Who Killed the Cat With Glasses?

by EDMLite

RACC-Con/NTB/SW10: Who Murdered The Cat With Glasses?

'Who Murdered The Cat With Glasses?'

Written by and copyright 2012
     Arthur Spitzer, Rob Rogers, Saxon Brenton and Scott Eiler
A story for RACC-Con 2012


     It was a dark and stormy night.  A cat lay in the middle of the
road.  A cat with glasses.  The wind howled and the rain pounded,
heedless of the poor, pitiful form that had been reduced to road kill.

     Actually, no, that wasn't quite true.  There wasn't a cat with
glasses.  There were several.

     That was more or less the nub of the problem.

          -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

     In the lab up the hill, Doktor Schroedinger looked through
his viewing machine.  "Ahh, sehr gut.  Und I see zhis is one
of *my* catz."   The cat was wearing glasses.

     "Und now, der critical moment.  Zhall it live, or die, or...
zomething in between?  Worldz zhall zplit based on der
anzwer."  The Doktor turned off his viewer.

     "Und zo it beginz."

          -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

     "Poor bugger," Detective Crumple murmured, squatting down to
stroke the whiskers of the cat as two other officers drew a cloth over
the body.  "Physics got 'im."

     "Well... yeah," Officer Molloy said, waiting for Crumple to stand
before handing her a cup of coffee.  "I mean... cat meets bumper.
Meeting doesn't go so well.  End of cat.  That's more or less how
these things go, isn't it?"

     Crumple stared at the officer.  "Ever take physics, Molloy?"

     "I was a poetry major, ma'am."

     "How about geometry?"

     "I know my shapes, if that's what you mean."

     "Okay, then," Crumple said, taking a sip of her coffee.  She
nodded at the body.  "Highway Patrol  puts the initial impact of
the vehicle against the cat... there," she said.  "Skid marks left
by the vehicle indicate that it had been over... there...  exactly
thirty seconds earlier.  And the cat's body... is here.  See
anything unusual about that?"

     Hoping that the question was, as so many of Detective Crumple's
questions were, rhetorical, Molloy waited, taking an extra-long sip of
coffee to avoid having to say anything.

     "Perfect.  Right.  Triangle," Crumple said.  "This was no

     "You think somebody killed this cat on purpose?" Molloy asked.
Repeating someone else's statement was, he found, often an effective
way of pretending to convey information.  "Why?  I mean sure, lots of
people don't like cats."

     "You know, this used to be my beat," Crumple said, staring at the
blocks of office buildings, university dormitories and fly-by-night
research laboratories surrounding them.  "Quiet place.  Occasional
trouble with dealers, a few pimps from time to time.  But the ones who
gave me the most trouble?  The physicists."

     Molloy spat, a long, glistening arc of coffee that hung in the
air for a moment like a beige rainbow.

     "Physicists?" he asked.

     "Gets boring in those labs, late at night," Crumple said, as the
pair of paramedics gently lifted the fallen cat and dropped it into a
green plastic garbage bag.  "People do... unusual things.  Things that
might seem unbelievable to anyone who's never spent fifteen years of
their life chasing a dissertation that simply refuses to show its face
to the world."

     "Like give glasses to cats?" Molloy asked.

     "Like make bets," Crumple said.  "Bets on scientific postulates.
Bets on hypothetical questions.  See that box over there?"

     Molloy stared at a greenish crate, halfway open, that lay in the
weeds along the side of the road.

     "That," he said, "is a box."

     "Check it for hairs," Crumple said.  "Feline hairs.  Because it's
my be life that our friend , the late Mr. Felix =96 or whoever he was =96
was in that box.  Or perhaps he wasn't.  For a long time.  And now...
now he most definitely is not.  And that allowed someone to collect on
a bet."

     "Are you saying what I think you're saying?" said Molloy, who had
no earthly idea what Detective Crumple was saying.

     "I'm saying our investigation should begin," she said, "with a
visit to the office of Dr. Schroedinger."

            -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

    "It was a hit," said the cop grimly.

    It was another street, another dead cat.  And only a few blocks
away, which may have made it either less or more suspicious.

    His partner looked at him.  "I know this cat, said the first cop.
"MacCavity.  Sometimes calls himself 'The Wolf Burglar'."

     "A bit pretentious," observed Sgt. Kidd, dubiously.

     "Yeah, it is.  Anyway, there was word out earlier this evening
of a break in at the university labs.  The description matched
MacCavity."  He frowned, "But he has a better reputation for stealth
than that."

     "Maybe he's getting older and slower?"

     "Could be.  He's been around for over thirteen years."

     "That's pretty old, in cat years."

     "It is," agreed the first cop.

     "One last caper, to prove he still had it, and he couldn't cut
mustard," mused Sgt Kidd.

     "He was seen, was chased, and run down like road kill?  That
sounds more like a mob hit."  The first cop frowned as he stared at
the face of the dead cat.  "Hold up a second."  He reached down and
pulled.  The face of MacCavity turned out to be mask.  The so-called
'wolf burglar' was revealed as: some other cat, who was wearing

     They stared.  "How could he be wearing a mask that looked
realistic when he was wearing glasses underneath?"

     The first cop responded.  "Yeah, I know.  He can either wear a
realistic mask, or glasses.  Can't have both."

     Kidd mused.  "But what about those, y'know, Schrodinger cats?
You put 'em in a box, and they're either alive or dead, but you don't
know which.  So they're really both."

     "Oh, so you think someone put this cat in a box?"

     "No, no!  This cat can wear glasses *and* a mask, because we
still don't know who he is!"

     Sgt. Kidd felt around the cat's neck, and found a seam.  He
pulled the head.  It popped out.

     A tiny robotic head with binoculars and a speaker rose out the
neck socket.  "Ah, you have seen through my plan for a bionic cat.
You'll be glad to know, several other extremities are programmed in a
different manner."

     The cat reared up on its hind legs and tail.  Its front paws
popped off.  A blade popped out of each socket.

          -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

     "He was a dark and stormy knight..." said Kid.

     "What the hell are you talking about?" said Sarge staring at his
fellow cop.

     "I dunno.  Just thinking about this screenplay I'm writing,"
said Kid.

     "Quit fooling around!  We're here to solve a murder!  Who
murdered this cat?  This cat with glasses!!!" said Sarge in a very
serious voice.  A serious voice that you only ever use when you're
investigating a cat who has been murdered that wears glasses.

     "Yeah, I know.  But wouldn't that be a cool movie?"

     "No it wouldn't.  It wouldn't be a cool movie!"

     "It would if Brad Pitt was the dark and stormy knight!"

     "No, it wouldn't!"

     "Yes, it would!"

     "My god!  What is wrong with you two?" said some distressed
woman.  "Why aren't you two solving this murder?"

     "Relax lady," said Sarge.  "We're in the middle of a
conversation about whether Brad Pitt is cool."

     "Yeah, lady," said the Kid as he pointed his gun at her.  "Just
hang in..."  And then there was a loud bang.  And smoke came out of
his gun.

     "Oh my god, Sarge!  I shot her!!  I killed her!" said Kid with
panic in his voice.

     "Did you?" said Sarge.  "I'm not so sure about that."

     "What do you mean, Sarge?"

     "Maybe that's what she wanted us to think.  Maybe that was her
master plan all along."

     "I'm not following you."

     "This whole thing looks like some kind of a murder-suicide pact.
That's what I'm thinking.  Obviously this lady whoever she was killed
the cat with glasses.  And then she tried to frame you for her own
suicide.  It's just that simple."

     "Really?  So I didn't kill her?"

     "Yep, it's really quite obvious when you have a brain as big as
mine that that's what happened.  Well, looks like we've solved this

     "Wow, another case solved!"

     "Yep, now what were we talking about?"

     "How Brad Pitt is totally cool."

     "No, he isn't."

     "Yes, he is."

     "Isn't it."


     And somewhere on the road was a dead cat.  A dead cat with

     And another mystery solved.

          -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

   The office of Dr Schroedinger was at Calisotta State University.
It turned out to be reassuringly prosaic.  No complicated quantum
principles were incorporated into the architecture.  No blasphemies of
Lovecraftian space threatened to drive a visitor insane.  There wasn't
even any prints of M.C.Escher hanging on the wall.  There did seem to
be a lot of unfiled paperwork sitting in semi-organized piles, but
technically speaking those constituted a fire hazard, which was a
different type of menace altogether.

     The detectives pulled up outside the office. It had two doors.

     "Which one should we try?" Molloy said.

     Crumple responded, "You know the procedure, rookie. We cover both

     So Molloy went to the back, and knocked. The door swung open on
its own, revealing a lobby with two more doors. As he walked in, the
door behind him disappeared.

     "What the hell!?" Molloy took out his walkie-talkie. "Crumple!
What's going on!?"

     A burst of static came in response. Like three Crumples were
trying to respond.

          -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

     And the cat with glasses stepped out of the shadows and looked at
the various cops that were standing around his dead body.

     "Bloody hell," said the cat with glasses, who was also wearing a
trench coat.  "What the hell was I drinking last night?  Shit, is
this a dream?"  And then he noticed the lady on the ground.   It was
some lady that he had never ever seen.  "Christ!  What the hell is
going on?"

     And then everyone standing around his dead body noticed him.
"Hey!  It's another cat with glasses!  Kill him!!"

     "Oh shit!" said the cat with glasses (and now a trench coat)
making a run for it.

     But before the cops and everyone else could kill him, a car ran
him over.

          -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

     "Damn, another dead cat with glasses!"  said Kid looking at the
dead cat.  "Who was driving that Yugo?  It kind of looked like Brad
Pitt, but it can't be since Brad Pitt is too cool to drive a Yugo."

     "I'm pretty sure I did read somewhere that Brad Pitt does indeed
drive a Yugo," said Sarge.

     "No!  It's not true!  It's just not true!"

     "Face it, Kid.  Brad Pitt drives a Yugo and he's completely
lame.  These are the facts."

     "Why do you hate Brad Pitt, Sarge?"

     "I don't hate him.  He's just lame."

     "Maybe you just haven't seen any good movies involving Brad
Pitt.  How about Fight Club?  Have you seen Fight Club?"

     "Yeah, I saw that.  I guess that would have been a good movie -
if it weren't for the fact that Brad Pitt was completely lame in it."

     "I feel sad for you, Sarge."

     "What the hell are two talking about?" said some other cop that I
can't be bothered to give a name to.  "Why aren't you solving this
murder instead of blathering away about Brad Pitt?"

     "We already solved this case.  It was Brad Pitt," said Sarge.

     "No, it wasn't," said Kid defending his hero.

     "Look," said Sarge pointing a gun at the strange cop who didn't
have a name.  "My partner is a rookie cop who doesn't quite
understand..."  And then Sarge's gun went off.  And the strange cop
without a name fell to the ground.  Dead.

     "You killed him!" said Kid.

     "Sure - from your untrained rookie eyes, that's what it might
look like.  But obviously from my more experienced older cop eyes it's
quite obvious that there is some conspiracy going on here.  A
conspiracy that is trying to frame us for all of these cat with
glasses murders.  And all of the other murders that are happening.
There's something big going on here, Kid.  Very big.  Who knows how
far this conspiracy goes?"

     "Who do you think is behind it, Sarge?"

     "My best guess would be Brad Pitt."

     "Man, Sarge.  Why do you think Brad Pitt is responsible for
everything wrong in the world?"

     "Because he's lame."

     "Is not!"

     "Is too."

     And so it goes.

          -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

     Neither officer noticed the figure several hundred feet
above them, standing on the thin metal rail that separated
the highway overpass from the ground below and swearing
to himself. As the figure in question was a cat, and the
swear being uttered something that would have sounded like
"meeeeyeow!" to human ears, these facts were not altogether

     Whomever had killed the cat below had done it to send a message,
MacCavity mused. But who? And why? To lure him out of retirement for
one last score? To frame him for what would otherwise be the perfect
crime? Or was it simply because the killer was a cat, and cats tended
to be bastards to one another?

    He sighed, shook his head, and began to meander his way down the
overpass... only to have his path blocked by an orange-and-white tabby.
One look at the interloper told MacCavity that he meant business.

    <<Looking at your handiwork?>> the new cat growled.

     MacCavity sighed. <<New at this, are you?>> he meowed. <<Look,
whoever you are...>>

     <<My name,>> said the cat, who sounded uncannily like Antonio
Banderas, <<is... Habanero!>>

     Somewhere in the distance, a mariachi band strummed a succession
of chords.

     <<Seriously? The Fourth of July Miracle Cat?>> MacCavity asked.

     <<But of course,>> said Habanero, his tail swishing. <<So... are we
going to do this the easy way? Or are we going to stare at each other,
fur bristling, and then leap at each other, clawing and
scratching and biting, until one of us tastes blood!>>

     The mariachi band added a chorus.

     <<Look,>> MacCavity said, feeling the weight of his thirteen
years.  <<Much as our readers would enjoy reading a good catfight... I
didn't kill that cat. Whoever he is.>>

     Habanero produced a piece of paper.

     <<And what if I told you I had, here, your signed confession>> he

     <<I'd say that was doggypoop,>> MacCavity spat, uttering what
was, in cat, one of the foulest curses imaginable.

     <<And why is that?>> Habanero demanded.

>> MacCavity meowed.

     Habanero's eyes narrowed.

     <<I believe it is time, my friend,>> Habanero said, <<that I
showed you how I came by my name...>>

     The mariachi band fell over itself in an orgy of strumming, as
someone in the far distance shouted "Ariba!"

   -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

     At a caf=E9 not far from the scene of the now (in the eyes of the
police) closed case of the squashed feline, a young woman stirred  her
cinnamon dolce de leche mocha Azteca frappuchillito with a  peppermint
biscotti.  A shadow fell across her table, and she  looked up.

     And kept looking.

     "Holy crackbabies," she said, and immediately wished she hadn't.
"You're Brad Pitt!"

     "I'm aware of that," Pitt said.

     "In my cafe!  Brad Pitt!" the woman repeated.

     "Is this your cafe?" Pitt asked, looking around.  "I was hoping
you were a customer here.  In fact, I was hoping you happened to be
Dr. Thelma Annlouise, the noted feline ophthalmologist."

     "You are.  I mean, I am.  I mean..."

     "Dr. Annlouise?" Pitt asked.

     "Yes," Dr. Annlouise said, wishing she hadn't asked for quite so
much Azteca in her frappuchillito.

     "I wonder," Pitt said, handing her a small, twisted pair of
spectacles wrapped in a handkerchief, "what you might make of these."

     "Not a pair of mine, that's for sure," Dr. Annlouise said, and
then blushed.  "I mean..."

     She straightened up, her professional instincts kicking in.
"Interesting.  The lenses are tinted... but to a slightly different
degree.  My guess?  They belonged to a cat that had one green eye and
one blue eye.  The different color eyes absorb light to a different
degree, you see."

     "That fits," Pitt said, eyeing her biscotti.  "You mind?"

     "No.  Of course not," Dr. Annlouise said, as Pitt slammed the
biscotti into his mouth, demolishing it in two messy bites.

     "These glasses," Pitt said, "were found... not far from here...
on the body of a cat with eyes exactly like those you described."

     He removed a pair of glasses of his own from the pocket of his
trenchcoat =96 a darkened pair of rounded 'granny' glasses =96 and put
them on.

     "I have to go," he said.  "But thank you for your information,

     "Wait!" Dr. Annlouise said.  "How... how did you find me?  How
did you get those glasses?  And what are you doing, running around and
investigating cat-related crimes?  Shouldn't you be acting in a film,
or making out with Angelina Jolie, or something?"

     "Neither takes as long as you might think," Pitt said, donning a
black suede fedora.  "Leaving me plenty of time to pursue my true
calling... as a member of the Net.Trenchcoat Brigade!"

     She looked at him in incredulity.  "The Net.Trenchcoat Brigade!
But... how?"

     "There was a hideous experience in a graveyard, and then they
stole my razor."


     "Okay, Brad, in this scene your character of Louis is in the
covered graveyard, searching for another vampire who's in hiding,"
explained the director.  "You intend to find him and confront him.  So
for this shot we need you to walk across this patch of ground looking
both grim and wary, stand before this crypt, and then open the crypt

     Brad nodded.  He didn't remember anything like this in the
script, but last minute rewrites weren't uncommon in Hollywood's
Development Hell.

     "Roll 'em!" went the director.  The clapperboard clapped, but
from where he was standing Brad couldn't see that it made no reference
to _Interview With A Vampire_, but instead read: Brad Pitt's secret
origin as a Net.Trenchcoat Brigader: sole take.

     Brad walked across the sound stage, looking appropriately grim
and wary as he'd been told.  The fake mist swirled.  An owl hooted,
which was strange, because normally sound effects like that would be
added in during post production.  There was something wrong, but Brad
mentally shrugged and assumed that it was simply something to do with
the take.  That wasn't a big deal; they'd probably just redo that
scene later if the director didn't like it.

     He stood before the crypt.  He reached out open the crypt lid.
The lid flew off (obviously made of balsa wood), and someone in zombie
makeup jumped up, grabbed Brad, and gave him a tongue kiss!

[End flashback]

     "And that was the hideous experience in a graveyard," said Brad
as the flashback smoke cleared.  They tried to pass it off as just a
joke, but later on my shaving gear had disappeared.  Every time I
bought a new razor, or even shaving foam, it would always disappear."

     He looked at her.  "Since then the only time I've been able to be
clean shaven is when I'm being prepared in makeup."  He ran one hand
absently over the stubble on his chin.  "Other than that I've been
cursed with a perpetual five o'clock shadow that can never grow longer
or shorter, and a burning need to put on a trenchcoat and fight occult

     She stared at him.  "Lord have mercy."

          -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

    Brad Pitt left the cafe.  Time to hunt.  But... hunt whom?  Never
mind where a cat with different-colored eyes would come from, or who
would give it glasses.  The real question was, who hates cats?

     Pitt sat down on a park bench with his Venti paper cup of steamed
milk, and meditated.  Before long, the answer came to him.  Brad
Pitt's evil twin hates cats!

     Now, where to find Evil Brad Pitt?  Certainly not in a trendy
cafe.  So Good Brad Pitt strode off toward the seedy part
of town.

     It was only seven PM, and the bars were open.  Good Brad picked
the ugliest-looking one, and walked in.  Five regulars were sitting on
barstools upholstered largely with duct tape, huddled over their draft
Pabst Blue Ribbon beers, and watching Net.ropolis Net.Guard soccer on

     Good Brad pointed at the ugliest-looking regular, who was wearing
a trenchcoat, sunglasses, and a knit cap.  "You!  Cat-hater!  I'm
calling you out, Evil Brad Pitt!"

     "Ah.  The supreme moment."  Evil Brad stood up.  "Is Brad Pitt
good?  Or evil?  Or... both?"

     The bartender and the other regulars looked on in amazement.  But
not at Brad Pitt(s).

     The barroom floor was filling up with interested-looking cats.
Wearing glasses.

         -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

     "... Agent O'Hanrahan, thank you for coming here to Martinez.
We've had a rash of road kills.  Most of them are missing cats,
identified by the owners.  One was apparently a stray - and it was
wearing glasses.  And all of them were missing their spines by the
time we found them."

     "So you need the United States Insight Battalion."


          -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

     In a private room at the Martinez Police Department, Mary
O'Hanrahan entered death, cats, spines, and glasses into her uplink.
As search terms, that is.  The results said nothing about glasses.
But it did seem, Contra Costa County of California had a recent
history of animal sacrifice - and it was the home base for Black
Brady, the Spine of Satan.

     Time to go hunting spines, Mary thought.  She'd topped up the
power levels of her battle suit, just in case.

     She slammed the data stick with information relating to the
Black Brady case into the USIB port of her suit and waited for the
rush of data to fill her headset monitor.

     There it was, she thought, moments later.  Spines.  Loads and
loads of spines.


              -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

     "Place that last one at the center of the pile," Black Brady
said, as the forklift operator gingerly lowered the latest feline
vertebra to become a part of the cult leader's extensive collection.

     "There it is," the forklift operator said.  "Nasty thing.
Weird, too =96 the cat we took it from wore glasses.  Ever seen
anything like that?"

     "Of course, of course," Black Brady said.  "Believe me, when
you're in the cat spine collecting business, as I am, you've seen it
all, sooner or later."

     "About that," the operator said.  "Something I've been meaning
to ask you."

     "Why do I collect cat spines?"

     "Well, no," the operator said.  "I mean, why do you call
yourself Black Brady?"

     Black Brady sighed.  "It's not as obvious now, I suppose," he
said.  "But in the '70s... in my prime... everyone who met me said I
was the spitting image of what the kid who played Bobby on The Brady
Bunch would look like, if he was African-American."

     "I... see," the operator said.  "Well.  Off to pick up another
batch of spines."

     "Not so fast, my friend," Brady said.  Before the operator could
manage a yelp, the cult leader leaped forward, dug his enamelled
fingernails into the back of the hapless forklift operator, pushed,
and yanked out the man's wriggling spine.

     "Hyyyyack!" the forklift operator said, and expired.

     "Just as I suspected," Brady said, staring at the man's spine,
which slithered in his grasp like a caffeinated Conger eel.  "A
tracking device =96 no doubt planted on the man by the so-called
Insight Battalion!  Well, let them come.  Let them come!"

     He stared at the row of spines before him... a row that had been
carefully woven into a labyrinth of vertebral bone.

     "Let them come," he crowed, "and fall into... my SPINAL TRAP!"

          -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

    And Lazy Brad Pitt lying on his hotel bed clicked on the TV remote
and flipped through the channels on TV.  There were tons of channels,
but nothing seemed to be on.  And the flipping through channels was
beginning to get very tiring.  Finally, he stopped on some news
channel.  There was some news story on.  It was a news story about
him.  Brad Pitt.  And the news story said he was dead.  He was dead.
He had been killed in some car accident.  And he had been driving a

     What the hell?  Was this some kind of prank?  He wasn't dead.
And there was no way he'd ever drive a Yugo!  He thought about calling
one of his people on the phone to straighten this whole mess out, but
that sounded like it might take a lot of work.  And it was probably
pointless.  I mean eventually some one would go into this hotel room
and make the bed or something and he could tell that person that he
was still alive.

     Yeah, that's what he'd do.

     Man, some pot and wReamos would sure be nice.  Too bad there they
were all the way over in his suitcase way over near the closet.  Man,
that was a long way.  A very long way.

     Lazy Brad Pitt sighed.

     And then he heard someone knocking on his door.  Hey, maybe he
could have the maid get him his pot and wReamos.  "Come in - not

     And some one came in.  But not the maid.  And the person had a
gun.  And the person started shooting.  Shooting at Brad.

     And Lazy Brad Pitt thought about dodging the bullets.  But
man - that would take a lot of work.

     And so he didn't.

     Bummer, thought Lazy Brad Pitt looking at all of his bleeding
chest wounds.

          -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-
     MacCavity fell over laughing. <<Oh, I can't *wait* to hear
*that*  story! Seriously? *Habanero* the *Fourth of July* Miracle Cat?
Who's  the Cinco de Mayo Miracle Cat? Corncob?>>

     <<You mock Habanero at your peril... Ole!>> Habanero took up a
bullfigher's pose.

     MacCavity laughed some more. <<I'm thirteen years old! That's
eleventy-five or something in human years! Surely you don't expect
*me*  to charge you?>>

     <<Oh, I'm sure you can think of *something.*>>

     <<Right.>> MacCavity raised his paw to his collar, and pressed a

          -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

     Below, in the station house, Sgt. Kidd watched a cyborg cat rear
up on  its hind legs and tail. Its front paws popped off. A blade
popped out  of each socket.

     Then the cat paused, and turned its head.

     "Oooh! Someone blew a kitty whistle!", Kidd said.

     The other cop said, "Isn't it dogs that have whistles?"

     "Maybe, but this kitty's hearing *something*."

     The cat raised its hindquarters and whirled its tail. Upside
down, it  rose into the air and flew out of the police station!

          -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

     From the overpass above, Habanero said, <<Well? Shall you reveal
your  villainous attack, or will I be forced to... serenade you?>> In
the  distance, trumpets and mariachis sounded a challenge.

    MacCavity responded, <<Hold your mouses... Ah, here he comes.>>
With  tail whirling, a flying cat dove toward Habanero!

     <<Ole!>> With one fluid motion, Habanero reached toward a pouch
at his  side, drew out a cat-sized white sheet, and waved it in front
of the  flying cat. That cat disappeared into the sheet!

     MacCavity gaped. <<Huh? What was that!?>>

    Habanero laughed. <<Miracle Pet Wipes, of course! Available at
Petco  and other great American stores! And that is why I love America!

    <<Oh, please. You're obviously Mexican. Except for your
bullfighting  which is Spanish. And I think I hear some Brazilian
maracas in your band.>>

     <<Si! I am Latino *and* I am American!  I was American before
your  American ancestors were even *in* America! Now... do you

    MacCavity chuckled. <<I suppose so. Following you around should
give  me *great* amusement.>>

     <<Bravo! Then come with me! Evil is afoot!>>

     Trumpets swelled. Maracas rattled. And in a poof of smoke,
Habanero  and MacCavity were standing in a pit.

          -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

     Agent O'Hanrahan set up her gear on a secluded hilltop near Black
Brady's mansion.  She knew she had the right place, from the forklift
loaded with cat spines.  She was hidden but she had the view.

     She couldn't see inside the garage the forklift went in.  But her
ground-penetrating radar could.  Two men were inside, counting the
forklift operator.  Then her directional microphone picked up a
"hyaaack" sound.  And it became only one man.

     Well, either someone had teleported, or someone had died.  Well,
all she needed was *probable* cause.  Time to call the police.

     But then came a poof of smoke to her side.  Black Brady was
there! "Oh, so you've come to view my collection!  Perhaps you'd like
the guided tour."

     "No thanks.  I've seen enough from here."

     "I do think I could elucidate, though.  This hilltop is my
private ritual ground.  Surely you did not think to surprise me here."

     Dammit, Mary thought.  She was already moving when Black Brady
threw a small pentacle at where her feet had been.  He was saying,
"And now to bind you...  Huh?"  Mary shot her wrist line at him, and
yanked him on top of his own pentacle.

     "Aha.  Nice try.  But this holy symbol only *frees* me.  I call
upon it to free the powers!"  Black Brady gestured.  The pentacle
grew. Mary could see it was made of spines.  Then it flashed.

     But Black Brady seemed surprised.  "No!  Turmoil in the mystic
realms!"  The ground opened up beneath him.  He fell - with Mary
behind him on the wrist line.

     She brought her other glove up, and shot the other direction...
Oops, not a wrist line, just a flare!  Oh well, this was a distress

     And down they fell.

              -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

     "Sarge," Kid began.

     "What?" Sarge replied.  "This isn't going to be about my randomly
going around and shooting people, is it?  Because I really feel we
need to put that behind us."

     "It's not that, Sarge," Kid said, with some hesitation. 
that... This thing you have.  With Brad Pitt.  It's..."

     "I do NOT have a thing with Brad Pitt!  I never have!" Sarge
barked.  "He's completely lame!"

     "And it's not just that," Kid continued.  "Have you noticed...
that this thing you have with Brad Pitt... it only seems to come up
when the two of us are together?"

     "You're off your rocker," Sarge said.  "I find Brad Pitt
unappealing, uninteresting, uninspired and lame on every occasion,
including when I am at home listening to Miles Davis records with my

     "You don't have a goldfish, Sarge," Kid said.

     "He had a bad reaction to Miles Davis," Sarge said.

     "You've never had a goldfish," Kid said.  "Ask me how I know

     "I don't care how you know that!  I don't care about any of
Aren't there any other cat-related deaths in this town we could be
investigating right now?"

     "This isn't about Brad Pitt, Sarge.  Or your goldfish.  Or Miles
Davis.  Actually, it could tangentially be about Miles Davis... No.
It isn't.  It's about us."

     "What the hell are you talking about?" Sarge said, fingering the
barrel of his revolver.

     "Haven't you noticed, Sarge?  The way people are always mistaking
us for each other?  The way we're always dressed alike... even when
we're in civilian clothes?"

     "I don't own any civilian clothes!" Sarge said.

     "Haven't you seen the way we always finish each other's
sentences?  The fact that we've seen all the same movies... read the
same books... that we have the same reaction whenever someone plays
'Kind of Blue?'   It's like... like we're the same person.  One soul,
in two bodies.  And the only thing that separates us is the way we
feel about..."

     "I told you," Sarge said, aiming his pistol at Kid, "I didn't
to talk about Brad Pitt!"

     "Someone mention my name?" Brad Pitt said.

     Sarge spun, drew and fired with the speed of a greased neutrino
-  and yet, fast as he  was, Brad Pitt moved still faster.  Spinning
his hands with blinding speed, the actor deflected Sarge's first two
shots neatly, then whirred =96 his trenchcoat fanning out like a cape =96
and caught the final bullet between two of the toes of his left foot.

     "...lame," Sarge snapped.

     "How... how did you do that?" Kid gasped.

     "A little something I picked up along the way," Brad Pitt said,
letting the shell casing drop from his toes.  "Unless you've learned
to deflect weapons fire with your bare hands, you can't really date
Angelina Jolie for very long."

     "Of course," Kid said, nudging Sarge with his arm.  Sarge
grudgingly put his weapon away.  "Guess you'll have to buy a new hat,"
he added, as Pitt fingered a bullet hole in the brim of his

     "Buy?  You can't buy one of these," Pitt said, returning the
damaged fedora to his head.  "They're made on an isolated floating
village off the island of Phuket.  The only way to get one is to prove
your worth by wrestling an insane water buffalo."

     He sighed.  "I'll have to ask Angelina to pick me up a new one.
But that's not what brought me here today."

     He looked Sarge up and down.  "What was it that made you want to
shoot me just now?"

     "Your performance in 'Meet Joe Black,'" Sarge snarled.

     "It's not that," Kid said, quickly.  "It's... There's
about you, Mr. Pitt, that makes my partner here... uneasy.  And I'll
confess, too, that you... you trigger something in me, too.  Something
that feels dark and dangerous.  You appeal to my primordial..."

     "We've met before, gentlemen," Pitt said.  "Or at least, aspects
of ourselves have.  I've been running into myself all afternoon...
and I suspect that just now wasn't the first time you've tried to
shoot me.  For you see... I'm not myself today.  Not entirely, at
least.  And you haven't really been yourself... not since you were
split into two separate beings!"

"My god, you're right!                          "That's the stupidest
I've always loved you!"                        thing I've ever heard,"
Kid said.                                              Sarge muttered.

     "And now," Pitt said, "we need to unlock the secret behind your
separation... and mine... and to do that, we're going to need to skin
a cat!"

     "That's the first not-lame thing you've ever said in your life,"
Sarge said.

          -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

         "MacCavity is dead," smirked MacCavity to himself he watched
himself get squashed by a Yugo after watching himself as a road kill.
"Long live MacCavity."

     The self-styled feline Wolf Burglar steeped back into shadows,
amused.  Oh, this was great.  This was even better than the Paper
Mache Decoy ploy that those super-spy agencies used  [Just like the
Life Model Decoys of SHIELD in Marvel Comics, only using paper mache.
And, yes, this really has been used before in LNH continuity].  With
the help of Dr. Schroedinger's little device, the cat could just leave
behind a series of dead (or clueless, or both) counterparts as
distractions and fall guys.  He hummed to himself:

   MacCavity, MacCavity, there's no one like MacCavity
   With his quantum duplicates, he can defy the law of gravity

          -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

     "Dammit," Molloy cursed.  "If I've said it once, I've said
it a
thousand times.  One does not simply walk into more doors."
He brought the walkie-talkie to his lips.  "Where are you, Crumple?"

     "I..." "I..." "I..."  Several voices seemed to be
each other, as though Molloy was listening to the radio in an area
with bad reception, or to one of the Republican presidential
candidate debates.

     "I...I...I...have...have...have...split...split...split," he
heard several Crumples say, in a manner that was at least as
harrowing to hear as it was annoying to read.

     "In the middle of an investigation?" Molloy said.  "Pull yourself
together, woman!"

     "I am afraid zat will be very nearly impossible," said a tall
man with a badly-written German accent who appeared just behind Molloy
in the laboratory.  "You see, Herr Officer, Detective Crumple has...
how you say?  Entered a room vith von of my experiments.  And zus, she
has become von of my experiments."

     "Zus?" Molloy repeated.

     "Even zo," said the man, whom Molloy realized had to be Dr.
Schroedinger.  "You see, Herr Officer..."

     "It's Molloy," Molloy said.  "Officer Molloy."

     "Herr Officer Molloy, vhenever anyvone enters ze cat-schplitting
chamber, he... or she, as ze case may be... is schplitt into his or her
component... er... Weltanschauungen."

     "Their worldviews?" said Molloy, who had spent several years of
his military service stationed in the German Virgin Islands.  "But...
why?  And why would you build a cat-splitting device in the first

    Dr. Schroedinger shrugged.  "Search me," he said.  "I vanted to
make ze cure for cancer.  But, you gots to go vhere de funding is,
you know?  And all ze major universities, zey want you to schplitt
ze little kitties."

     He sighed.  "And everythink vould have gonn zhust vine, eef eet
had not been vor ze interference of zat American actor and ze cat vith

     "A cat with spectacles?" Molloy said, his keen investigative
senses tingling.  "You don't... you don't mean... glasses, do you?"

     "Zat," Schroedinger said, "is exactly vot I mean."

     "But wait a second," Molloy said.  "That experiment, the original
cat in the box experiment, wasn't it supposed to split cats into an
alive or dead state?"

     "Correct!  But zis haf moved far beyond zat simple prinziple of
indeterminazy.  As I haf said, ze current experiments schplitt
individual's into quvantum duplicates based on zeir vorldviews.  In
ze kitties, zis typically means a divizion into der three bazic states
of alive, dead, or bloody furious."

     "...Bloody furious..."

     "Just zo," nodded Dr Schroedinger.

     "And what about people who *weren't* cats?" asked Molloy.

     "Ah, zat will be more complicated.  Humans are less focuzed than
ze kitties.  Far more thoughts in zeir heads.  Far more vorldviews.
Und no conzistenzy in what zos vorldviews are."

           -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

     Black Brady opened his eyes up.  What had happened?  He looked
around him.  Darkness.  Using his satanic magical abilities his hands
began to glow.  Ah, a pit.  And he saw Agent O'Hanrahan lying
unconscious on the ground.  Time to finish her off.  But before he
could do that he heard a meowing behind him.  He turned around and saw
various cats emerging from the ground.  Cats that should not be moving
around.  Cats that should be dead.  And they were staring at him.  And
they were all wearing glasses.

     Black Brady cast a few spells, but they didn't seem to have any
effect on the cats.  And the cats began to circle around him.  And
they began to jump and claw their way onto him.

     Black Brady tried ripping the cats off of him, but every time he
ripped off one another would claw its way back onto him.

     "Get off me!  You stupid cats!!  Why aren't you dead?  I killed
you all!!  Why aren't you dead?"

     <<I'd say it's a miracle,>> meowed Habanero the Fourth of July
Miracle Cat stepping out from the shadows.  <<A Fourth of July Miracle!
>>  And Habanero just stood back and watched as Black Brady continued
to scream and scream.

     One of the glasses-wearing cats passed Habanero an harmonica,
which the latter accepted with grace.  He began to play a blues riff,
while several of the other cats =96 the ones not involved in rending
Black Brady limb from limb =96 rattled handfuls of vertebra and thumped
on the ground, keeping time.

   <<Whoa, Black Brady, bam-a-lam>> Habanero sang.
   <<Whoa, Black Brady, bam-a-lam
   Black Brady stole a spine =96 bam-a-lam
   It was a major crime =96 bam-a-lam
   He tried to kill ol' Mary =96 bam-a-lam
   That's when things got hairy, bam-a-lam...>>

          -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

     ... and so Agent Mary O'Hanrahan woke up.  In a pit.  With Black
Brady, being swarmed by cats - wearing glasses.  One cat was meowing
into a harmonica, to the tune of Black Betty...  Maybe her sensors
were off.  But it looked like justice was served.

     Mary was without her equipment, but she still had her battle
suit.  She looked up the pit wall.  Twenty feet.  No problem.  She
jumped out.

    She'd been moved!  Instead of a hilltop with her equipment, she
saw a lab building.  It had one police car parked outside - but it
wasn't Martinez police.  The car said, Net.ropolis!  Oh, probably
some private security agency.  Mary walked toward the building.

     Back in the pit, MacCavity the Cat turned to Habanero the
Miracle Cat.  <<I wonder if the human even knows what's going on.>>

     <<No matter!  We are where we need to be!>>  Habanero ran up the
pit wall.  The cats with glasses climbed up after him.

     MacCavity shrugged.  <<To me, my cyborg minion!>>  The cyborg cat
gripped MacCavity with its velcro paw attachments, whirled its tail,
and rose majestically into the air.  As majestically as an upside-down
cat can be with another cat dangling off it, anyway. But the view of a
swarm of cats was fantastic.

          -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

     "As you shall soon vind out!" declared Dr. Schroedinger,
snatching the pistol from Molloy's belt and aiming it at the police
officer's chest.

     "What?  Why are you doing this?" Molloy asked.  "Hasn't your
experiment gone far enough?"

     "Not yet," Schroedinger said.  "For one ting... you know too

     "Anyone who knows me would deny that's true," Molloy said.

     "Und for another... your presence here will finally draw out my
true quarry... de Holiday Miracle Pet known as HABANERO!"

     "The Living Spirit of Independence Day?" Molloy gasped.  "Why,
Schroedinger?  Why?  Are... are you secretly descended from the
Hessian mercenaries who were defeated by George Washington's forces at
the Battle of Trenton?  Has your family waited for generations to
avenge itself upon the spirit of American liberty?"

     "Vat, are you high?" Schroedinger asked.  "Zat sounds like ze bad
plot from ze pulp novel.  No... I vant to lure Habanero here because I
um zecretly..."

     Schroedinger removed a realistic-looking rubber mask from what
proved to be a somewhat less-realistic looking face.  "ze... VI vean
vhe... VAPID VETERINARIAN!" the newly-revealed net.villain declared.
"Vand vit vas vlong vbeen vmy vdesire vo vapture vhat veline varagon
vand vcut voff vis vittle vkitty vnutsies!"

     "What?  That's horrible!  Why would you do such a thing!" Molloy

     "Vo vkeep vats vike Vabanero vrom voverpopulating vhe Vearth,"
the Vapid Veterinarian said.  "VI vonsider vit vmy vduty vas va
veterinary vrofessional."

     Molloy considered this.  "So your plan to keep cats from
overpopulating the earth... is to create a machine that generates an
infinite number of cats?"

     The Vapid Veterinarian narrowed his eyes.

     "Vas VI vaid, vyou vknow voo vmuch, vofficer," the villain
declared.  "Vnow... vplace vhese vlasses von vyour vead.  Vhey vare
vessential vor vhe veffect."

     "What effect?" Molloy asked nervously.

              -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

     "The glasses =96 they're critical!" declared Dr. Annelouise, who
had just burst into a barroom filled with dozens of bespectacled cats
and good and evil versions of Brad Pitt.

     "Yes, they could correct the vision of a cat with different-
colored eyes.  But they could also act as a prism... separating out
the unique versions of each being!" the ophthalmologist declared.

     The two Brad Pitts looked at each other.

     "That's insane!" both said.

              -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

    "The real truth," the trenchcoated Brad Pitt said, "is that I
had come to this town as part of my research into the role of a cat
burglar, which I plan to portray in Ocean's 14."

     "Wait," Kid said.  "You've already played that role like... what,
three times now?  Why would you need to do research?"

     "It gets me out of the house," Pitt admitted.  "And it's a tax

     "Lame," Sarge said.

     "In any case," Pitt continued.  "I wanted an opportunity to work
with the world's most notorious cat burglar...and that's when you...
or rather, the you you were before you were split into you and you...
paired me with MacCavity."

     Pitt sighed.  "I suppose I should have specified that I wanted to
work with a 'cat burglar,' and not so much a 'burglar who happens to
be a cat.'  Because I mean, seriously.  What the hell is a 'wolf
burglar?' What does that even mean?"

    "Clearly you've never had to deal with a stolen wolf," Sarge
said.  "Because you are lame."

              -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

     "We... broke into Schroedinger's lab.  MacCavity, Sgt. Kidd, and
me," the good Brad Pitt recalled.  "Kidd was along as a condition of
MacCavity's parole.  How were we to know that MacCavity had worked out
a deal with Schroedinger in advance?  Or that we would become victims
of Schroedinger's machine?"

     "But we know that now," the evil Brad Pitt said.  "The question
is... how did you know it, Dr. Annelouise?"

     "Isn't it obvious?" Dr. Annelouise said.  "I'm the aspect of
Pitt that has always wanted to be a female ophthalmologist,
specializing in  cats?"

          -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

     Molloy looked dubiously at the glasses.  The glasses that were
supposed to split him into multiple versions of himself.  Something
like what had happened to Crumble.  Not to mention all those damn
cats.  He looked at the Vapid Vetinarian and said, "Wouldn't it be
better if you only had one enemy to contend with, rather than three or

     "Vno vmore vmart vtalk," threatened the Vetinarian, still
pointing his gun at the cop. "Vut von vhe vlasses!"

     Molloy did so, and suddenly there were two Molloys!  The good cop
Molloy and the evil minion Molloy!

     "Vou vasked vhy VI vould vant vo vreate vo vany venemies?" the
Veterinarian asked, and then shot the good Molloy dead.  "Vor vhe
vlassic vituation.  Voth valive vand vead."

     "And bloody furious!" yelled the bloody furious Molloy, who
reared up behind the villain an punched him in the jaw.  Vapid
Vetinarian staggered and dropped his gun.  But as the bloody furious
Molloy advanced on the Vetinarian, the evil minion Molloy punched him,
and the two remaining versions of Molloy began an epic bar fight...
except they weren't in a bar.  Okay then, an epic evil scientists lab
fight.  Whatever.  There were lots of punches and smashing each over
in the face with chairs and people getting thrown across tables of
mysterious glassware which promptly gets smashing in a highly
cinematic manner.

     Vapid Vetinarian crawled across to the other side of his office.
"Vools!  Vou vhall vot vtop ve!  Vall VI veed vis vto vdo vis
vactivate vy Vuantum Vatnip, vand Vabanero vhe Vourth vof Vjuly
Vmiracle Vat vill ve vlured vere vand vecome vy vrisoner!"  He reached
to pull the huge knife switch of his device.

     <<That will not be necessary,>> said Habanero, who sauntered in
with cat-like poise and aplomb, and followed by MacCavity, who looked
around and commented, <<Back here again, I see.>>

              -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

     Stuck in Traffic Brad Pitt growled behind the wheel of his Yugo.
Damn this traffic!  Damn it to Hell!!  Why won't it move!

     And then he noticed a crazed person tearing down one of the
sidewalks along the street corner.  Someone driving a Yugo.  Someone
driving a Yugo very badly.  Various people fled the sidewalk as the
out of control Yugo flew through it.

     Stuck in Traffic Brad Pitt looked as the Yugo got closer and
closer and tried to see who was driving the vehicle.  The guy kind
of looked familiar.  Wait a minute!  The guy was him!  Or some look a
like?  A Brad Pitt impersonator?  Whoever he was he was getting
closer.  Too close!  He was running right into him!!

     He was...

     There was a crash!

     And Bad Driving/Stuck in Traffic Brad Pitt looked around and
wondered just what had happened.  Hadn't he been in an accident?  If
so why was he completely fine?

     But before he could think more about that another car crashed
into him.  And he died.

          -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

     "Vat vhlast!" crowed the Vapid Veterinarian, beside himself with
glee as his feline opponent stood in front of him, calmly licking his
paws.  "Vall vy vplans... vall vhy vickedness... van vnow..."

     He removed a device from his pocket that looked suspiciously like
a nutcracker.

     "Habanero!" cried the Molloy Who Provides Necessary Exposition
When Required.  "Look out!"

     The cat, however, continued to clean himself as a massive
Trailways bus driven =96 and completely occupied by =96 Brad Pitt slammed
through the wall of the laboratory, flattening the Vapid Veterinarian
into something that resembled a breakfast crepe.

     "VAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHTKLK!" croaked the Vapid Veterinarian.

     "That's incredible!" said the expository Molloy.  "I could have
sworn we were on the third or fourth floor!"

     But: "Vou Vaven't vescaped vme vyet!" yelled one of the Brad
Pitts - who tore off his mask (and then also took off the glasses he
was wearing underneath the mask) to reveal that he was Brad-Pitt-Who-
Was-Really-Vapid-Vetinarian-In-Cunning-Disguise.  "Vand *vnow*, vith
vy vnut vuncher..."

     And then another Trailways bus - also driven and completey
occupied by Brad Pitt  - crashed through the wall and flattened Vapid
Veterinarian.  Again.

          -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

     Agent Mary O'Hanrahan walked to the Net.ropolis security guard
car at the front of the building.  But the car was empty.  And the
cats that had been trapped with her, swarmed to the back of the

     Okay.  To the back of the building then.

     Then a bus crashed through the building wall - on the third
floor!  Mary jumped up through the wall behind it.

     The swarm of cats had made it up there, all meowing.  Police
officers were swarming there too.  This P.D. had a lot of similar-
looking male officers...  and the bus had a lot of guys who looked
like Brad Pitt.

     Mary's helmet gave her an alert.  They weren't just similar.
They were *exactly the same*.  The officers were all the same man -
and the bus passengers were all Brad Pitt!

     Then a disembodied voice said, over the meows......

     << You see, that is what makes America great!   Out of
many, one! >>

     The men shimmered.  Mary was left with a room full of cats,
one police officer, and Brad Pitt in a trenchcoat.

     She approached the officer, and showed her badge.
"Agent O'Hanrahan, USIB."

     "O'Hanrahan-Yousib?  Married an Arab, did you?"

     "What?  ...No!  USIB!  United States Insight Battalion!"

     "Use.Netted States *What* Battalion?"

     "Oh, check with your superiors...  What just happened?"

     Brad Pitt came over.  "You're not one of *ours*, are you?"

     "Uh, Mr, Pitt, I'm a big fan, but what the ^#&! are you
talking about?"

     "It's a long story.  How 'bout I debrief you on the way
home?  So to speak."

     Mary shrugged.  "Uh, *I* do the debriefing here.  So to speak.
But that plan beats everything *else* that's happened today."
She turned to the officer.  "Everything under control here?"

     "Uh, yeah, got it."

     "Okay, Mr. Pitt.  Lead on."

     Brad held out his arm.  Mary took it.  They departed, arm in arm.

          -=3D=3D### !RACC-Con 2012! ###=3D=3D-

     The cops eyed the walls nervously.  How many more buses were
likely to arrive?  After all, there was a core of truth to the old
joke that you could wait for one for ages, and then several of them
would turn up all at once.

     In the silence someone asked, "So, how are we going to fix this?"

     "The wall's structural integrity is ruined.  It'll have to be
completely rebuilt," said Always-Ready-To-Play-The-Straight-Line-

     "I mean, about all these quantum duplicates."

     <<Be not concerned,>> meowed Habanero.  <<The Vetinerian's
Quantum Catnip uses the principle of superpositioning to overlap many
tons of catnip into one small space.  This is why it is so powerful.
It is literally superconcentrated.  The same principle could be used
fold the many aspects of these people back into their previous

     "That would be incredibly difficult to pull off," observed a
random Brad Pitt who was dusting himself off after crawling out of the
bus, and who just happened to be wearing a Superman costume.

     <<It would,>> agreed Habanero gravely, before saying with a
totally straight face.  <<In fact, it would be a miracle.>>

     There was another moment of silence as that sank in.  Then
Habanero said, <<However, we must ask ourselves whether such a miracle
should happen?  Perhaps having so many quantum duplicates is meant to

     "Okay, now that's just being overly cryptic."

     The view of the cameras pulls back.  Back, away from the ruined
walls of Dr Schroedinger's laboratory.  Back from the grounds of the
university.  Back across the rain-soaked streets where the mortal
remains of so many cats with glasses were found.  Back to the very
edge of the city.  Lightning flashes, and doing so it illuminates a

     'Welcome To Pittsburgh'



     MacCavity the Cat Burglar created by Saxon Brenton
(with a nod to T.S. Eliot).

     Sgt. Kidd created by Saxon Brenton.  However, Sarge
and Kid created by Arthur Spitzer.

     Agent Mary O'Hanrahan and Black Brady created by
Scott Eiler.

     Vapid Veterinarian created by Mark Friedman.

     All of the Officers Molloy created by Rob Rogers.

     Detective Cookie Crumple created by Tom Russell.

     Habanero the Fourth of July Miracle Cat created
by Rob Rogers and Arthur Spitzer.

     Brad Pitt created by Mr. and Mrs. Pitt, who may or
may not have been cool.

     The preceding was created during RACC-Con 2012.  For a
behind-the-scenes glimpse into its creation, visit