Midnight

I was staying in a cozy place I'd stumbled across. My old friend had gotten himself killed, and I had been on my own for a few weeks, living on whatever I hunted. I didn't mind, I've lived like that before.

It was a store, an older building, recently closed due to a fire. The owners had sold out, and it had been reopened as a flea market. The merchandise consisted of most of the unwanted goods from the cut-rate retail operations on the poor side of town.

It was full of places to hide during the day, and I'm nocturnal by nature. It suited me just fine.

I wasn't used to company. When I woke up to go hunting, the place was closed and deserted. I liked that, too, it made the hunting easier. No odd noises to distract me or startle the game.

So it came as a surprise when I awoke one evening and heard the sound of guitar music. The fidelity was too good for the sounds to be coming from a radio, the glorious highs, the sound of the fingers dragging over the strings occasionally. Someone was in here with me.

I crept out and listened for several minutes. The player was good. Not professional or even close to it, but a talented amateur. I wasn't familiar with what he was playing, but then music isn't my bag.

He stopped and put the instrument down. "Don't stop," I thought, "I was just getting into the mood."

Instantly he jumped to his feet and looked around, peeling back the shadows to reveal what lay hidden. I could see him crouching on the balls of his feet, head turned slightly, eyes darting back and forth. He got up and walked around the room. His movements were quick, but he made very little noise.

"You're very good," I thought. "I can barely hear you moving."

"Who's there?" he asked softly. It wasn't a threat, merely a question. He didn't look aggressive as much as he looked puzzled. "And why do say I'm very good?"

I hadn't made a sound, and I knew he couldn't see me. Just to see what would happen, I thought, "You can hear me?"

"Yes, I can hear you. Show yourself, I won't hurt you."

I didn't respond, and eventually he got tired of the hunt. He sat back down and picked up the guitar, but didn't play it. He caressed it like one might do with a woman.

I suppose I have always been telepathic. As far back as I can recall, I have been able to tell what people are thinking. It has served me well in many ways and situations, but this was the first time anyone ever acted like they could hear my thoughts.

I knew he wouldn't hurt me. He couldn't catch me, either. I decided to trust my instincts and walked out from behind the box I'd been hiding behind, sat down and thought, "OK, here I am. What do you think?"

He stood up again. "I still don't see you. Where are you at?"

I strolled over and jumped up on a box that was a few yards in front of him. "There, is that better? I'm on the box in front of you. Surely you can see me now."

He stared at me for a few seconds and his mouth sagged open. "Close your mouth, you might catch a fly."

His jaws snapped together and he nearly dropped his guitar. He saw me, all right. "You're a cat! A coal black cat!"

"And you're not. That's why I don't play and you do. So what else is new?"

He continued to stare at me. "A telepathic cat. I'll be damned."

"Not unless you commit some serious spiritual infraction and don't repent of it. Frankly, I think you're safe. At least for now."

He laughed long and loud. "Not only telepathic, but quite literate, too. And funny. You're quite a surprise, my friend. How is it you know so much?"

"I've always been telepathic. As to my literacy, I lived for a few years in a library. I learned a lot about a lot of things, but I'm not literate. I can't read, not print anyway. Just minds. You're the first creature I've met who could do it too."

"I guess I've always been able to do it. Only in my case, I learned early not to let it show. My parents would get very upset when I told them what they were thinking. The same was true with my playmates. I got in a lot of fights until I learned to hide my talent. After that, I avoided a lot of fights, and won those that I couldn't avoid. My talent has served me well. By the way, you're the first creature that has ever shown me the same ability."

We talked, or should I say 'communicated', over the next several hours. He told me that he had known I was living in the building when he detected my thoughts, but he thought I was a transient. He soon discovered that I wasn't stealing anything, so it didn't bother him that I stayed there.

"I thought you went out during the day and came back after the store closed. I never dreamed you slept during the day and came out at night to hunt."

"And I didn't know you were anything more than a clerk or maybe a janitor. You hide yourself as well as you play. You could be something greater."

"Like I said, I learned early to 'keep my mouth shut', so to speak. Say, how would you like to have a master? That's not what I mean at all. How would you like to have a friend, someone to feed you and take care of you?"

"I feed myself well, thank you. But I could use a little milk, maybe an egg on occasion. As for becoming friends, I think we're already there."

And so our friendship began.

My new friend's name was Warren Sims. Over the next several weeks, we shared our history. He told me about his childhood and how he'd learned to keep his light under a bushel. I told him about my previous friend and what I knew about his death.

"So he fell in an open grave and broke his neck. And on Halloween Night, too. That's grisley."

"Them's the breaks."

Warren laughed. The bell over the shop door jangled, signalling the entrance of a customer. "Back in a minute," he thought to me.

It was Casper Milquetoast in a tweed jacket, but his mind was a maelstrom of anger and despair. I kept picking up fragments of conversation…

"Yes, sir. Can I show you something special?"

"I'm looking for a present for my wife. What do you have for the kitchen?"

"Midnight, this guy's too much. I'm going to shut down." Warren could close off his mind to others, like turning off a hearing aid. Sometimes I wish I could.

"We don't have a big selection, but I'll show you what we have." Warren led Casper to the shelves that held the housewares.

"Yes, dear. I changed my underwear, too. I combed my hair and brushed my teeth." Grrrrr

Casper looked as peaceful as a sleeping puppy, but he was a volcano. There was something… feline about him. I could feel it.

"Feel free to look around. I'll be at the register if you need me." Warren left the customer looking at some second rate cutlery and came back to the register. He looked at me and shook his head slightly.

"Don't bother coming home if you forget our anniversary again, just go home to momma."

Casper looked things over for a few minutes and finally brought over two boxes which he placed on the counter. "I'll take these two."

Warren rang them up and placed them in a bag. He handed Casper the change. "Thank you. Come back again."

Casper walked out and the noise of his thoughts drifted away. Warren clicked back on. "I'm glad he didn't stay long. That was one angry dude. I couldn't stand to listen to his thoughts."

"I had no choice. What did he buy the sweet wife?"

"A first rate cleaver and a french chef's knife, the best stuff we have in this store. Why do you ask?"

"I think wifey's in for a surprise tonight. She's in trouble, maybe you ought to call her."

"I don't know who he is, he paid cash. I shut down, so I don't know her name, either. Why do you think she's in trouble?"

"I caught something under his thoughts. His wife's little mouse will be a tiger tonight. You've never really seen a tiger until he's out of his cage and looking at you through the grass."

Warren wanted to call the cops, somebody, anybody, but how could he tell them that his cat said…?

Casper made the headlines the next day. What the hell. She had it coming.

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