remnants of some tuna in an oily can. To some cats, Gomez knew, that wasn't an indignity. Their owners

could feed them till they blew up to thirty pounds or more and still they rummaged through the garbage

after everyone had gone to bed, dragging out discarded bones and leaving them strewn all over the

carpets. But to Gomez, there had been a time when it was a matter of survival and he had loathed it. It

had wounded his pride deeply, but it was either that or starve.

remnants of some tuna in an oily can. To some cats, Gomez knew, that wasn't an indignity. Their owners

could feed them till they blew up to thirty pounds or more and still they rummaged through the garbage

after everyone had gone to bed, dragging out discarded bones and leaving them strewn all over the

carpets. But to Gomez, there had been a time when it was a matter of survival and he had loathed it. It

had wounded his pride deeply, but it was either that or starve.

What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger, Gomez thought. But a cat like Ginjer, hell, she'd never

understand about anything like that. Since the day she'd jumped one fence too many and encountered a

stray tom who lived by different rules than she did, she'd never had to deal with any of life's often harsh

realities.

He'd been out for a stroll around his turf when he heard the commotion and decided to take a paw in the

matter. Now, Ginjer worshipped him. Occasionally, whenever she was lucky enough to get her claws

into some poor bird, she'd bring it over to him and deposit it at his feet, her eyes shining with pride and

admiration. He'd always accept the gift graciously, even though he hated birds. He'd eaten more than his

fair share of them during the lean years and if he never saw another bird again as long as he lived, that

would be just fine with him. But, he thought, you gotta accept a gift in the spirit in which it is given. He'd

told Ginjer he liked to eat in private, he was fastidious that way, and when she'd gone, he would bury the

damn thing beneath the bushes. He knew that Ginjer wouldn't be much use on something like this, but

she'd help to spread the word and right now that was all that counted.

As he made his rounds, Gomez carried on a running interior monologue with himself, in the style of his

heroes, Mike Hammer and Philip Marlowe. He had first discovered Spillane when one of Paul's students,

who was taking a course in twentieth-century pre-Collapse literature, had left behind a copy ofI ,the

Jury . He had never been taught to read, the ability had been magically bred into him, but it had been the

first time he'd ever read anything except street signs, labels on old cans, and greasy newspapers tossed

out in the trash. But when he began to read that book, it was like coming home.

It was as if this guy Spillaneknew about the kind of life he had lived, because Mike Hammer, in his

human way, had lived it too and his thoughts about the world were so much like his own. When Paul

discovered how much Gomez had enjoyed the book, he had started searching through rare bookstores

to find others that were similar, guided by one of the literature professors at the college, who thought that

he was helping Paul with a new hobby. Whenever Gomez ran into something that he didn't understand,

he would wait till Paul came home and then they would discuss it. On winter nights, Paul would light the

fire and they'd sit together on the rug, discussing Chandler, Hammett, and Spillane. Sometimes, especially

on Fridays, when Paul didn't have to go to work the next day, they'd be up till dawn.

Paulie gave me a life, Gomez thought to himself. He had found a tough and wasted little scrapper and

took him in, gave him a home. Held out the hand of friendship. And he's always been there, with a saucer

of cold milk and a sympathetic ear. Never made any judgments, never asked a thing in return. Now,

Paulie needed help. And when a friend needs help, you don't wait for him to ask. You give it to him.

As Gomez headed for his next contact, his cat mind provided the narration, Spillane style: