Free Pet Noir by Pati Nagle Page A

impression he’d rather chew glass than sit on a frilly chair drinking tea. Probably he wanted to keep an eye on me. I hoped he would hate every minute.
    â€œThere you go, kid,” said Butch. “You’re presentable at least.”
    He let go and I got up, giving my forepaw a lick. “Thanks, Butch.”
    â€œDon’t mention it. Takes a little practice, learning to get all the hard-to-reach spots. You’re a little young to leave home, aren’tcha?”
    I hadn’t thought about it before. I sat there blinking stupidly.
    â€œWell, never mind. You want me to show you the ropes?”
    â€œRopes?”
    â€œFigure of speech. Show you around the station, I mean. You just got here, right?”
    â€œY-yesterday.”
    â€œC’mon, then.”
    He jumped off the back of the stand, his huge bulk landing silently on the carpeted floor. I glanced toward the humans and saw Tammy happily chattering away, the chief nodding every now and then and looking glazed.
    I slipped down after Butch, trying to be as silent as he’d been. He jerked his head for me to follow and slunk behind a couch, heading deeper into the tea shoppe.
    He moved from couch to chair to a table so low he had to crouch to get under it, all keeping out of sight of Tammy and company. I padded after him, sticking close.
    He paused behind a wing chair covered in floral chintz, the last piece of furniture in the room. A meter-wide gap stood between us and a door which, from the smell of it, seemed to lead to the kitchen.
    Butch gave me a warning glance and then stared intently at the humans at the front of the shoppe. I couldn’t tell what he was watching for, but after a minute he muttered “Go!” and launched himself across the gap.
    I dashed after him, my heart hammering. I expected a burst of yelling from the chief, but Butch’s plan seemed to have worked. We were clear.
    It was indeed a kitchen, full of nice buttery smells. No humans in there at the moment. I glanced hopefully at the counters, but it looked like whoever worked there had done too good a job of cleaning up.
    Butch stopped behind a counter and shook himself. “OK, kid. Come on and have a look at the smoking room. It’s a better hangout than the tea shoppe.”
    â€œDoes the owner mind your coming in?” I asked, following him toward a door at the far end of the kitchen.
    Butch laughed. “You could say she does. She’d rather have me sitting on that stupid stand all day.” He looked over his shoulder at me. “Tammy owns both joints.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œHere we are,” he said, his voice ringing with satisfaction as he paused at another doorway. “Steadly’s Smoking Room.”
    We went into a room that was dark and cozy. A holographic fire flickered in a fireplace surrounded by a half-circle of overstuffed chairs covered in burgundy leather. One of them was occupied by a guy in a dark, business-style clingsuit, reading the paper while he munched on half a roast beef sandwich.
    A plate holding the other half and a pile of French fries sat on a small table next to him. My mouth started watering.
    Butch gave me a wink and led the way, following a random path as if exploring the furniture, but working his way steadily over to that sandwich. I followed, practicing my stealthy slink.
    Butch had a way of rolling his shoulders as he walked that showed off the power in his limbs while conveying a state of watchful ease. I tried to imitate it, not very successfully.
    He came to a stop in front of the guy’s chair and let out one small mew. The human lowered his paper.
    â€œOh, Cuddles. Shouldn’t you be next door?”
    Butch mewed again, giving him the big, green eyes. I put on my cute kitten face, ears perked and eyes wide, and added my mew to Butch’s.
    â€œWell, what have we here?” The guy shoved his newspaper between the seat and the arm of his chair and leaned forward to