Cat In A Quicksilver Caper

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Lives and Times . . .

I cannot say why I am always hip-deep in dames.

Not that I object to said state.

It is just that I am a noir kind of guy, inside and out. My singing voice is more scat than lyrics, and my personal theme song would have to be “There Is Nothing Like a Dame.”

I admit it. I am a shameless admirer of the female of the species. Any species. Of course, not all females are dames. Some are little dolls, like my petite roommate, Miss Temple Barr.

The difference between dames and little dolls? Dames can take care of themselves, period. Little dolls can take care of themselves also, but they are not averse to letting the male of the species think that they have an occasional role in the Master Plan too.

That is why my Miss Temple and I are perfect roomies. She tolerates my wandering ways. I make myself useful by looking after her without letting her know about it. Call me Muscle in Midnight Black. In our time, we have cracked a few cases too tough for the local fuzz of the human persuasion, law enforcement division. That does not always win either of us popularity contests, but we would rather be right than on the sidelines when something crooked is going down. We share a well-honed sense of justice and long, sharp fingernails.

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