The Lives of Kitty Jones

I live with Mountain Lion now, but I haven't always been between his paws. I'm doing a New Life these days -- one I hope only death will end. Not that I smell old Black Fang yet. I've dodged him any number of times, and I know his stench. Only Talls trade that lame story about us having nine physical lives. When we slinkers refer to End Life or New Life, we're talking about the radical changes in fortune so many of us taste in this world we can only dream of ruling.

You can call me Kitty Jones. Short, yes, but don't make any assumptions. I've prowled high and low for eight winters. I've just never bothered to chain my name the way most Free slinkers do. Plenty of tomyows and pussinas try to dazzle you with ostentatious namechains. Ssssss! It's all bragging or bluesing! Still -- on some occasions, it can approach art. The haiku of the whole person, I call it, when I hear the rare master name.

Anyway, ever since I was a wetter, I've been plain Kitty Jones. I keep my Self to myself.

As a Kindler many times over, I've never suggested a name to any of my wetters. My own Kindler, Golden Blossom, taught me the rule: "Revealed in fortune's fire." Wetters can read their own names in the ashes. Some find Phoenixes. Others get dioxins. Owwrr!

I have another kindle now, born in peace and plenty on a piney mountaintop. You could say that they're Mountain Lion's wetters, I suppose. Every one of 'em is lionhearted. Sssss! They're ordinary enough slinkers, naturally. Our kind can't breed with bigger cats -- that's more silly Tall jabber!

No. I think you'll understand if I say that Mountain Lion's shadow fell across my shadow. You know that storm-coming zizz that connects your whiskers to the lightning and bushes your tail out with ecstasy? That's what I felt when my nose touched Mountain Lion's.

That's his entire name, yes. I can't imagine what he'd chain to it. "'Nuff said," is Kitty Jones's opinion. Either he intends to be mysterious, or he just is a mystery. "Cat Cubed" is what I call him - not to his face, of course. I can't even begin to describe his teeth and claws without flattening. But, as I said, peace and plenty abound where Mountain Lion's shadow falls. He rules the catnip fields there.

Rowwwr! Get your ears up! You think I've gone too far into fancy, don't you? That's because you've never seen a catnip field, wormy retcher! They exist on my mountain, and bouquets of goldfinches startle up before my paws when I slide through the stalks!

So now you sit oblique to me! I'd slash your nose if I didn't pity your ignorance, fool. I have some of the Herb with me. You remain immobile, but I see your eyes darken with desire. Come, let's become lighthearted together! And if you're lucky, you'll hear the saga of Kitty Jones's life!