The cat's yowl jolted me out of a deep sleep. Too groggy to wonder how it had gotten into my bedroom, I stumbled out of bed and shooed it toward the front door.
Big yellow moon eyes glowing in the dark, the cat stared at me, flicked its tail, and trotted down the hall.
Glad it was as eager to leave as I was to evict it, I opened the door. A fierce wind pulled it out of my hand. One second later the suction of a cosmic vacuum cleaner caught me in its swirl, and I was pulled down one of those tunnels reported by people who had near-death experiences, except that I didn't see the light. I saw prison bars, and, once I got oriented, I realized I was behind them.
The cat had disappeared.
*
I tested the cage's lock and rattled the bars.
Footsteps padded to the front of the adjoining cage. "Hello?" a man said.
I was already in shock from a bad case of disbelief. Now I plunged into paralysis.
"Ralph?" I whispered. We hadn't spoken since he'd taken the last of his belongings from the house a year ago.
"Elaine?"
"Yes. What's going on?"
"I've been expecting this. If they grabbed me, they were bound to get you, too."
"Who?"
"The cats, of course. Didn't one come for you?"
"A big black cat with yellow eyes."
"Yeah, he's the main people catcher."
He paused, and I heard the faint scratch of claws against a concrete floor.
"Be careful," Ralph said. "Talk to you later."
A large gray cat came into view, wearing an unfamiliar-looking electronic device. "I'm Sheba, here for your intake interview."
"I don't want to be taken in. I want to be taken back to my warm bed, and I want to sleep."
"I'm sure you do." She flicked one of the bars, and a section of the door lifted to make a cat-sized opening. She slunk through it.
"I'll interview you in your sleeping quarters. Follow me."
Her growl gave me no choice. I followed her to the back of the cage, which contained a curtained shower and toilet, a sink, and a bed. The mattress wasn't too bad.
"Now then," the cat said, tapping the device. "I'll tell you why you're here. You've been imprisoned for going catless for too long."
"What?" I might be awake, but this was still a nightmare. "I demand to speak to my lawyer. I demand to call Amnesty International and the ACLU and-"
"Forget it. You're under our jurisdiction now-and no Miranda rights, either. Zip your lips and listen to the charges against you. A year after your last cat left your home, you were approached for adoption by two feral cats and one kitten. You refused in every instance, so we had to take matters into our own paws."
I remembered those cats. I'd even fed each of them for a few days. Was their idea of gratitude to turn me in to the Feline Bureau of Investigation?
"My ex-husband took my-I mean our-last cat when we broke up, and she ran away."
"Could you speak a little more clearly? The iPaws is recording the conversation." She spoke into the machine: "The subject attempts to justify resistance to being adopted."
She stood on her hind legs, flicked a few buttons with her talons, and moved the device parallel to my body. After a few minutes, she said, "Good health, unspayed. If you work on your attitude, you shouldn't have any problems."
