EPILOGUE: Midnight Cirri Speaks (with Apologies to Carole Nelson Douglas)*

Friends and fans, I am almost an adult and surely old enough to give you my point of view on some of the matters you read of in my now finished adventure. I'm sure you will agree that humans and felines don't quite understand each other, for all of our attempts to communicate. So what follows is my attempt to clear up any misunderstandings that you might have after reading my story.

Issue Number One: Names

Our mothers give them to us shortly after birth so that they can tell us apart. My dearest mother named me "Singer," for I surely had the prettiest and loudest voice among all my siblings. She knew a great deal about life, so she warned me that the humans we lived among would call me by a different name. When I heard the name my humans gave me, she advised, I should come up to the human to see what that two-legs wanted. If I was not too busy with other more important matters, of course.

Sure enough, my kittenhood human friend, a half-grown boy named Cirrion, named me Midnight. Midnight. That was my name as a kit. But one day, while I snuck outside our home to chase the birds, my humans ran away. They took my mother and my sister Fang along with them. They left me behind to learn to fend for myself. It was not such an evil fate, now that I look on it. I learned to catch mice and other creatures. No two-legs prevented me from going wherever I chose. Mostly I hid from the bad noise, evil smells, and fires that surrounded our neighborhood. That part of my life did not last very long, fortunately.

One day I met my now closest human friend--my favorite human of the lot of them. He befriended me by offering what I like best, some of what he was eating.** I've been at his side ever since. So naturally, being human he gave me another human name. I was no longer called Midnight. I was called Cirrion, very confusing indeed, as that was the name of my kittenhood boy. My adult human male was named Faramir by his mother, but I call him by the same name that everyone else calls him: Steward. My Steward.

Issue Number Two: Mice and Other Rodents

Rodents of any size aren't particularly tasty. My Steward seems to think that a cat would rather eat mice than anything else available in this great city. I am sorry to disappoint you and my Steward. Mice are prey, which means they are fun to catch and kill. While I was on my own, I learned to eat them because they were the freshest food around. Mostly, I'd rather eat what you two-legs are eating.

Issue Number Three: Female Humans

They smell better than the males. They are harder to deceive. Take Cook, for example. She won't let me near the ovens when food is a-cooking. My Steward's female. If I recall correctly, she adored me but thought I should live in the barn with the horses. Now horses are noble animals, to be sure. I enjoy when my Steward puts me in his shirt, and we go for a ride on one of his horses. Living in a cold stable full of them is another matter. The smell is awful. Plus, it is dangerous for us smaller types. Those animals never look where they put their feet.

My Steward says he will soon go off to join his female for a long period of time. He apologized for not taking me. I suppose that is a good thing, though I will miss him in my bed. I like being stashed in his shirt while he goes for short rides. Still, I don't think I'd like to travel for long periods in a shirt. I'm quite content to stay home and keep company with Bes. Oh yes, my Steward has hired her on as housekeeper, so she doesn't have to live in the roof.

Final Issue: The Meaning of Meow

Humans do not understand it. I understand them when they speak in coherent words. Yes, they try to meow at me, but their meows are meaningless. Feline communications must be far too subtle for those who go about on two legs.

Take my Steward for example. Right now I am curled up in his lap, waiting for him to do something fun. The human has been sitting in front of his favorite toy, the smooth black stone that is so effective for cleaning the gums and whiskers. I've yet to see my Steward rub his whiskers against the stone. They could use a good cleaning right now, as far as I am concerned. I've yet to see the usefulness of human whiskers. Only the males seem to have them. They never use them to feel their way in the darkness--but that is another issue for another day.

My Steward likes to stare at the smooth stone for hours at a time. Sometimes he talks to it--not meowing, of course. Usually it is quiet. However, very occasionally, I hear it speak back in a familiar sounding voice. I swear on my own useful whiskers that the voice sounds like the friendly two-leg my Steward and his family call Liege.

And what's this now? My Steward gets up without prior warning. I land on the floor, hoping this means he wants to dangle a string for me to play with. But no, he heads to a bunch of bookcases and pulls them from the wall. I follow him into the linen closet. It smells really nice. The sheets look very comfortable--the perfect place to make a nice nest for a nap. I jump onto the shelf. My Steward pulls me off. I watch, somewhat befuddled, as he yanks another shelf out of the wall. Then he puts me on his shoulder. We head into a dark corridor.

"I need to look at a book," he tells me. "Stay right here."

I'm not sure I want to do what he orders. I smell them.

"Rats!" I cry. The corridor is dimly lit, yet there is enough light for me to see. And their scent is unmistakable. I speed down the hallway, chirping my hunting call, "Errr Rats! Rats! Rats!" Does my Steward follow? Of course not. He's busy looking at yet another bookcase.

I tear down the corridor and am suddenly stopped. A barrier of wooden planks has closed off the corridor. It is a messy barrier with lots of gaps. I stand on my hind legs and peak into the darkness. I see their nasty, beady eyes staring at me in defiance. "I'll get you!" I chirp. They flick their ugly tails in defiance.

"Steward, come and take away the planks!" I meow at the top of my voice. "There are rats. I'll kill them for us."

There is glaring light. Now I can't see the rats at all. Instead, I turn my head and see my Steward approaching, carrying his lamp. "What's down there, Cirri?" he asks. He kneels down beside me.

I butt his elbow with my head to try to make him understand. "Rats," I meow as slowly and clearly as I can.

"My father's book says that this corridor was blocked off centuries ago to prevent invasion," my Steward explains. Not very effective, I think. The rats have definitely invaded.

"It seems we have another mystery on our hands," he says and gives my head a rub. "Shall we investigate?" he grins at me as he stands up and waves his lamp to light up the boards.

"Rats!" I meow. "There are rats down there."

"Time for another adventure, right?" he says agreeably.

I heartily agree to that. "Fantastic. Let's get the rats," I meow though I know this is useless. I love him even if he is too thick to understand the meaning of meow.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE

* Carole Nelson Douglas is the author of a wonderful series of mystery/romances about the Las Vegas publicist Temple Barr and her hard boiled detective side-kick of a black cat, Midnight Louie. Louie and his "liberated" offspring, Midnight Louise, have always tickled my fancy. They may indeed have inspired at least some of my feline muse Cirrion's attempts to help Faramir solve the mystery of the missing palantir.

** The story of how Faramir caught Cirri is told in my long story "Avoidance" in the chapter "The Acts of the Last Ruling Steward." "Avoidance" is archived here at Stories of Arda.