Den of Spies, Part 1 of 3

"Shimmy, no need to be so crabby," Henry Kissinger said.

He took the cat carrier away from Tony and Shelly. The barren, chromium landscape of the Uptown Animal Hospital examination table spread itself before me.

The Den of Spies!

Dr. Kissinger strutted in his bemused butcher's apron. He poked his nose against the cage door of my carrier.

Dr. Kissinger's distressing eyes. His wet, violent lips.

I curled my forehead into Tony's old green sweater, which carpeted the inside of the carrier with the furry splotch of his betrayal. (I had been sleeping underneath his desk, my glorious body placed in exquisite symmetry between his desk chair legs and garbage can. Then he picked me up. Transferred me to this cell. His old green sweater in it.)

"I'm going to have to take a blood sample," he said to Tony and Shelly. "A urine sample, too, of course."

Of course. And how do you plan to colonize my body with your malevolent syringes? Don't you fucking touch me.

"How long do you think you'll need?" Tony asked. His betrayals are galactic and no longer surprise me.

"The illegal we do immediately," Dr. Kissinger said, chuckling. His head bobbed and he scratched his nose. "The unconstitutional takes a little longer."