Cat On A Blue Monday

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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 me--l 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 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 unwante d 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 is--for the first time in my acquaintance with her---out of doors and barefoot.

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