Emily and her tail have been known to have their differences. Early this morning, while Emily was still in a deep slumber, her tail developed a few radical ideas about what kind of behavior was appropriate during such a time. Curling, twisting, thumping, and leaping, it was as active as Emily was stoically unmoved.
Unlike in pervious interactions, there were no perceptible hos(tail)ities and events did not escalate as they have in the past to the level of an inter(cat)ional incident. After apparently tiring itself out, Emily's tail rejoined the rest of her body in total and complete rest. This rest remained in effect until it was voluntarily broken for a round of pre-breakfast stretching.
While at rest today, Emily felt something tickling the sensitive hairs inside her ear. It is unknown if it was an errant bit of dust, a sudden wind, or one of her own hairs that perpetrated the intrusion. Whatever it was, Emily knew she was more than a match for its nefarious plans. She didn't even need to deploy her paws to deal with the unexpected intruder. Deftly flicking her ear, she artfully dislodged whatever had caused her the momentary discomfort and continued resting as though nothing had happened. The moral of the story is: If something gets in your ear, rather than totally freaking out about it and being all like, "OH MY GOD THERE IS SOMETHING IN MY EAR GET IT OUT GET IT OUT LIFE WILL NEVER BE THE SAME I AM SO INCONVENIENCED AAAAHHHHHHH" maybe just flap your ear and it will take care of everything. There is probably a larger lesson about life in there, but I'll leave that for you to find.
Emily is rejoicing in the conclusion of her foray into the shady world of noir. Unleashed and back to her usual technicolor ways she decided to celebrate by taking some time out of her busy feline schedule to wash her face and "hands." Deciding to make an occasion of it, she put together the three main elements that make any face/hand washing experience ideal:
First, she identified a soft place to curl up. This was easy. A fuzzy blue blanket is all you need and she found one fast. Second, she made sure that she didn't just sit anywhere on the blanket, but found a spot in the sun. Warm sun is an essential element to the ideal cleaning session. And third, she made sure that this was a warm sunny spot that wasn't going anywhere so that when she was done with her cleaning, she could curl up and go straight to sleep. Mobile spots (laps, piles of laundry etc.) comfy as they may be, carry the unfortunate side effect of being impermanent. With the three elements in place, Emily got to work.
Noir week comes to a close a little more than a week after it began. Today, the thrilling conclusion of Emily's investigation! We will return to regular Slow Mo Cat posting tomorrow. To catch up on the previous installments of Noir Cat, here are all the links you need:
James stopped the car outside of a small warehouse with several broken windows, tarnished brickwork and a sign that warned "No Trespassing." James and I got out of the car and as we did, I heard a voice call out, "That's far enough!"
I heard the cold click of a gun being cocked. I looked up. The early morning sky was grey; the clouds from the night before barely shot through with the rays of a low hanging, wintery sun. My eyes wandered over the facade of the building. Then I saw it. The tip of a long-barreled gun, and a glinting eye behind it. I could see the vague outline of a man, a shadow just darker than the blackness behind him. I heard three more clicks and saw more gun barrels appear.
I didn't move a muscle. I didn't even tense. I knew one move and they would shoot just to see me die. I opened my mouth to say something, but the voice spoke again: "I'm sending someone out to say hello. You don't move, and you don't speak until they check you out."
I remained still, showing no sign of fear. I wanted to glance at James. Somehow I hadn't thought to ask him what was going to happen once we got here or what else he knew about this gang and its leader.
After what felt like an hour but was probably only a few seconds, the rusted metal door to the warehouse opened and a familiar thin face appeared. He strode toward us quickly and, when he reached us, patted down James, looked at me and, seeing that I couldn't very well be hiding anything in my fur, motioned for us to go into the building. James started as if to enter, but I decided enough was enough.
"We're alright out here. You've got all your guys with guns to keep you safe, come on out and deal George."
I kept my eyes trained on the window where the gun and the shadow where sitting. I saw the barrel twitch. I hoped it wasn't his finger tightening on the trigger. After a pause, the voice said, "Alright."
Another wait, and the scarred man came striding out the door and I got my first real look at George Gracious. I would find out later that George Gracious was not his real name. His parents were from somewhere in Europe originally. They were very poor and, when they realized that they were going to have a baby, decided it was time to make a fresh start in the new world. George's father worked every job he could find and, as soon as they had the money for boat fare, they made the voyage. George was born in the Atlantic ocean, mid-way between London and New York and given the name Alexander Krynganofski. He grew up poor and ashamed.
The story goes that as soon as he learned how to add in first grade, he was finding creative ways to make money. From schoolyard shakedowns to racetrack shenanigans, the Krynganofski kid was known throughout the neighborhood as a tough young guy with a head on his shoulders and a savvy nose for a good score. Then he vanished. Five years later, he came back. He was taller, fitter, well-dressed, and he wanted to be called George Gracious. He soon got together a small organization and, within a year, was one of the major crime bosses in the city. It was in the middle of that year, during his heady ascent, that James and I crossed his path at a warehouse that was soon to be known (and feared) throughout the city.
When he first appeared, I was struck by how tall he was. His pinstriped suit was clearly well made. Spotless from head to toe, his clothes gave off the air of a floor too good to walk on, or a lawn to perfect for walking. They shouldn't be worn, at least not by the man inside them.
He walked up to us without saying a word. He stared at James for a full thirty seconds before bending down to look at me. I know I'm not an imposing figure. I stand at 2ft nothing on my good days. But George Gracious made the mistake of looking me in the eyes. Ever since I was young, people have been telling me about my eyes. They are a little large and very green and I have always know now to use them. I can stare down anyone and anything. When George Gracious tried to give me the intimidation treatment, I just stared back at him. I could see he was unnerved. I don't think he'd had anyone do that for a little while.
"I think I have something of yours." I said, breaking the building silence. With that, I dropped the cufflink at his feet. Make him bend down and reach for it if he wanted it back. He did bend down and pick it up. As he did I saw a flash on his wrist and saw the cufflink's twin. He hadn't changed everything since the night before. Realizing his shirt might have been exposed when he reached down, he quickly covered his wrist with his other hand. No sooner had he inspected the cufflink than, to my surprise, he dropped it again.
"Never seen it before in my life."
With that, he turned on his heel, and, with his thin faced man following, they went back into the warehouse. There was the soft "click, click, click" as the gun barrels were taken back from the windows. The door slammed behind George and his henchman, and James and I were left standing in the early morning light with more questions than answers. The sunrise was hidden by the clouds and the grey cloak of dawn hung over the city. The leafless trees skeletal fingers rattled against the cold sky, and the broken hulk of the warehouse loomed like a concrete monster poised to swallow us whole. The night had gone.
As James and I drove back through the city, my mind turned to the woman in white. I knew I hadn't imagined her. One more lost lady in a city like this isn't something to get mushy over, but she stuck with me. I pushed her out of my mind. Sometimes it's best to let sleeping secrets stay hidden in the smoke and steam. Cities know how to bury their bodies. I got back to my apartment and found the super repairing my door. While he finished up, I cleaned. By the time he was done, I was ready for bed. So I curled up next to the window and, looking out over the skyline, finally went to sleep.
Noir week (see below) will conclude tomorrow, but we had to take a break tonight to acknowledge that GAME OF THRONES is coming back for the 3rd episode of season 5. Emily, yet again drawn to one of her favorite characters, who made an appearance in last week's episode: Drogon the Dragon. Here again, she shows that she has not only the will, but also the fangs to be a fire-breathing dragon. She is only missing the fire, and the scales. Also the wings. And she is smaller than Drogon and (if the histories of Westeros are to be believed) basically all of the dragons ever except maybe some of the last ones who were totally effed up b/c of years of Targaryen mistreatment. Anyway, Emily flies high as Drogon once again!
Tune in tomorrow for the thrilling conclusion of Noir Week! To catch up on Emily's investigation, see the previous installments:
Welcome to Noir Week on My Slow Mo Cat! This week, we have one story told in six parts with accompanying Slow Mo Videos, of course. This is the sixth part of Emily's account of a recent investigation she took part in.
As the two men made their way slowly down the street, I watched. They looked this way and that and then turning towards #10 and looking at the ground they approached. I ducked below the window frame. They couldn't be following my footsteps could they? Surely the street was still wet enough to disguise my prints. As their sounds of their shuffling feet drew nearer, I realized I didn't know what to do about Nancy and James if the two men tried to enter the house.
As i crouched worrying, the light from the street was suddenly obscured. I could see the outline of two tall, dark hat-wearing shadows. The wavered there in the yellow light before finally turning away. I waited a full minute before daring to peek over the window sill. Nothing. I breathed the tiniest sigh of relief. With most of the night gone I tried to get as much sleep as possible.
Barely three hours later I was up. Nancy and James are early risers. I could hear them upstairs, their voices filtering down. I figured Nancy was telling James I was here. Sure enough when they came down they were together. I hopped down from my spot under the window and joined them in the kitchen. After a few pleasantries, I dove right in. I told them all about my night and how I'd ended up on their doorstep.
James looked at me when I'd finished recounting the story of the night. "Let me see that cufflink." was all he said. I nudged it to him with my paw. He looked at it for a long time, turning it over in his hands. He looked from the cufflink to me and then back to the cufflink as if asking me "are you serious?"
Finally, he spoke. "I think I know where we can find this little guy's owner." As nonplussed as Nancy had been the night before when I turned up, her expression was nothing to mine when I heard him say that. He continued, "This GG, it's the mark of a new gang in town. Their leader is a man named George Gracious. He matches the description of the scarred man you were talking about. Their headquarters isn't far from here. If you're up to it, we could go over there and see what we can find?"
"Absolutely!" I leapt from my seat and, with James in tow, headed straight out the door.
It became clear after we had been driving for awhile, that by "their headquarters is near here" what James had meant is, "their headquarters is in the same state." We drove for almost half an hour in James' old, half-broken car. I stood with my hind paws on the passenger seat and my front paws propped on the door so I could easily look out the window.
James stopped the car outside of a small warehouse with several broken windows, tarnished brickwork and a sign that warned "No Trespassing." James and I got out of the car and as we did, I heard a voice call out...
Welcome to Noir Week on My Slow Mo Cat! We are taking a break from the usual Fast Friday posting to finish up our extended report on Emily's investigation. This week, we have one story told in six parts with accompanying Slow Mo Videos, of course. This is the fifth part of Emily's account of a recent investigation she took part in.
Part 5: The Dark Night, and the Cold Ground
Continued...
I grabbed the cufflink and headed for the window. As I leapt out, I heard the door splinter and a man's grunt. I turned around just in time to see the same man with the scarred face who I had glimpsed from afar earlier. I didn't pause to try and see any more of the man, or get a look at his companion. I was out the window, down the fire escape and off across the street before either man had fully entered my apartment.
I didn't even know what time it was. The moon was out and there were still stars in the sky. It had to be late. It felt like I'd been trying to get to sleep for hours. I looked up and saw the clock face over Curt's Deli. Just after 2. I knew I had to keep moving. There was one place I could go, no matter the hour.
After 10 minutes of running, I was out of breath, and in front of a familiar black wood door. The iron 10 in the center of the door was put there only a year or so ago. It was already rusted. I pawed with my claws lightly extended at the bottom of the door. It was the closest I could get to knocking. I hadn't seen either of the men chasing me, but I wanted to get in as fast as I could. During my run, clouds had covered the moon and most of the stars making the night darker than ever before. The streetlights fought as best they could, but there was only so much their municipal bulbs could do. The ground, wet from the rain earlier, was not helping my mood.
Finally, the door swung open. It revealed a short woman, gaunt and pale wearing a tattered shawl. She looked up and down the street before bringing her eyes down and noticing me with a start.
"Nancy." I said.
"Emily!" the surprise was still evident in her voice.
"May I come in?"
"Of course." I could see she was still wondering why I was there. Her eyes were wider than usual and her brows were arched quizzically.
"Thanks. I just need to stay 'til the morning."
"What? Uh...alright." Nancy was still nonplussed. I trotted past her letting her stew in her befuddlement. I'd never had much use for her. She was nice enough, but not the quickest of wits.
"Is James home?" I asked.
"Yes, he's asleep upstairs." Nancy sounded a little wary as though I was going to ask her to go wake him up. If I'm honest, the thought crossed my mind. I decided it could wait until morning. Instead I said a quick goodnight to Nancy and installed myself near one of the front windows. I watched the street straining my eyes against the darkness, willing myself to see a little farther. Squinting into the night, I saw rounding the corner the two men from before. The one with the scarred face was in the lead and behind him, his face revealed for the first time, was the other man. His face was thin and unlined; young. A tuft of dark hair escaped from under his hat-brim and, though the collar of his raincoat was turned up, I could still see his piercing eyes and pointed nose clearly.
As the two men made their way slowly down the street, I watched. They looked this way and that and then turning towards #10...
