Excerpt: Codename: Explorer

Felix is waiting for us when we get in the house. “Gabriel!” Sil says, and she scoops the cat up. The little inky traitor purrs and snuggles against her.

“His name is Felix,” I say.

“It’s a stupid name for a cat,” Sil informs me. “I like Gabriel so much better. Besides, I’m a cat whisperer, and he’s told me his name is Gabriel. Also? He doesn’t like the new litter. It hurts his paws. Could you go back to the other stuff, please?”

I stare at the pair of them, then shrug. “Sure. I’ll be sure and tell Alan to pick some up for him.”

“About that,” Sil says, holding up a hand. She’s still got the cat cradled against her. “Gabriel isn’t sure he wants to stay with Alan.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“Well, he doesn’t know Alan, for one thing.”

“He doesn’t know you either, Sil, but he seems fine.”

“Of course he knows me!” Sil says, smiling brightly. “I wrote him. He’s modeled after one of my cats.”

I roll my eyes. “I think you’re making up what he says.”

She gets that impish look again and says to me, “Fine. Gabriel?”

The cat turns to look at me for a long moment, then says, “I do think you ought to consult me about my caretaker while you’re away.” My cat sounds British. I am losing my mind. Maybe I have a brain tumor? That would explain pretty much everything. Or maybe I’m on drugs and this is a bad trip? Maybe someone slipped me something?

Sil pets the cat. “Good kitty,” she says, and the damned cat purrs!

“Is my cat British?” I ask, like an idiot.

Sil smiles. “No, of course not. He just sounds that way. I think it adds to his natural charisma, don’t you? And most cats probably sound British. I’ve always thought so.”

Why do I ask her questions, anyway? The answers always come out so garbled. I might as well be asking the cat. Hmm, now there’s an idea... “Cat... Er, Gabriel?”

The cat looks at me, almost politely disinterested. “Yes?” he asks, and it’s a single, drawn out word that sounds like it has four syllables, easy.

“Um. Why don’t you want to go stay with Alan? He’s a nice man. He takes care of Boots.”

“Boots is such a stupid name for a grown man,” my cat informs me. “I’ve never understood why you call him that.”

“Because of his cowboy boots?” I say.

“Are you asking me why?” the cat asks.

“No,” I say. “I’m telling you why.”

“It sounded like a question to me,” the cat informs me. He tilts his head so that it’s resting under Sil’s chin, one ear against her chest and the other pointed at me. He’s making a silly, Cheshire cat face. I’ve always loved it when he did that, but now it’s creepy. “I could stay with the neighbors.”

“Come on,” I say. “They’re not going to be as easygoing about a talking cat as I’ve been.”

“How do you know?” Gabriel asks me. “And anyway, I wouldn’t talk over there. I can only talk when Sil’s around.”

I almost sag in relief. Sil raises her eyebrows at my expression. “They don’t talk all the time,” she says to me. “I wish mine could talk, though. Sometimes.” She smirks. “The rest of the time, they don’t need to. I get what they’re saying, loud and clear.” She pauses. “Now dogs... they’re another matter.”

“I don’t have a dog,” I say automatically.

“I know,” she says. “A cat was easier to explain, since they need a lot less care. A dog would be pooping all over your house while you were away for weeks on end. Even poor Gabriel suffers because of it. You don’t clean his litter box near often enough.”

“He gets to go outside,” I protest.

“And under your bed,” Gabriel adds with a self satisfied smirk that only a cat could pull off. I’m suddenly very worried about the space under my bed.

“Er,” I say, “thanks for the information, Gabriel. I’ll be sure and use a broom to clean under there. And some gloves. And a lot of disinfectant.”

Gabriel chuckles. “She’s paranoid, isn’t she?” he asks Sil.

“Definitely,” Sil agrees.

“I have no idea why I’m so paranoid,” I tell the pair of them, “but oh, maybe it has something to do with the fact that a random author showed up in my car and I just found out I have a TALKING CAT!” The last two words come out in a screech. I’m gratified to see the pair of them are no longer looking so smug.

“Really,” Gabriel says, in that British accent of his, “there’s no need to shout. We’re aware of the situation.”