gone.
I figure Hayoo must have come into some money to be able to afford this spiffy place and I try to avoid breaking into a quirrel. It's a bit soon for that. After all, I haven't even sampled the menu yet. I can't let on how impressed I am. I turn around and look into the deuxjamb's eyes. She smiles at me and reaches out to pat me on the head. I let her indulge herself momentarily and even raise my head a little to show her it's okay.
'You are a fatty, aren't you? I think a good diet and some exercise might be in order.'
Oh great, there she goes again, picking on my very special rotundness. I do what any self-respecting feeli would do when offended and lash out. I hook a claw into her cheek and she gives a short squeal and backs away.
Oops, I've drawn blood. I didn't actually mean to do that. It was her, she's the one who moved.
'Ooh you're a naughty girl, aren't you?'
What, you think I'm going to answer you?
'I think some nail clipping might be in order, too, but I guess there's plenty of time for that.'
Wow, I can't believe she's still smiling and she doesn't even seem to realise she's got blood running down her cheek. Now I feel rotten. Guilty even. I try to give her a sympathetic look but I suspect that to her I just look like I've got wind. She bends down to pick up my carrier and backs out the gate.
'I'll just leave you to settle in then, girl,' she says quite cheerfully. And off she goes.
I stay on the top shelf and survey my surroundings for a bit. I can't actually see all that much except for the pens across the way. Directly opposite I can see a svelte grey feeli pacing up and down. She does a sort of pirouette before each turn. I can't figure out if she's bored or if she's practicing something.
'Hey there, watcha doing?' I ask her affably. She takes a look at me and smiles but doesn't answer. Must be a snob I figure.
'She's Russian, silly, she doesn't speak English; at least not much,' says the fluffy black number in the pen next to her. 'She thinks she's a ballerina. At least that's what we think she thinks; either that or an acrobat or gymnast. Y'know these Russians are always athletic, serious and single-minded. She only came in last night and none of us has figured her out yet. Anyhow, I'm Maharani Shani, but my deuxjambs call me Taya. What's your name?'
'I'm Juno, but I get called Megsy.'
"Hmmph and they wonder why we don't come when they call us. I mean you couldn't ever confuse Megsy with Juno, or Taya with Maharani Shani.'
'That's for sure. So how long're you in for?'
'Just a week. I came in last night, too. But I've been here before so I know what to expect. It's pretty good, really. You been here before?'
'No. I've only been to alCATraz, which was really horrible compared to this.'
'Yeah, I've heard that. Hey Rocky, you've been to alCATraz haven't you?'
'Yeah,' says a deep throaty voice a few pens down. 'Terrible place, really terrible. Literally no room to swing a- well, you know.'
'Yeah I was there for a weekend once,' a squeaky voice pipes up. 'I spent the whole time with my head in my armpit just hoping and praying it'd be over soon. I gave my owners the real cold shoulder for a few days after that ordeal, so I think they must have got the hint. I just knew this place was going to be better the minute we came in the front door. I'm Roger by the way, I'm the teezee in 17.'
'Hi Roger. You're still pretty young, I'm guessing.'
'Yep, just four months old. And yeah I know my voice is still a bit squeaky, but yours would be too if you'd just had your notties cut off.'
'Oh you poor boy. Is it still sore?' I ask.
'Nah, I'm tough.'
'He's not really, you know,' whispers Maharani Shani. 'He cries himself to sleep at night'.
'I do not,' Roger splutters.
'You do too, lad,' says Rocky in his gravelly voice. 'But hey, that's what all wussy pussies do.'
'Don't be so mean,' an even deeper voice says. 'The poor lad's just homesick that's all. Even the best of us get homesick. Hi there Juno, I'm Daniel Coon.'
'But we all just call him Big Dan,' Rocky says. 'He's a Maine Coon you know, so of course being American means he's big, and I mean reeaal big. I thought I was big until I met Big Dan.'
I realise I'm having trouble hearing what they're saying because of the incessant siren blaring. 'What's with that really arrgarg siren?' I ask.
Maharani tips her head to the side as though she doesn't understand. 'Sire… oh siren. Ha ha. That's not a siren, that's Juniper. Hopefully she'll shut up soon. She goes off every time someone comes in. It is really arrgarg isn't it?'
I jump down from the shelf onto the ramp and then to the floor and, as I do so, I catch Maharani trying to stifle a giggle.
'What are you laughing at then?' I ask, eyeballing her.
She titters. 'You just looked so funny when you did that; what with all that flab flopping around, I thought you were going to trip over yourself.'
'Yeah, well you're no anorexic either.'
'Maybe, but at least my belly's not dragging on the floor. Boy do you need some exercise or something. You'd better join us girls after catnap hour then.'
'After catnap? Why what happens then?'
'You name it: catisthenics, aerobics, line dancing, singing, drama. Or Red and Mars sometimes run tai chi or tae kwon do classes. It just depends on the expertise of who's in here. You now, everyone has a talent to share,' Maharani answers.
'Who are Red and Mars?'
'Huh, oh sorry Thai and Tao I mean.'
'Why do you call them Red and Mars?'
Maharani looks across to the two Siamese and shrugs. 'Can I tell her guys?'
'If you have to, we know you will anyway,' they reply in unison.
'It comes from their breeder's names.'
'What's a breeder's name?'
'It's the name a breeder gives to pedigree kisskies and it's usually a real mouthful.'
'What's a pedigree kisskie? I haven't heard of those.'
I hear Big Dan clear his throat. 'Maybe I could explain that. A pedigree relates to a kisskie's ancatsors and whether they're good specimens of the specific characteristics of the breed.'
'Uh huh, so how do you find out about your pedigree? I'd like to know about mine.'
Maharani, Red, Mars and Rocky all crack up laughing.
'What, what?' I ask impatiently.
'You're not an ecsotique, so you don't have a pedigree,'
