                                  T H E

                               Z E P H Y R

                      __     M A G A Z I N E
                     {__]++++++++++++++++++++++++++[]
                     Issue #41                 6-6-87

                A weekly electronic magazine for users of
                            THE ZEPHYR II BBS
                        (Mesa, AZ - 602-894-6526)
                    owned and operated by T. H. Smith

                        Editor - Gene B. Williams

     . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
     . You may share this magazine with your friends under the   .
     . condition that the magazine remain complete and intact,   .
     . with no editing, revisions or modifications of any kind,  .
     . and including this opening section and statement.         .
     . If you like the magazine, our Sysop and I would appreciate.
     . it if you would let your friends know where they can log  .
     . in to find the magazine (and incidentally one of the      .
     . finest BBSs in the country!).                             .
     . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
                                (c) 1987

    THIS ISSUE:

       I tell ya - my job is getting to be so easy! This time around
    we have yet another guest contributor. Our own Chris Mitchell,
    Sysop of The Silent Side, has put together a short story.
       And easier yet, I didn't change a word, letter or even a
    punctuation mark. What you see is EXACTLY what I downloaded
    from Chris earlier.
       So, in the burst of laziness Chris has allowed me, I think
    I'll put up my feet and read the story.

                              Odds 'n' Ends
                              ~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                            by Chris Mitchell

         "Well, Miss Winchell, let's get our little patient on the
    table. Up we go!"  The so-called 'patient' let out a meek meow.
         The assistant set down a bulging file-folder as a youngish
    man in a white frock entered the examination room through another
    door.
         "Good afternoon, Pat!"
         "Thanks for seeing me on such short notice, Dr. Byers. I
    know you're going on vacation and I really wanted to make sure
    that everything was alright."
         "Mrowwwff..."
         "No problem, Pat. What's the story this time?"
         Pat Winchell glanced at the vet sheepishly. "Parking lot at
    work. She's been there for nearly a week. We've been feeding her
    off and on, but the traffic downtown is so busy, and with no
    where safe to sleep..." Her voiced trailed off as the doctor
    broke into a wide grin.
         "MYEW."
         "Pat, I'm afraid your 'she' is a 'he'.  Don't worry about
    it; sometimes it's really hard to tell. Actually, he's an 'it'.
    Someone had the good sense to have him neutered. By the way, how
    many does this make?"
         "I'm down to just four now, including... um, I haven't even
    given her--I mean him!--a name yet."
         Dr. Byers gently lifted the client's tail and inserted a
    thermometer.
         "MNGYEEOWFRL!!"
         "Easy, boy, this'll just take a second. Say, Pat, yours
    always seem to be strays, right?"
         "All but one--my original Burmese. They've all been
    different kinds, too, over the years. Shorthairs, longhairs,
    tabbies; even that one born with no tail!  I've never seen one
    like this little guy before, though. Can you imagine?  One blue
    eye and one bright yellow?"
         "Yes, that is fairly rare. And you'll usually only see it in
    pure white cats like, um, 'Mister X' here."
         "Yes, I imagine you'll need a name for his records. Let's
    see. How about... Oddeyes?"
         "Sounds just fine." The doctor jotted Oddeyes' new name at
    the top of the sheet, and filled in the results of his
    examination. "Looks like he's in excellent shape. I'd say about
    8 months to a year old, 9 pounds, teeth okay, not seriously
    malnourished, and not battle-scarred at all. Probably got
    separated from his owner somehow and started looking for you!"
         Pat let out a sigh. "Sometimes I think they do it on
    purpose. Oh--and I suppose we should think about a round of
    shots."
         "MYEW?"
         "Yes, of course. We can do that right now if you like."
    The vet asked his assistant to prepare the injections.
    "Say, there's one more think I'd like to check. Does Oddeyes
    seem to respond to you normally?  To noises around him?"
         Pat was puzzled. "I haven't noticed anything unusual, but
    I've only known him a little while. Why do you ask?"
         "Oh, just something I read while studying genetics at
    school. It seems that deafness is often present in white cats
    with odd-colored eyes. Let's just see."
         Dr. Byers pulled a small tuning fork out of a drawer by the
    examining table and tapped it on the side of his stool. A
    distinct, pure tone rang out as he moved it toward Oddeyes' left
    ear.
         "Mrow?"
         The cat glanced to his left and sniffed the tuning fork
    indifferently. At that moment, the doctor snapped his fingers
    rather loudly about an inch from the right side of Oddeyes' head.
         "MYEOWF!"
         "Sorry, little fella. Didn't mean to startle you, but at
    least we know you're o.k. in the audio department."
         "Could that be a problem?" Pat asked.
         "Well, deaf animals generally don't have any problems unless
    they're completely on their own. It makes hunting for food more
    difficult, and of course other animals can sneak up on them much
    more easily. In the home, it means that they can often get away
    with murder--simply by conveniently ignoring their owners!"
         "Hrmf?"
         While Pat and Dr. Byers were talking, Oddeyes had gotten his
    shots, almost without noticing.
         "Well, that should do it. Keep an eye on him for a couple of
    days, but it looks like you have a nice, healthy, white kitty."
         "Thanks, Doctor," Pat said as she grabbed her purse and
    scooped up Oddeyes. "I'll see you in a couple of months. The rest
    of the "crew" is due for boosters."
         "Right, Pat. See you then."

    ---------------------------------------------------------------

         Oddeyes didn't like the car ride home very much, but it beat
    the hell out of what he'd been through in that little room. The
    man in the white coat was nice enough, but all that poking and
    prodding!  Quite beneath any decent cat's dignity.
         Once home, things settled into a comfortable routine.
    Oddeyes quickly learned where he fit into the scheme of things,
    at least as far as his three cat compatriots were concerned.
    There was the Burmese. Definitely in charge of the house. The
    Boss. He tolerated Oddeyes, but barely. The other two soon became
    his playmates. After breakfast these "Three Catsketeers" would
    race through the apartment, vanquishing enemies and making sure
    that their domicile was adequately defended.
         After that was done, it was definitely nap-time. Everyone
    had his own spot, and Oddeyes staked out a piece of territory
    under a small coffee table. From this vantage point, he could
    survey the front door, the kitchen, the living room, and most of
    the hallway. Perfect.
         He usually always slept the same way: curled up on his
    right side with his head tucked about half-way under one forepaw.
    This way, if there was an odd noise or movement, he could simply
    open one eye--in this case the blue one--and check out the
    action. His cat-friends could rarely launch a sneak attack on
    this cool customer!
         One day, toward the end of the afternoon, Oddeyes lazily
    rolled over and reversed his sleeping position. (Variety IS the
    spice of life, after all.)  Now he was peeking out of his bright
    yellow eye whenever he needed to scout for danger. It was then
    that something most peculiar occurred.
         He happened to be glancing toward the front door when it
    suddenly opened. His beloved Mistress Pat entered the apartment.
    It appeared that she was saying her 'hellos'. She then set two
    bags of groceries on the kitchen counter. The peculiar thing is
    that she did all of this without making a single sound. Total
    silence!
         "Meow??"
         The sound of his own voice startled Oddeyes to full-alert.
    He looked up, and as he did so he couldn't see Pat anymore. The
    groceries were gone, too, and the front door was once again
    closed. Very strange... oh, well. Must have been dreaming. Of
    course. But it was so real!  He looked around, and the others
    were fast asleep. Hm. May as well join them for a few more winks.
         Just as he was dozing off--it couldn't have been more than
    two or three minutes later--he heard a key turn in the front door
    lock. The door swung open, Pat entered, said her 'hellos' (out
    loud), and proceeded to plunk down two bags of groceries in the
    exact same spot on the kitchen counter as before!
         Again Oddeyes looked up, but this time nothing disappeared.
    The other cats were up, rubbing Pat's legs and noisily clamoring
    for attention. He dismissed the whole incident as a dream and
    mentally vowed to take it a little easier on the catnip. Then,
    stretching, Oddeyes sauntered out to the kitchen to get something
    to eat.
         One morning, Oddeyes started to doze off after the post-
    breakfast romp. He slipped into that half-dream state, curled up
    on his left side as usual. Out of the corner of his half-open eye
    (the yellow one) he saw one of his cat-roommates take three
    stealthy, silent steps and then leap directly toward Oddeyes'
    exposed stomach. Oddeyes instantly snapped into action. Whirling
    to the ready on all fours, every muscle immediately tensed as he
    prepared to rebuff the sneak attack. But nothing happened!
         He cautiously looked around the room. The big Burmese eyed
    him unconcernedly. His other two mates were fast asleep--
    completely zonked out in their regular spots.
         As Oddeyes rolled over, he wondered to himself if cats were
    susceptible to insanity. Oh, well. If he were going nuts, at
    least he had a nice home and plenty of food to comfort him in his
    senility.
         Just as he finished pondering his mental stability,
    something slammed into his tummy!  A freight train?  A ton of
    bricks?  No!  It was the kitty-nemesis from a few minutes ago!
    The little bastard had blind-sided him!  Once again springing
    into action, Oddeyes and his attacker had a good tussle followed
    by a brisk chase. Then they washed each other thoroughly and
    assumed their respective nap positions.
         In the days that followed, similar strange things happened.
    Oddeyes would sleepily see Pat answer silent telephone calls, and
    then answer them again a few minutes later with noise and
    laughter and conversation. Identical deliveries would be made to
    the apartment within a few minutes of one another, but in each
    case only the second delivery would yield a package that lasted
    past the dream.

    ---------------------------------------------------------------

         Unusual day. After the regular morning routine, The Mistress
    brought a large box with a handle on top into the living room.
    Naturally, everyone had to sniff it and explore it. Almost
    everyone. The Boss split for the bedroom. Apparently he knew
    something that the others didn't.
         Pat gathered her things together, and then gathered the cats
    together--in the large box. All except Oddeyes.
         "C'mon you guys... I know you don't like this, but it's for
    your own good. And it's only once a year..."
         Uh-oh. Oddeyes remembered something from a couple of months
    ago. The man in the white coat?  The poking and prodding and
    needles?  Now he knew why the Boss tried to disappear under the
    bed. But why wasn't Oddeyes included now?  Hm. Perhaps it'd be
    best not to think too many questions.
         Pat hefted her boxful of kitty-cargo and left Oddeyes alone
    in the apartment. After a half hour of staring out the front
    window at birds, it was definitely time for a snooze. Assuming
    his normal sleep-position under his favorite table, dreams of
    mice and other small, not-too-hard-to-catch prey soon took over.
         Oddeyes was barely aware of the apartment door opening. He
    yawned, farted, and rolled over--snooze almost intact.
         Pat was not a happy human. She tossed a couple of packages
    on the couch, flipped on the TV and sat down. When she arrived at
    Dr. Byers' office, she found out that he had been called out to
    take care of an urgent problem with someone's horse. She decided
    to leave the cats at the doctor's office (why subject them to
    more car trips than necessary?) and do a little shopping while
    waiting.
         "Damn!  Stupid emergencies!" Pat wasn't really mad at Dr.
    Byers, but the delay had shot a pretty big hole in her afternoon
    plans. "And I'm starting to get a whopping headache!"
         The sound of Pat's petulant voice filtered through Oddeyes'
    sleepy fog. He was thinking maybe he should wander over and hop
    on her lap. Sometimes that would make her feel better. He slowly
    raised one eyelid--and got the shock of his life.
         Red!  Hot!  Flames!  Everything on fire!  He'd seen Pat burn
    her finger on the stove a few weeks ago. That was a tiny flame.
    What he was seeing now was beyond his comprehension, but he had
    an idea that something was terribly wrong. Furniture in
    splinters, strewn around the room!  And his mistress lying
    crumpled in a corner. Not moving.
         Was this some sort of horrible dream?  Oddeyes quickly
    blinked and sat up, and the awful vision melted away. Whew!  But
    wait. Something was nagging at the back of his mind. He
    remembered that sometimes he'd, well, "see" things and then
    they'd happen. A sense of urgency swept over him and he became
    very agitated.
         He tried to recall just what he'd been doing when these
    strange things had happened. Sleeping, mostly, he supposed. He
    lay back down and closed his eyes tightly, trying to clear his
    mind. Oddeyes slowly opened one eye, fearing what he might see.
    Everything appeared blessedly normal. "That was weird," he
    thought--but the sense of urgency was still there. He got up,
    turned in circles a few times and flopped down again, this time
    on his other side, shut his eyes once more, and prepared to try
    the test again.
         This time the results were quite different. When he lifted
    his eyelid he beheld the smoking, chaotic inferno from before.
    Oddeyes instantly sensed that there was some great danger
    present. Must get out of here!
         The cat made a bee-line for the door. Usually, if he made
    a mewing sound and reached both arms toward the doorknob, his
    mistress would let him out for a little while to try to catch
    bugs and eat grass (even though it made him puke on the rug.)
         "No, baby," came Pat's reply. "I'll be leaving soon to pick
    up the other kitties, so you just stay put."
         Oh, no!  Not now!  He tried again, this time upping the
    volume level.
         "Forget it, Oddeyes!  And pipe DOWN!"
         Must get out!  He looked around, and saw that the front
    window was slid open. He remembered that there was a small hole
    in the screen where he could sometimes snag an incoming bug if he
    sat very still. He leapt onto the sill, stuck one arm through the
    hole and pulled down with all his strength. The high-potency cat
    food must have paid off, because the screen tore away with a
    ripping sound, leaving a gash large enough for him to use as an
    exit--which he did without any delay.
         "What the...?!  YOU COME BACK HERE!"  Pat flew out the door
    and was chasing Oddeyes across the lawn when it happened.
         The force of the explosion flattened Pat face down and sent
    Oddeyes reeling. After a moment Pat pulled herself up. She was
    bleeding a little from a cut on the back of her leg, but nothing
    seemed to be broken. She scooped up Oddeyes and looked back at
    the apartment, which was now fully engulfed in flames. Someone
    must have called the emergency number; sirens were already
    approaching. Clutching her cat tightly, Pat dazedly walked across
    the street, sat down on the curb and started to cry.

    ---------------------------------------------------------------

         "Ma'am?  Miss?  Are you alright?"  The fireman gently lifted
    Pat's chin and looked carefully into her eyes, one at a time.
         "Yes... Yes I think so... What... what happened?"
         "Must have been a gas leak that caused the explosion. There
    have been problems with pipes deteriorating in these old
    neighborhoods. Say! That's a nasty cut you have there. We'll fix
    you right up in no time." The fireman signalled for one of the
    paramedics to come over. "Is there anyone you should call?  I'm
    afraid you won't be staying in this place for quite a while."
         "Yes... I have a girlfriend who lives a few blocks from
    here..."
         The fireman stood aside as the paramedic gave Pat a quick
    examination and dressed the cut on her leg.
         "You know, you're a very lucky young lady. If you had been
    inside when--well--let's just say you're very lucky."
         Pat was holding Oddeyes in a vise-like grip, but he didn't
    mind a bit. Purring, he looked up at her. First with one eye, and
    then with the other. Everything looked fine.
         Just fine . . .

    Until Next Time

       It sure looks like I have some competition on my hands. If Chris
    keeps that kind of quality coming I could find myself out of a job.
    (Hmmm. Maybe I should go into radio.)
       Coming up in the next issue I'll make an ATTEMPT to compete with
    another short story of my own. At least that's what I have planned.

       That gives me an idea. Maybe we should have a popularity vote -
    which issue have you liked most, least and why? You can even categorize
    if you wish. Best fiction; best article; worst fiction; worst
    article.
       There are, with this issue, 41 "entries." All are available
    for download - although we request that you download no more than
    2 at a time to keep the system open for other users.
       I think the best way to do it would be for you to cast your vote
    in E-mail, addressed to me. That way I can compile the results and
    let everyone know. However, if you prefer, you are welcome to leave
    your comments on the magazine board for all to read.

       So, go through the back issues and cast your vote today! (Or
    tomorrow.)

Zephyr Magazine is © Gene Williams. All rights reserved.