The Tinker and his Cat

By

cincoflex@aol.com

Once in times long past, when dragons roamed the land, and the Phoenix was still but a warm egg, there lived a tinker called MacGyver. He was a clever man, gifted with many talents at the ends of his fine fingers, and those in his village admired him for his honest ways and generous kindness. He was always first to give help and the last to request it, the one to see if you needed a wheel fixed, a kettle mended or a friendship saved.

Despite his good nature and pleasing appearance he remained unwed to the amusement of the village lasses, many of whom knew him to be a great charmer. The answer he gave to the question of his heart was simple--he had yet to find the sweet female who fit into it perfectly. Many a maid tried, only to be sent away gently, so there was rarely ill will for his decision. The wives smiled his way, the men clapped his shoulder in friendship, and all in the village respected him.

Now among the tools of his trade, Mac carried a blade of rare beauty and strength. So clever was he with this dagger of the far mountains that all his friends knew him as Mac the Knife. Mac claimed that the blade was worth ten men, and that at times it seemed almost alive. He carried it with him always, a dagger with a small jeweled cross on the red handle. When he roamed, which was often, he traveled light and set a pace for himself alone.

One day, he had gone farther than he ever had before. The forest he trudged through was green and cool, but the tiniest hint of a strange aura lingered in the air. Mac sensed it was the residue of magic, and hurried on, not wanting to tarry amid enchantments. He took a path that led to a broad stream, and was heading to a stone bridge when he looked up and saw a startling sight.

A tall, elegant woman in a dress as green as strong poison was dangling a leather bag over the side of the bridge. The bag was moving frantically, and the woman laughed cruel and high as she watched it.

"Struggle while you can, but your fate is sealed, you repulsive feline! How I relish your fate--"

"Hey!" Mac called, not wishing to see the animal drowned. The woman looked at him and smiled. Carefully she took in his appearance: the high suede boots the dark knee breeches, the red homespun linen shirt with the lace up front which told the world his trade. She licked her lips, and Mac paused, a taken aback by the gesture.

"And what business of yours is *this*, my handsome tinker?" she demanded huskily. He held up a placating hand.

"None, my lady, but--"

"You wish me to spare this nasty little mouse eater?" amusement flickered over her cold face. She suspended the bag lower over the running water in a playfully evil gesture. A small and piteous meow came from it.

"Yes. What harm can a single cat do, Lady?"

"More than you know, tinker--" she replied nastily, "More than you will *ever* know--" With a hard swing, she tossed the bag far out into the stream. Mac darted to the side and swung a leg over the bridge. He glanced back and saw with astonishment that the witch had vanished in a puff of green smoke, but had no time to ponder it since the bag was drifting further and further away. Mac dropped into the stream and waded over, pulling the bag out and carrying it to the shore. Part of him worried, since by now the bag was very still and moved not at all. Anxiously he cut the thong that bound the top and opened the sack wide, reaching into it to lift out the limp form of a small cat.

Gently he lifted its head, checking to see if the little animal still breathed. A faint sneeze made him smile, and he used part of a sleeve to wipe away the water from the wet fur.

"None the worse for your brief swim are you, Mistress Puss?" he cajoled her lightly. The cat raised her head and stared at him with her deep blue eyes.

"I don't suppose you talk--" he muttered hopefully. In reply to this, the cat yawned, revealing a small pink tongue.  Sitting up, began to groom her fur. Mac the Knife sighed and sat watching her as he let the sunlight that filtered through the tall trees dry his clothes.

She was a handsome cat, albeit rather small and fine-boned. Along with unusual blue eyes, she had a fluffy coat of brown, orange and black calico, and a creamy white breast. Her whiskers were dainty, and her sleek tail swung back and forth in a hypnotizing fashion.

Mac reached out a hand to pat her; she swatted at his fingers with a soft paw, then went back to the bag, and nosed it urgently. Curious, Mac reached over to the leather bag and dug into it again.

Out came a small collar. It was a green velvet ribbon, with a tiny silver charm dangling in the middle. Looking closer, Mac read the words on it carefully.

"Cursed is she who wears this thread, until her given name is said--sounds like a spell. So you're enchanted?" he muttered, holding out the collar. The cat poked her head into it and shook her whiskers as the green ribbon settled into place around her neck.

"Unfortunately, yes--thank you for saving me from drowning," came a warm purr from the cat. Mac raised an eyebrow and stared. The cat stared back, and as everyone knows in a contest of this sort they always win. Mac blinked first.

"You *do* talk!" he replied in surprise. She padded back over and sat before him, wrapping her tail around her feet.

"I do, for all the good it does me. For the past year I've been a prisoner of Lord Murdoc, wizard of the Western Lands."

Mac cocked his head and studied her.

"Why a prisoner?"

"Oh because of this and that--" the cat answered vaguely. Mac sensed embarrassment from the little animal and grinned. He picked up the empty leather pouch and tucked it into his belt, next to his full one.

"Well you're free now," he pointed out. The cat twitched her whiskers.

"Not really--it may have escaped your notice, but I'm still a cat."

"But only until someone says your name, right?"

"Right. Unfortunately because of the spell I cannot tell you my name, and those who know it live many miles from here," her whiskers drooped, and Mac laughed.

"Just like a female--I expect you to sigh and bat your eyes now--" he teased. The cat drew herself up into a fluffy ball, and blinked haughtily.

"Tinker, you mistake my need. I thank you for saving me from Nikki Sans Merci, but after a twelvemonth of Lord Sebastian's taunting I have no taste for yours too. I have a long journey to save my uncle, the Marquis of Thornton, so I bid you good day. Take the path over the bridge and go to the left-- in a few miles the Inn of the Three Bears will welcome you for the night."

So saying, the little cat flicked an ear at him and turned to saunter away. Astonished, Mac watched her go three steps and called,

"Hey! You can't just stroll through the forest bold as brass, Mistress Puss." He got up and followed her, but she pretended not to hear him.

"There are wolves around that would slurp you down without bothering to chew!"

"I'm not afraid," she told him. Mac snorted, falling into step beside her.

"Plan on clawing your way down their gullets? Tickling them to death with your fur?"

"Enough, tinker!" she shot back, hissing at him. "You would never speak to me thus if I were in my proper form."

"Mayhap--but the fact remains that you are merely a cat at the moment, and a little Puss at that. I didn't save you from the river to have you end up a bear's snack, so I'll just trot the road with you a while, shall I?"

"Suit yourself, tinker," the cat replied loftily.

They traveled on for a few long hours without speaking, the cat darting ahead and padding back along the road. It wound through the wood and emerged at the edge of a flat lonely plain. In the distance they could see the solid oak walls of the Three Bears Inn. There was a big, building, a medium sized building and a wee small building clustered together around a courtyard.

Mac looked up at the sign and back to the cat. She rose up and laid her front paws on his shin stretching up, and he bent down to her.

"You have been a good and uncomplaining companion of the road and I apologize for my rudeness, tinker."

"It's all right," he smiled at her. She rubbed her head against his knee and then added,

"It will go better for us if we keep the secret of my enchantment between us. Unless we are alone, I will not speak. By your leave?"

"Wise counsel, little cat. Call me Mac, since tinker is but a trade, not a name," he replied easily. Scooping her up, he set her on his shoulder and knocked on the door.

"Greetings, tinker! Have you come to mend my pans? I have sore need of your services tonight!" came the growl of the Mother Bear who answered the door. Politely, Mac smiled.

"A pan, a pot, I'll fix the lot, Mistress--"The main room of the inn was clean and spacious. There were a few long low tables where four other travelers; three pigs and a shepardess, were finishing supper. In the fireplace hung various steaming pots and the flames crackled cheerily. A huge bear with silver-tipped fur strode forward.

"A tinker! Welcome! My Ursula will bless you if you can mend her Sunday dinner kettle. Do it tonight and there's a meal and a bed in it for you too."

"I'd be happy to take it for so small a thing," Mac smiled. Within an hour he was settled before the fire, the tools of his craft on the hearth. The cat sat near him, watching as he began to melt tin in a small crucible. He set the dinner kettle across his knee and plugged the hole with a ball of bread, and waited for the tin to melt. A small girl wandered over, her long golden curls spilling over her small shoulders. She smiled at Mac.

"You are fixing Mother Bear's pot," she announced gravely, the way small children do. Mac nodded.

"Yes--mind your fingers sweetie, the fire is hot," he cautioned. The girl sat down by the cat, and stared at her.

"Your cat is pretty."

"Is she?" Mac muttered absently as he swirled the liquid tin. The cat began to purr.

"May I pet her?"

Mac looked at the cat, who winked.

"She says yes you may, if you are gentle," he told Goldilocks. The girl ran a gentle hand along the cat's head.

"What's her name?" came the next question.

"I call her Puss."

"She doesn't like it--" the girl giggled. "Look at her frown!"

Mac glanced up from the tin to see the cat's face, which was indeed cross looking. He laughed, and poured the tin over the patch, swirling the pot so it coated evenly over the bread to harden in an level layer.

"Well until I learn otherwise, t'will be her name in my company."

***                                          ***                                          ***


The bed was in the smallest building and consisted of a mere shelf with a thin mattress of rushes. Wearily Mac crawled onto it, blowing out the candle stub and lying back with a groan of relief. The soft weight of the cat landed with a thump near his shoulder, and he nudged her with one hand.

"Go sleep near the fire--"

"No. There are mice there," she pouted. He laughed softly.

"This I don't believe--a cat afraid of mice?"

"I'm not a cat; I'm an enchanted maid. I wasn't fond of mice before and I'm not fond of them now, so scoot over."

"No! I've walked far and worked hard, Puss--the bed is mine, find your own nest!" Grumbling, he rolled over and dropped off to sleep.

He awoke in the morning to find a warm weight on his chest; looking down he watched as the cat, sprawled on him lightly batted at one of the laces of his shirt in kitten-like play. Charmed against his will, he cleared his throat to give her time to recover her dignity.

"Have I become your mattress now?"

"You have your uses--" she announced, marching up his chest to tickle his face with her long whiskers. He grumbled.

"Oh thank you--I've always aspired to please a cat--"

Well then are you ready to aspire to more? A dragon guards the pass to my uncle's lands, clever Mac. I can slip past as a small and quick animal, but can you?"

"Let me think--Hmmmm. Fee Fi Fo Fum--do I smell porridge?"

The cat rumbled an answering purr, her blue eyes wide.

"You do-- it's the breakfast specialty of Mother Bear, " she replied.

After a discussion with the Bears, Mac settled in the yard, assembling something as the cat anxiously circled his ankles.

"What are you making?"

"Something to take care of a dragon--" he smiled as he mixed the charcoal, saltpeter and powdered ammonia in a small keg. Then, carefully, he took one of Mother Bear's oldest dresses and stuffed it with straw, packing the keg right in the center of it. Once he had tied off the sleeves and bottom of the dress, it resembled a scarecrow or manikin. The cat eyed it suspiciously.

"And what good is this thing?"

"Dragons have weak eyes," Mac told her confidently as they set off down the road towards the pass. "All we need to is convince him that it's a maiden, and he'll be eager to devour it."

"Ah--and how are you going to convince him to do that?"

"I'll lure him out by pretending to be a lost maiden, of course--" Mac replied. The cat chortled at this.

"Really? Show me--"

Mac cleared his throat and sang out in a ridiculously high falsetto.

"Oh Mister Draaaaagooooooon--"

The cat collapsed in the tall grass at the side of the road, all four of her paws waving in the air as she wheezed with laughter.

"Oh my sides, my aching sides!"

"It's not *that* funny--" He grumbled, more annoyed at her amusement than he wanted to admit.

"Yes it is--" she spluttered weakly. "Best let *me* do the voice, darling tinker, lest the Dragon guffaw and fry us both to cinders!"

"Oh fine--"

The road rose up through pine trees, and became rockier. Near the summit, the cat paused and looked up from her whisker washing.

"A slide--the pass is blocked--"

"Those aren't rocks, they're scales," Mac told her anxiously. "That's the dragon's hide. Time to play your part, Mistress Puss." She strode forward cautiously.

"Oh woe is me! I am lost and forlorn, alone in this forest!" she wailed piteously. There was a sudden stench of smoke, and a low rumble.

"Who approaches?"

"Only I, a young and tender maid--have pity on a child of my few years--" she answered as MacGyver rolled his eyes.

"No need to overdo it--" he hissed a warning.

"Fear not--come forward through the cave and find sanctuary on the other side of the pass!" came the growl of the dragon. As Mac and the cat watched, the huge maw of the dragon opened, the white teeth looking like stalactites and stalagmites. A wave of heat rolled out of the orifice, and a dull glow began to intensify.  Mac rushed forward and heaved the manikin as hard as he could, then dropped flat on the road, his arms protectively cradling the cat.

As the keg met the flames deep inside the dragon, there was an explosion so intense that even the oldest pine trees shook to the very center of their pitch. Black ash and thick glop rained down on the cat and the tinker. The cat shook a paw helplessly.

"Oh yuck! Dragon goo!"

"Nasty--I hate the smell of brimstone--" Mac agreed, wiping ineffectively at his shirt. They clambered over the pass to the other side, wading through the sludge and wincing. Near the bottom of the pass, Mac spotted a pond and hurried towards it, flinging himself in as the cat daintily scooped pawfuls of water onto her face and fur.

Eventually a clean and happier MacGyver waded out again, and took off his red shirt, spreading it to dry in the noonday sun. He lay down in the thick grass neat the pond, hands behind his head, sighing with contentment. The cat circled around him slowly, stalking a butterfly as he watched and grinned.

"Let's see if I can guess your name--is it Rumplestilskin?"

"I should bite your nose for that--"

"Manners puss! All right, let's see--Snow White? Cinderella? Bo Peep? Pretty Polly? Henny Penny? Lucy Locket?"

"No, no, no, no, no and no. I'm getting hungry. You don't happen to have a big bowl of cream on you?"

"Oh sure, right here in my pocket--" he scoffed.  "Jill? Mary, Mary quite contrary?"

The cat leaped up into his stomach; he gave a grunt at the unexpected action. She nuzzled her head under his chin, her soft fur tickling him greatly. Absently he stroked her back as he looked up into the clouds.

"Jane? Joan? Kitty, Anne? "

The cat settled onto his chest sleepily.

"No to all four, MacGyver--it's not a name easily guessed. Oooohhh you have a lovely touch for a man--"

"Yes--Many a maid has told me so--" he replied, earning himself a finger nip by sharp little fangs. When he tried to sit up and glare at the cat, she was curled in a tight ball, her little sides wheezing in and out in feigned sleep. He frowned.

"Spare me your pretense, Miss Puss--I *know* you're not napp--" he didn't get to finish his statement; the earth around them shook in a violent rocking, and the sound of something green and squelchy vibrated through the air around them. Hastily Mac grabbed his shirt and pulled it on.

"What is *that? *" The cat yowled cowering in the smallest possible lump she could. Mac looked up into the green leafy canopy that was now blocking out the sunlight. His gaze dropped to the thick cylindrical column rooted a few feet from where he lay.

"It's a beanstalk," he observed, stunned by the sheer size of the thing. Cautiously he got up and stepped close enough to touch it. The verdant surface was smooth and fragrantly warm. Mac cast his gaze up the column-like stalk.

"Looks pretty simple--"

"You're not considering what I *think* you're considering, are you?" the cat demanded in a worried tone. 

"Of course I am--think of what might be at the top--"

"A lot of beans," she grumbled.

"Stop fussing and start climbing--" he admonished her. With a snarl, she leaped up to his shoulder and made a second bound up to the broad leaf three feet higher up.

Bit by bit they both climbed the stalk, rising every higher into the sky. Gradually the cat began to smell something drifting down from above; she mentioned her impression to Mac.

"Muffins. I smell muffins--"

"Are you--" the tinker struggled manfully not to look down, "--sure?" He reached for a leaf steam and swung himself up.

"I'd bet all of my whiskers on it. Hurry up--"

"No need to rush--" he muttered weakly, trying to keep his eyes up.

"Certainly--but I think the lightning might give you some second thoughts about that--"

A bolt flashed in the clouds scudding by. MacGyver gritted his teeth.

"No one likes--" he growled, "--a smart alecky enchanted maiden you know."

"Hey *you* were the one who wanted to climb this in the first place--" she grumbled back. They bickered for a second longer, and as the rumble of thunder shook the leaves, they both continued up.

Finally, with a mighty pull, Mac the knife managed to swing himself up and through a denser layer of foggy cloud. The cat was already there, her sleek tail swinging back and forth impatiently.

"Can you smell them now--the muffins?"

"Yeah I can--" Mac touched the fog at their feet curiously. The cat batted a small wisp of cloud playfully.

"Is it real?"

"Better to ask is it solid?" Mac kept his eyes up and studied their surroundings. It was countryside, sunny and cheerful. The signpost in front of them had written on it three directions : Castle, pointing to the left, Bremen Town pointing to the right and A Long Ways Down pointing to their feet. Mac studied the sign.

"I know the one we should avoid--"

"I *recognize* that sign! Well, all of it but that last part--that's new. This is my uncle's domain! What is it doing up here in the clouds?" the cat puzzled as she circled around the sign. Mac shrugged.

"Maybe the upward force of the plant's initial growth was enough shake loose the foundations of the kingdom, allowing it to be carried along in the wake of the beanstalk's momentum-"

The cat merely looked at him warily with her big blue eyes.

"Okaaaaaay---let's try the castle.  That's where the muffin scent's coming from and at the very least, someone should be there."

They set off again, the little cat hitching a ride on the Tinker's shoulder as they headed towards the castle. As they crossed the drawbridge to the portcullis, a booming voice ordered,

"Stop! The Lord of the Western Lands seeks no visitors!"

"I'm not a visitor, I'm a former resident, Jack O'Dalton!" the cat hissed. "Come out of hiding before I comb your mustache but good!"

A little portal opened in the huge wooden barricade, and a single, portly guard with a slightly disheveled green uniform and an enormous mustache beamed at them. He was eating a muffin.

"The Enchanted One has returned! About time--Lord Murdoc's been in a foul mood since your kidnapping--he's banished the witch Nikki to the far shores for her bag job on you. So what's new, Pussy Cat?"

"Where is my uncle?" the cat demanded.

"Locked in the dungeon of course--I talked Lord Murdoc out of killing him, but who knows how long that will last." Jack admitted. Mac stepped forward, but the guard held out a hand--and a muffin.

"Hold it--to pass into the castle you've got to beat me at a strategic game, tinker."

"Chess?" Mac took the muffin and ate it.

"Hide and Seek--find me thrice and you pass."

"And if I don't?"

"Then you're going to do a great impression of a hailstone--" Jack looked at the clouds under their feet dubiously. Mac gritted his teeth.

"Hide and Seek?"

"You betcha Keemo Sabe--close your eyes and start counting--you too, Pussy Cat."

The tinker and the cat looked at each other helplessly for a moment.

"Village Idiot?" Mac guessed. The cat nodded.

"But he's serious as a gatekeeper. We have to beat him three times to get into the castle." So saying, the cat wrapped her tail around her eyes. Sighing, Mac closed his eyes and counted to twenty-five.

When he opened them again, the hanging gate was open, and a beautiful courtyard garden beckoned. Wandering in, the cat shivered.

"Scared?" Mac asked her softly. She meowed, moving through the cloud wisps.

"Pretty as a cage might be, it's still a cage--" they began looking high and low. When they looked into the fishpond, Mac laughed.

"I need a net--"

The cat looked at the biggest carp in the pond and laughed as well--it had a heavy black mustache. When caught, the carp wriggled out of the net.

"How'd ya know?"

"Let's say it was right under our noses," Mac stooped to stroke the cat as Jack rushed off to hide again. They counted to twenty-five once more and began to search. Mac looked high while the cat looked low. Eventually after an hour, she gave a squeaky laugh.

"I spy a gate, Mac--"

"What about it?" the tinker looked over at the indicated portal and smiled. The row of white pickets curved from one end to the other, a perfect blinding white grin of wooden teeth.

"Know anyone with a smile like that?" the cat asked rhetorically. Mac tapped the gate, and it spoke up.

"Twice! You're good, Amigo, but the third time's gonna be the charm--"

The search was much harder this time. Mac could find no trace of the gatekeeper, and even the cat sighed in frustration. The roses, the pathways, the ponds and statues and lanterns all yielded nothing. Night was starting to fall, and Mac felt his stomach begin to growl. The cat wove around his boots anxiously.

"We can't give up, Mac--please!"

"I don't intend to--but it's getting dark. Let's just grab a light and keep looking--" he picked up a candlestick and swung it around. The cat froze.

"Mac--"

"I see it. A flame that winks like an eye--I've got you, Jack O'Dalton!"

The candlestick vanished, and the gatekeeper beamed at them happily.

"Boffo job! Better hustle your fannies in though before it gets too dark--and when you go for the disenchantment, remember the garden!"

"What the heck is he talking about?" Mac asked the cat, but she had darted into the castle ahead of him. He followed cautiously.

The long hall of the castle was huge and hung with dark banners that Mac didn't want to examine too closely. Tall fire baskets illuminated the gloom, and the echo of his boot steps sounded loud on the paved stone floor. The cat slunk in, her belly low, her ears down flat against her skull.

"The cat came back, I see . . ." gloated a voice from the gloom. Mac looked around, but the sound seemed to come from everywhere at once. He squinted. The cat sank lower, and Mac stooped to give her a reassuring stroke along her spine; she lifted it halfway to meet him and the voice chuckled.

"Petting my pussy? I don't *think* so--" A flash of green flame shot out, striking the edge of Mac's boot. He flinched a tint bit, but held his ground.

"Murdoc?"

"Lord Murdoc to *you*, tinker--is this the best you could do for a champion, Pussykins? A bumpkin mender of pots and pans?"

"He has his uses," the cat retorted loyally, looking up as Murdoc stepped forward out of the dark. He cut an impressive figure in a long black robe with silver flecks. MacGyver didn't bow, though.

"I understand you've not only put this maid under a curse, but you've also stolen control of her uncle's kingdom," he stated in a conversational tone.

"Yes, I like to diversify my wicked deeds don't you know--" came the chuckled response. "And to be honest, rounding out the day by slaughtering a peasant would fit perfectly on my agenda, so--" the green flame leaped out again; Mac dodged deftly and he managed to snag the cat up from the floor as he did so. Moving swiftly, he took the ribbon off the cat's neck, whispering,

"Sorry to get your tongue, Cat, but I have an idea--" he gave her a soft nudge.

"Distract him while I get this ready--"

The cat shot him a glare, but fluffed herself and sauntered out, tail swinging seductively. She stretched, and rolled on her side, head cocked in a beguiling fashion, blue eyes wide and unblinking as she gave him a questioning look.

"Oh lovely pussy, O pussy my love what a beautiful pussy you are--" came lord Murdoc's mocking tone, "--But I do still intend on charbroiling your companion."

Mac had his knife out, and furiously scratched at the charm, working quickly to change 'she' to 'he', and 'her' to 'his'. He tore the laces from his shirtfront, strung the charm through and tied them together, forming a large loop.

"I'm over here--" he called. Lord Murdoc moved forward and the loop came sailing over his head. He glanced down to see the charm settle against his chest, realizing a second too late the trap. A bright red flash crackled out, and instead of a wizard, a sleek black wolf crouched. Mac jumped up, but he was a fraction of a second too slow; the wolf lunged for the cat, seizing her in his jaws. She yowled once as he squeezed, and hung limp between his fangs.

"Bastard!"

 Mac tipped one of the fire baskets at the wolf; several coals fell, singeing his fur and he jumped for the door. Mac grabbed at him, catching one leg and they struggled. As the Murdoc wolf reached the threshold, he looked back and gave a low growl.

"Someone will frrrrrree me frrrrrrom the currrrrrse, tinkerrrrrrr--"

"No--" yanking hard, MacGyver reached up and tore the cloth loop from the wolf's neck; the charm fell with a tinkle on the cobblestones. The wolf pulled away, skittering out the door to land on the grey fluff of the clouds. The moon shone down on the scene, for a long moment.  And then--

He fell through, his yellow eyes wide and unbelieving as he dropped; a long low howl rising up behind him as he swiftly plummeted through the mist. Mac watched him go for a second.

"That's for *her* you son of a bitch!"

Turning, he hurried back to the cat; she was lying limp on the stone floor. Tenderly Mac scooped her up and tucked her inside his shirt, his face grave as he cradled the cooling body next to his.

"Come on, come on--the cat may be dead, but there's still a chance for the maiden--think, MacGyver, think! Remember the garden, he said. What's in the garden?" came his desperate mumble.

Striding out, Mac looked in the moonlight at the courtyard garden.

"Daisy, Tulip, Jasmine, Daffodil--" he muttered hastily, "--Geez, what else?  Uh, Hyacinth, Bluebell, Iris--" as he spun around looking, his sleeve snagged. Impatiently he yanked, but the cloth held fast. He tugged again.

"--Damned Briar Rose--"

The resulting crash took him off his feet and knocked the breath out of him, but even when he regained his senses he couldn't speak, so startled was he.

There was a naked girl in his shirt with him. Her face was so close that her breath stirred his bangs, and her warm sleek weight draped against him stirred something else. All he could cough out was,

"M-mistress Puss?"

"Oh yes--" she grinned at him happily "You did it--I'm free!"

"Well sort of--" his face reddening. She chuckled at that, and took the shirt from him, draping it on her small but elegant frame swiftly.

"Better--now we've got to free my uncle, who will probably be grateful enough to give you anything you desire," she told him matter-of-factly. Mac blinked at her, unused to hearing a familiar voice out of a very different body. She lightly batted his nose with one hand and he finally smiled, one hand going out to the back of her neck as he pulled her closer, whispering against her smiling mouth.

"Well, maybe all a tinker needs is just one . . . small . . . cat . . ."

THE END