Cat in a hot pink Pursuit

part,’ whoever ‘them’ may be. Or just get fixed and forget it.”
    “Easy enough for you to say.”
    “I am proudly neuter. Look at all the angst and time it saves. I would save even more time if my decidedly not-neuter Dad deigned to tell me what case he was working on.”
    “It is not a case. It is a personal matter. My roommate took on this nutso assignment and I have been dragged along like a Hello Kitty purse,” I say, referring to line of feline-themed frivolities for the grade-school set.
    “‘Hello Kitty!’ This is exactly what I say when I am visiting the executive suite at the Crystal Phoenix and happen to spy your puss on the nightly news. If Miss Temple is undercover here, you are way overcover: ‘a passing alley cat who took one look at the lovelies in residence and stayed on to become an unofficial mascot.’ One week it is masquerading as a domestic accessory in Fine Furnishings, and the next week it is scarfing up ‘a lean fish and veggie’ diet on a reality TV show set. You are getting downright decadent in your old age, Pop.”
    “Shhhh,” I hiss, checking for any Persian girls who might be within hearing range. Overhearing such nonsense might give them the wrong idea about my age and carefree lack of encumbrances. “I am not your pop. Murder has been done here. I need discretion more than ever.”
    “Why do you think I am here? That nasty killing is all over local TV.”
    “What? The producers of this shoddy but hot show do not have the juice to squelch bad publicity?”
    “Get with it. Nowadays bad publicity is good publicity. This the era of really cheesy reality, on TV or off of TV. Look at Paris Hilton and Victoria Gotti. Bad is good.”
    “Call me old-fashioned, but I like to think certain standards prevail. Why are the police not shutting this show down?”
    “Why shut it down? The place is already wired from one end to the other, all kosher and everybody signed up to agree to it. They could not legally get a wire tap on a murder scene, but all they have to do here is review the daily footage and stalk the suspects. We should have it so good in our business. At least Midnight Inc. Investigations should have a full complement of staff on the premises. Especially since our prime client is here and in danger.”
    “And that would be?”
    ‘“Your Miss Temple,’ as you are always putting it. You know that she relies upon us for footwork.”
    “Um, me maybe. I do not believe she is aware of your occasional participation.”
    “All the better.” Miss Louise makes my heart sink by nudging me under a shaded bench against the house and sitting down for a long consultation.
    From this vantage point, we watch the humans come and go while I give a running commentary on who is who and who hates whom.
    I learn that Miss Louise is one hundred percent in agreement with my Miss Temple on the vapidity of blondes of either gender. I then twit her on her fondness for Mr. Matt. She swishes her long fluffy train in my face and says that the rare exception always proves the rule, and I had better watch out because her Fancy Feast coupons are on him in the Miss Temple sweepstakes.
    I then defend the suave man of the world, black of hair but pure of heart, and she concedes that she would not kick Mr. Max out of bed if she happened to be in residence there.
    She predicts that my “honeymoon” with Miss Temple cannot last forever, and I should stick to working in the family business because soon that may be all that I have to keep me warm.
    Before I can get my whiskers in a wad at this scenario, a glimpse of Mr. Rafi Nadir’s motorcycle boots passing through on some demeaning errand for Miss Savannah Ashleigh interrupts us.
    Louise recognizes him with just one whiff of leather sole. “Ah. The freelance muscle-about-town. I know you have a soft spot for him because he helped Miss Temple out during a dangerous moment once, but I find him turning up at criminous scenes all too often.”
    “‘Criminous?’ What have you been reading at the Crystal Phoenix while waiting for Chef Song to wave some effete delicacy of Chinese cuisine under your nose? Agatha Christie? Talk about decadent! ‘Criminous.’ That is not PI talk. Are you a house detective or a housecat?”
    “Back off! The lone dude with the lone gun went out with the forty-five. Face it, Pops, it is the age of CSI. You want long words like ‘criminous,’ you should hear what the forensics folks toss around. This dead lady