Timmy Perkins
and the Pussycat Extravaganza

by Joseph M. Isenberg

Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3, 4

conclusion

At midnight, everything changed.

The door flew open. Clarissa screamed. Billy wailed. Froofi sat up and grunted. He wasn’t vocal about such things. He didn’t need to be; he was big and strong and knew it. Since I wasn’t involved, Reggie didn’t move. I reached for the lamp on the night stand, ready to brain someone.

“Gertrude! I know you’re in your love nest!”

Oh hell. I switched on the lamp, just as the flash of a video-cast machine erupted.

“Wrong again, Arlo!” I bellowed.

“Arlo? You know this burglar?”

“I’m afraid so. Clarissa, this is Arlo Phillips, the Empire’s blindest private eye. Don’t get used to him. I’m about to give him a good thrashing before I throw him out. Arlo. This is my wife Clarissa, not Gertrude.”

“This isn’t cabin 916?”

“No, Arlo. This is cabin 961.”

Honoria appeared with her navigator friend. They made remarkable time from their lair. He even had most of his tunic buttoned.

“Problem? Lieutenant Perkins,” the navigator said, “is this man bothering you?”

I cut Arlo some slack. “Mistaken cabin number,” I said. “It happens. Escort him to a map of the vessel, or put him out an airlock, as you prefer.”

We arrived at Planet New Cornwall. Two yellow and green banners greeted us as we left the ship: “Welcome to the Pussy Extravaganza!” “Welcome to the New Cornwall Miners’ and Resource Extractors’ Trade Show!” The banners were the most colorful things on the planet. Everything else was gray. New Cornwall was a working planet, providing minerals and metals for the Empire.

New Cornwall also linked major space transit routes and did a roaring trade as a hub where passengers could leave one route and pick up another. Many folks arrived at New Cornwall, even if few folks wanted to go there.

Lots of inexpensive hotels and restaurants catered to the transfer trade. With so many ships coming and going, getting to New Cornwall was cheap. Hotels provided bulk discounts during slow times. A convention center sprang up.

I put my plan into operation. “Clarissa, Sis, join me as joint competitors. You can handle Reggie. I’ll just stand behind you.” Well behind.

“Really, Timmy?” Honoria said. “I wouldn’t want to take your big day.”

“I want to share this with you. You’ll both be seen on the video-casts.” I would be seen at the trade show. It would save a lot of trouble. Anything that didn’t get me mauled would be welcome.

“I’ll be there for you, Timmy,” Honoria said. Clarissa nodded. I gave each a kiss.

That was one problem solved. Now to another. I sorted through cards and found one I wanted. I dialed the number on my commo-disc.

“Arlo Philips speaking.”

“Arlo, this is Tim Perkins. I know we got off to a bad start. I need something done. Meet me in the lounge of the Stannary Arms Hotel in thirty minutes.”

I had just enough time to jot down a script and buy a disposable commo-disc in the hotel shop. I went into the lounge. Arlo was sitting at one of the tables. “What’s this about, Perkins?”

“One commo-disc call.” I placed the commo-disc, the script and an envelope containing one hundred Impers in front of him.

Arlo read the script before he picked up either the commo-disc or the money. He nodded, then dialed the number.

“Hello. Is this the Ministry of Agricultural and Rural Subsidies?... It is? Splendid! I want to speak to enforcement... My name? James Hargreaves. I’m with IFFI... Yes, I said IFFI... One of my subordinates, Perkins, needs you at the Pussy Extravaganza. Here’s what we need...

Arlo explained, perfectly, what I had in mind. He was bright enough to improvise as well. I knew I’d picked a winner.

“Someone will meet Perkins there... Splendid! He’ll see you tomorrow... Me? I won’t be there.”

Arlo disconnected the call. I shoved the envelope towards him and took the commo-disc. I removed the battery and the billing chip. I handed all three parts to him.

“When you leave New Cornwall,” I said, “assemble this and drop it in the planet-side terminal. Walk away. Someone will pick it up.”

Arlo nodded. He knew the game. He wasn’t a complete fool. We shook hands. I walked out, whistling a merry tune. Two parts of my plan had gone well.

* * *

Honoria asked, “How will you get Reggie ready for the show, Timmy? He needs a bath and careful hair treatment.” She knew about such things. Reggie gave me the look. He also knew about such things. It was more than my life was worth if I tried to give him a bath.

“Can you do that, Sis?”

“Yes, but I should go back to work for Dr. Sage.”

“What does he usually charge?”

“A hundred Impers.”

Normally, I would foam at the mouth. Now I was on an IFFI expense account. “Fine. I’ll find a hundred Impers.” I didn’t even bat an eye. “You can give it to Sage or keep it. I’ll need a receipt.” That way, the Comptroller of the Fleet could foam at the mouth.

The hour arrived. Honoria put Reggie MacGuffin, Pride of the Fleet, preened, primped and polished, in his cage. He made no objection. Off we went to register for the Pussy Extravaganza. I planned to check in, find our spot, hand over to my wife and sister and duck out to the Miners and Resource Extractors. I would explain the wonders of the gravitic tractors I had on offer. I had several sales calls lined up.

The four of us, Reggie in his cage, Clarissa, Honoria and I, marched up to show registration.

“Name?”

“Tim Perkins, Senior Lieutenant, Imperial Fleet Reserve.”

“The contestant?”

“Reggie MacGuffin.”

“Where is he?”

“In the box.”

“No,” said the judge. “I don’t think he is, unless he’s a Cheshire. We haven’t had one of those appear in a long time.” The judge enjoyed his little joke. He was the only one. The box was empty. I was on the hook for sixty thousand Impers of missing cat.

“He can’t have got far,” I said.

The idea that cats might explore was a novelty to the show organizers. We managed to put together a search party. Clarissa and Honoria took the cat show area. I took the machinery exhibition in the trade show next door. I planned to be there, but instead of being a salesman with brochures, I was a naif with an empty cage, looking for a cat.

I called, pathetically, “Reggie... Reggie?”

Soon, I attracted the attention of an exhibitor.

“What are you looking for?”

“A cat. He’s loose from the show next door.”

“Come with me.”

We went along to his display. Sure enough, Reggie was holed up in a gravity drive plate box. He saw me, snarled and reached out to claw me. He snagged a pipe instead, pulled it from its mounting and was, in an instant, drenched by hideous, sticky, smelly, orange grav-plate lubricant. He let out a yowl and bolted for his box. I shut the door and snapped the latch tight.

Grav-plate lubricant isn’t toxic. It looked worse than it was. But we were up first. There simply wasn’t time to get him ready again. I remembered my instructions. IFFI didn’t care whether I won.

My decision was simple. We went, fast.

“Who’s going to pay for the broken tubing?” I heard in the background.

“Damned if I know,” I yelled back. “Send the bill to the cat. He broke it.”

We arrived in the nick of time. I plopped the cage down on my table and opened it. Reggie went for me. I was covered in snarling, howling, oily, smelly, furious cat.

He clawed at my head, at my scalp, at anything he could reach. He wouldn’t let go. I sank down on my knees and tried to swat him away.

I screamed. He ripped my coat to shreds, then my shirt.

Finally, Reggie deemed the demands of honor satisfied. He leapt back onto his table. I lay there a long while. Eventually, I stood up and moved far from the table.

Reggie picked a fight with Haldane’s cat. He swatted it on the ear several times. A black metal square fell out. It looked like the microphone I’d retrieved from Sage’s office.

“I’ll have that,” I said. I went for it, grabbed it and put it in my pocket.

Reggie busied himself with coughing. That usually preceded something vile. Instead, he hacked up a little transmitter. I used my handkerchief to sop up blood, but I took a tiny part of it, still clean and wrapped that up as well.

The main doors to the show floor flew open. Armed constables in power armor barged in.

“Everyone freeze,” one yelled. “Put your hands out. Leave the cats alone. This is a raid by the Imperial Animal Quarantine Service. We believe several animals were illegally imported without veterinary certificates. We’ll confiscate any without papers.”

Finally. Arlo had gotten something right.

I had to protect Reggie MacGuffin, not because I felt I owed him anything, but because I didn’t feel like owing anyone else sixty thousand Impers.

I stumbled up to the man in charge. “My name’s Perkins. I’m with IFFI,” I gasped out. “The cat covered in grav-plate oil belongs to the Imperial Fleet. I have a copy of the requisition. I’m the responsible officer and have power to retain him. He has papers, anyway.” I had no idea what power I had, but neither did anyone else. I produced a blood-soaked veterinary certificate from Sage’s clinic. Reggie had at least had his shots.

“We were ordered to cooperate with you. You look like hell, by the way. What do you need?”

“I’ll take pain-killers, if you have a first-aid kit and a Mog-a-Don. Otherwise, I’d just like to put the cat in his box. I’ll leave. You handle the rest.”

Clarissa coaxed Reggie to his box. I took her arm in arm and staggered for the door.

The judge stopped me. “Lieutenant Perkins, do you want your prize?”

“Prize?” I was still dazed.

“We revived a prize we don’t usually give. Your cat is ‘Worst in Show.’” From within the box, Reggie MacGuffin let out a loud, long purr. I nodded and put out my hand.

The judge handed me a black ribbon and an envelope. “It comes with a five hundred Imper consolation prize, sometimes a pet food sponsorship as well. You can talk to them in the hallway.”

I bumbled away. If Hargreaves wished to make commercials with Reggie MacGuffin, he was entitled. I wanted only to get back on a torpedo cruiser as fast as possible.

* * *

Epilogue

High up in the stands, three elderly gentlemen, dressed in gray civilian suits watched the mayhem below. Tim Perkins’ screams were clearly heard even far back in the stands.

“I have to hand it to you, Boris. When you said you could take hiding in plain sight to a new level, I didn’t believe you. You pulled it off.” Watson-ffyre paused and puffed his cigar.

“Is true, comrades. I kept bargain. Here is manual for battlecruiser Proletarskaya. Also plans and pictures. You already have these, we know, so no loss to my country, but this copy belonged to Dronkenoff. Dronkenoff also has pictures and plans of new vessels. He will be blamed for that loss in Novybeloozero. We will retrieve data slug shortly from office. Do you have your end of bargain?”

Hargreaves smiled. “It almost did not work, Boris. I had to try thirty-seven prospective agents before I found one your cat hates.”

Boris agreed. “Is new beast, pacifistic, proletarian mochka.”

Down on the exhibit floor, Reggie MacGuffin finished shredding Perkins’ uniform coat and attacked his dress shirt.

“He doesn’t exhibit much pacifism at the moment,” Watson-ffyre said.

“Is true,” Boris agreed. “Do you think Perkins will discover secret mission? If needed, we take severe measures to preserve security. Very severe measures.”

Hargreaves shook his head. “No, Boris. I know Perkins. He is not bright, and he is utterly ineffective. He will never figure anything out. He always draws the wrong conclusion.” Hargreaves fingered the data slug in his pocket, which Perkins sent before leaving Planet Home. This was not the moment to reveal to Boris that IFFI now had the plans and manuals for those new space ships as well, thanks to Timmy Perkins.

The judges began to move towards Reggie MacGuffin, who shook himself and went back to his place under his own power. For a moment, Perkins remained curled in a little ball, moaning.

Hargreaves reached into his pocket and fished out a different data slug, with an Imperial Fleet insignia. He handed it to Boris. “For you. Our dossier on Dronkenoff’s activities. We watched him for months. Nothing he did had anything to do with spying on our Fleet. He was too busy making money selling cats. He was a joy to watch. Look, Boris, we can shoot you a little cash on the side.”

“Nyet. I, loyal servant of state. Dronkenoff is in bad odor with Comrade Chairman. Doing him in is sweet music. Perhaps we take lunch at Fleet Club together; that is not forbidden.”

“As you prefer, Boris,” Hargreaves said. “Still, we stand prepared to assist you and Natasha. How do you intend to explain your activities, and how you intend to deal with Dronkenoff?”

“My own is easy. You know this, Dzhim. Natasha and I are simple biologists from People’s University of Novybeloozero. She studies megafauna from ice age. I study arboreal rodent species. Natasha and I try to understand, but we simply fail to get moose and squirrel.”

“Well, that works for you,” Watson-ffyre said. “Now Dronkenoff. I expect you’ll just toodle along to whoever’s oppressing the masses this week, with a tale of woe.”

“Nyet, Reg. Nothing like that. I will sell photos of Dronkenoff, Galdane and redheaded secretary to running-dog capitalist newspaper Daily Tattletale.”

“What does that get you?”

“Dmitrii is bad boy. Politburo does not know this. Dmitrii’s wife, Galena Dronkenova, suspects but has no proof. Once paper publishes pictures of Dmitrii with secretary and of Dzhon Profundity Galdane with same secretary, is interesting question: who will win race? Will Politburo organize firing squad before Galena finds rolling pin?”

By now the raid was underway. Armed men put cats in cages. Perkins hobbled off the floor assisted by Clarissa.

“I can see it would be sticky for him,” Hargreaves said. “But it could get sticky for us. We want no scandal.”

“Is easy, Dzhim. Your Galdane tells papers he tried to turn Dronkenoff. Investigation goes away. Nyet problem.”

“Nyet problem,” Watson-ffyre agreed. “Not that Haldane was ever a friend. He was always a self-promoter. Give us time to get ready.”

“Will be fine, Reg. Nyet rush.”

“I never did understand your game, Boris. What’s in it for you?”

“In Novybeloozero, many different factions, many players. You see only one big group instead. Dronkenoff gets in the way of my friends, Dronkenoff goes. Not that you have anything like that in Empire.”

“But why ship plans? Why us?” Hargreaves asked.

“Dronkenoff has friends in People’s Fleet offices. Dronkenoff is very insecure with papers. Many security flaws to fix. Plenty of blame to go round. Many folks end up mining salt.”

“Quite. Well, we had best let you and Natasha get on with fixing your security flaws. We will see you around, Boris.”

Hargreaves and Watson-ffyre stood. The pair went off down the bleacher stairs and out a side entrance. Boris waited a moment and left through the machinery exhibition. Tim Perkins never saw them.

Copyright © 2025 by Joseph M. Isenberg