Cat on a Blue Monday

Chapter 1 Louie's Dog-day Afternoon I like nothing better than playing the role of sage in the Shade. I am well suited to the part, particularly when I tuck my four limbs underneath meI am the agile type, and double-jointed to boot. Then I let my limeade-green eyes narrow to inscrutable and attractively tilted slits. Just give me a Number One Son and a sackful of fortune-cookie sayings and on a clear day I'll find Judge Crater, or maybe even Jersey Joe Jackson. So here I am, on a dog-day afternoon in August, lounging in the shade of the calla lily stand behind the Circle Ritz condominiums, doing what comes naturally: watching others work while I snooze. My delightful roommate, Miss Temple Barr, is occupied by the pool with Mr. Matt Devine. For once, these two are sensible enough to stand in the shadow of the lone palm tree that dusts the ocean-blue Las Vegas sky while clouds swirl above like schools of succulent albino carp. In fact, this pair is sensibly attired in what look like dust sheets you put on unwanted furniture in abandoned houses, possibly haunted. Normally my little doll takes care of her innate stature problem by balancing on three-inch heels, but today she isfor the first time in my acquaintance with herout of doors and barefoot. She does not act happy about this fact, moving her weight from one narrow tootsie to the other until she reminds me of those shilly-shallying hot-pink neon birds perched atop the front of the Flamingo Hilton like an avian chorus line. I must admit that I prefer a short woman. She has less far to stoop to extend affectionate greetings and thus does it more frequently. Also, being petite, she is less inclined to try to do what I abhor: pick me up. I am not your run-of-the-mill pickup. As for Miss Temple Barr, she finds her own lack of stature a shortcoming, so to speak. Me, I say you see a lot more interesting things closer to the ground and can smell out a rathuman or literalin no time flat. Why do you think Sherlock Holmes was always scrabbling around on his hands and knees looking for clues? Trying to overcome his height handicap, of course, not to mention a genetic predisposition to insufficiency of the sniffer. Right now the ground at Miss Temple and Mr. Matt's end of the pool is not good clue territory, being covered by thick mats, which in turn are covered in an irritatingly bright blue vinyl. I can smell the chemical perfume of pure plastic from here. Obviously, Mr. Matt Devine is about to give Miss Temple Barr a lesson in the ancient and oriental arts of self-defense. This I cannot object to, despite the sloppy dress code and the vinyl mattresses defacing my view and foiling my olfactory skills. My little doll could use some beefing up in the self-confidence concession. Because of the intimate relationship I share with miss Temple Barr, I have seen her sit bold upright in the night, ever since two dudes with ball bearings for knuckles did a number on her in the Goliath Hotel parking ramp a couple of weeks ago. As I Say, I will be snoozing with my usual concentration when she will lift up from the bed linens like a corpse about to take an unauthorized stroll in a horror movie. I awake at the slightest disturbance of the sheets, and cannot recline on wrinkles, being as sensitive in this regard as a princess to a pea. At such times, I smell the slight tang of human sweat, which overpowers even the English lavender-scented dusting powder Miss Temple uses after her bath. (Unlike superior species, she must actually immerse herself in large quantities of water to keep clean; hence the need for powder afterward, so her clothes do not stick to her skin. I am a practicing nudist myself, and have never heard any complaints, especially from discriminating ladies of my kindand others.) Douglas, Carole Nelson is the author of 'Cat on a Blue Monday' with ISBN 9780812534412 and ISBN 0812534417.