The King had spoken to him, and wanted him to pass along the information to his owner. She in turn would alert other fierce leaders. The troops would be called, the King and all Usbeeceeans saved.
Niles spent a difficult five minutes flipping open the cover on top of the washing machine. He dipped in a paw and pulled out a small, wet article of clothing. He grabbed a folded five-dollar bill in his mouth, and jumped back down, excited, knowing his owner would be so pleased. She wasn’t. His owner did not seem the least bit thrilled to see Niles, and sat up in a rage when her face was draped with a pair of wet panties that had been dragged across the house. She stared at the panties, and the five-dollar bill on her chest, and a chill settled over her.
“Wait a minute,” she said to Niles, who was fleeing.
“Come back.
Really. ”
Niles stopped, and looked at her, thinking, his tail twitching. He didn’t trust her.
“Okay. Truce,” West promised.
“Something’s up. This isn’t just your acting kooky, is it? Come here and tell me.”
Niles knew her tone was honest, and maybe even a little contrite. He walked across the bedroom, and hopped three feet up to the bed, like it was nothing. He sat staring at her as she began to pet him.
“You brought me a pair of panties and money,” she said.
“Mean something?”
His tail twitched, but not enthusiastically.
“Has to do with panties?”
His tail went still.
“Underwear?”
No response.
“Sex?”
He didn’t budge.
“Shit,” she muttered.
“What else? Well, let me retrace this thing, work it like a crime scene. You went to the washing machine, opened the lid, fished this out, it’s wet, and not been in the dryer yet. So what, exactly, did you intend to fetch and then bring to me? Clothes?”
Niles was getting bored.
“Of course not,” West reprimanded herself. Niles could get clothes from anywhere, the chair, the floor. He had gone to a lot of trouble for one pair of panties.
“You went into the laundry,” she said.
Niles twitched.
“Ah, getting warm. Laundry? It that it?”
Niles went crazy, twitching and nuzzling her hand. West next started on the five-dollar bill. It took only two tries to affirm that money was the operative word.
“Laundry money,” West muttered, mystified.
Niles could help her no further, and believed he had carried out his assignment. He jumped off the bed and returned to the kitchen, where water washed out the King’s morning greeting to his faithful subject.
Niles was disappointed, and West was late. She dashed out the door, then dashed back in, having forgotten the most important item, the little box she disconnected from her own telephone. She sped along East Boulevard to South Boulevard, and turned off on Woodlawn. Brazil was wearing a windbreaker with a hood, and waiting in the parking lot, because he did not want her to see his small place with nothing in it.
“Hi,” he said, getting in.
“Sorry I’m late.” She could not look at him.
“My cat’s lost his mind.”
Well, this was certainly starting off well, Brazil dismally realized.
He was thinking about her, and she was thinking about her cat.
“What’s wrong with him?” Brazil asked.
West pulled out of the parking lot as rain sprinkled. Her tires swished over wet streets. Brazil was acting as if nothing had happened. It just went to corroborate her belief that all males were the same. She supposed that his foray through her private possessions was no different than flipping through a magazine full of naked women. A thrill. A passing turn-on like a vibrating motorcycle seat or the right person sitting in your lap when the car was packed with too many passengers.
“He’s just crazy, that’s all,” West said.
“Stares out the window all the time. Drags things out of my washing machine. Bites me. Makes weird yowling noises.”
“This is new and different behavior?” asked Brazil, the psychologist.
“Oh yeah.”
“What kind of yowling sounds?” Brazil went on.
“He goes yowl-y owl-yowl. Then he’s quiet, and does the same thing again. Always three syllables.”