously on the polished surface of the coffee table and threw an impatient glance at the clock from time to time.
Lemonade missed the moment when everything changed; he just felt suddenly that the person on the screen was saying something weird. The cat pricked his ears, trying to catch every word.
“This is the end of our morning program,” the person continued to mumble monotonously. “Please do not forget to turn off your TV set. I repeat: everyone except Corgy, turn off your TVs, or else… I’m going to count to three and then burn everyone’s TVs, except Corgy’s of course. Corgy, Corgy, wake up! I’m here. You need to focus. You seem distracted today.”
The person was saying all of that, looking through the TV screen straight at Jean. She, in her turn, was looking at the screen mesmerized and unblinking; then she shook herself awake and bowed her head.
“Oh master, you are unpredictable as always. You manage to trick me every time,” Mean Jean’s words were clearly flattering.
“Never mind, let’s get down to business,” interrupted the person on the screen.
The picture twisted and blurrred, and then the screen vanished. In its place there was a black hole in the middle of the TV, and behind it there was
