The plan was elegant, simple: a ballet made for four, though only three were fated to dance until its end.

Act I: The Lost Kitten

Outside the door of one Elizabeth Sundance, age seventeen, sat a kitten. It was a dark poof of fur on the light carpet: a black kitten with baby blue eyes, no more than six months old.

Mew, it sang, in its sweet soprano voice. Mew, mew, mew—

And so it would sing, until the door of the room opened.

The second actor in this play—a proud ginger tom cat—waited behind the stage for its cue. In this case, 'stage' meant 'the large potted plant down the hall.'

Minor details are open to artistic interpretation.

Mew.

Mewmewmewmewmew—

Inside the room of the blonde leading lady, Elizabeth perched on the edge of her bed. Her mouth was quirked and a frown adorned her brow.

“Yo puedo volar,” she said once again.

“No!” shrieked her parrot, Nico, from her dresser.

Her attempts to make the beautiful African Grey bilingual again meeting in failure (the twentieth time in a row), the blonde threw her hands up. “Whatever!” she said.

But before she could decide on an alternative course of evening’s entertainment, there suddenly came a mewing, mewing at her chamber.

What on Earth could this be? thought the girl to herself. Was there a little kitty coming by to say hello?

Streaming feelings of happiness and serenity toward the creature at her door, she smiled and opened it, looking down at her fuzzy guest.

“Why, hello there,” she said, smiling most sweetly. She ignored a loud squawk from the top of her dresser and crouched in her doorway to see the kitten closer.

The kitten greeted the opened door with renewed lamentations; its little heart fairly poured from its chest and into the young woman's ears.

Mew mew meow mew, it piteously implored, with baby blue eyes soulfully staring up into the soft brown of her own gaze. The feelings she was so kindly sending it seemed to have no effect; really, it was almost as if it couldn't feel them at all. If anything, its clear anxiety only seemed to increase as the girl crouched before it in the doorway.

Mew, it said, lifting one small paw uncertainly, and aiming to place it on her knee; Mew mew, it pleaded.

Then, with a flash of tail and a slightly unbalanced tumble of kitten legs, it bounded off down the hall a few steps. Mew, it spoke again at the corner, turning back to face her. The intent was as clear as the beckoning of an actor in a silent film; as clear, and as well accompanied by a calamitous sound track that harkened of mystery and danger. Mew!

The ginger tom, meanwhile, held its silence from stage right, its silted eyes keeping track of the door to her room. "No!", it had heard its winged fellow actor speak; "No!" was a sound it quite wished to hear the creature say again, to its face. If only a moment of inattention from the girl would work in his favor; if only a fleet dash on velvety paws would get it through that doorway, unnoticed, before she closed it again. Preferably, leaving he and his feathered fellow alone for a quiet chat of "No!" and "Oh my, yes."

The little cat meowed, as sweetly as a cupcake. It was as cute as a button and suddenly Elizabeth wished to pick it up and keep it in her pocket.

But alas! the kitten seemed to have other plans. It caressed her knee gently before floundering away, vanishing quickly before at the corner it delayed.

Now this thing was strange. Was that the reaction of a happy cat? A serene cat? No, that was the reaction of a not-so-calm kitty who didn’t receive Liz’ feelings. What a curious thing, the girl thought to herself. Is there something wrong with my head? Or is the kitty the thing?

With it all taking place in only a few moments’ time, the teen’s eyebrows inclined slightly as she cast out with her power. She felt Nico’s annoyance and the emotions of various animals. But in all those pools, not one of them was the kitty’s.

How can this be? Liz found herself thinking. I must investigate, to see what is wrong with that cat!
So neglecting her bird in his cage on her dresser, the girl stepped into the hall and slipped slowly towards the kitty. “Here, little friend,” she called and she cooed. “Would you please tell what on Earth’s the matter with you?”

As she approached the cat, trying to soothe it with concocted emotions, her door remained open with her bedroom on display.

The kitten mewed; the kitten took a step to the right, then to the left, clearly a picture of fretfulness. The kitten's big blue eyes stared entreatingly upwards. The kitten was a trustworthy soul.

The kitten let the young woman come within inches of being able to touch it; then it ran down the stairs to the main floor, tumbling tail-over-paws down the last few steps and landing in a fuzzy puddle at the bottom.

"Mew," it implored, begging her to follow.

If she did; if the door was still open--

Then our audience would see a striped shadow sauntering smoothly through that careless crevasse. Velvet paws padded with patent patience to the foot of the dresser, where they stopped. Another pair of blue eyes looked up.

The curtain rose upon

Act II: The Tragic Disappearance of Nico

"Yo puedo comer," The ginger tom purred, with a devilish curl of its tail.

Hook, line, and sinker was the girl attracted to the kitty. Elizabeth tracked it to the stairs and frowned at its folly. Her first impulse was to send it calm feelings, but then she recalled the lack of effect upon this feline her powers had.

Stepping down the steps, like one thinking about each movement, the blonde tried to puzzle out the enigma before her. Only once before had such an oddity occurred. It was a time of dinosaurs and killer death-worms. And then, only then, had her powers been wasted, because the tiny Compy-dinosaur had been Amber transformed.

But of course, that couldn’t be the case for this cat. As the girl made it to the bottom without tripping or else, she noticed quite easily that the kitty was neither dead or prehistoric. So why didn’t its mood respond to her wishes?

“Here, Kitty, Kitty. Won’t you please come to me? I’d really like to figure out what on Earth is going on here.”

Once again she decided to kneel on the floor, but as her hand was stretching out, things were happening by her bedroom door.

A spotlight appeared on the two actors present, illuminating the bird and enlightening the cat.

The parrotical pirate stared down the bandit cat. Ignored its pur and dismissing its R-roll, the bird casually glared at the intruder in his room.

“Rawk! Scram!” shrieked he in annoyance. His wings flapped out in righteous indignation. What right had this cat to disturb his meditation?

"Oh my," the stately tom said, fairly taken aback by this rude reply. "What a beak you have. Do you parrot your mother with that?"

With the most fluid of motions, the large feline landed atop the desk, and began a most pleasant afternoon stroll around the cage.

"And what a wing," it purred, "and what tail, and what a bite-sized chicken breast... Mmm, how does one dine to go around here?" It enquired, its whiskers fanning to touch the cage's lock.

Downstairs, the kitten gave every indication of... not understanding a word that was spoken to it. Not a single syllable, or pleading tone. With a renewed stream of entreaties, it lifted its thin tail high, and bounded down another hall.

The imbecilic cat said words that didn’t matter. It’s tone was precise and suave to a T, but the bird in the cage didn’t care in the least. Why would he ever want to listen to some beast?

“Squawk!” he shrieked, in irritance absolute. The cat strolled and patrolled around Nico’s cell, but honestly, the parrot could care less. The bars were there not for his protection, but merely an excuse to pretend he was tame. But little did anyone know that the cage could be opened, opened by one parrot who actually uses his brain.

So the bars couldn’t stop him, but the cat couldn’t open it. How could something so stupid ever manage the feat? The pathetic thing did not even have any wings to beat!

But if it came closer, and if it stuck its nose to the cage, well, Nico would soon find out what little kitties were made of.

And unaware of this cold war above, Liz stalked her quarry down the hallways of the school, straining to understand the little ball of hair. Maybe her powers were waning and fading. Or maybe the cat just had no emotion. Whatever the case, a touch should solve everything, because no animal on Earth could prevent her possession.

And so once more she attempted to pet it, speeding up a bit to catch it more readily.

"I'm sure you are speaking something quite profane," the cat said, as the quaint little morsel made quaint little protests. "Don't worry, I'm terribly offended. This is my 'offended' face, I'm sure," it oozed, completing its circuitous stalk, and sitting down where first it had leapt, its orange-on-orange tail lazily sweeping the desktop for dust.

"Mmm. Aren't you just snug as a bug. I suppose I could shift to something with more opposable thumbs..." it mulled; "but really—I mean, honestly, you must agree—that would hardly be sporting. And I am nothing if not a good sport."

Its whiskers slicked smugly back against its cheeks; with something of a can't be helped swish of its tail, it stood back up.

"Well, as they say," the feline purred, "there's more than one way to skin a bird cage."

The gentleman diner lowered his head in a gracious bow, and gave the cage a friendly head butt toward the desk's edge.

Downstairs, the kitten saw the young woman hurrying her steps; it hurried, too, with tail held high. Around another corner it went—

--where it waited, for that glorious moment when she would round the turn, and it could twine ever so helpfully between her legs. Cats do not plan these things; humans simply... walk into them.

“This is ridiculous,” the Elizabeth thought to herself. She would never ever catch that frisky little cat. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” she called through the halls in pursuit of her quarry. The girl was really tempted to go out and borrow some dog’s body for a bit to catch the cat, but at that moment, she saw a small flash of black fur rounding a corner.

“Here kitty, kitty, kitty!” she said in such a cliche. Liz grinned in premature victory as she herself turned the corner and

WHUMPH!

hit the floor with a slow-mo fall.

Meanwhile, as the scene shifts from the girl to the bird, the audience would notice the parrot’s activity.

Never being one to enjoy pokes and prods, Nico had set his mind to getting rid of his tormentor. It said something stupid before trying to batter the small-small-barred room. Surprisingly though, the tiny-tiny-room moved, nearing the edge of the tall-nesting-storage-thing that Liz-Beth put her comfy-not-feather-things in.That was going too squawking far!

In a twinkling of an eye, the feathered pirate hoised himself onto the bars of the cage and picked open the cage door. In a flash and a fluttering of feathers, Nico launched himself into the bigger-small-room, stretching his wings and shrieking with delight. “Stupid!” he taunted the poor little cat, the one who was dumb and could not fly.

Then Nico turned tail and fled out the door, never retreating but moving to better ground.

Of all the deliciously scandalous things the tom cat had expected to occur in this bedroom, this—this!—was simply beyond the pale.

"Flighty coward!" The tomcat yowled, hot on the tail feathers of its in-flight meal. Did it think its bird-brained taunts effective? Did it think its escape complete? Perhaps it should save itself the trouble, and fly straight to the kitchen: he'd heard dinner was to be chicken.

One floor down, the little kitten was in fits of distress over the poor, face-planted human. "Mew," it sang sweetly, "Mew mew."

With the greatest of innocence, it sat down before the girl's face, and blinked large blue eyes that were on a level with her own.

The blonde had fallen and was trying to get up. “Oww,” she groaned as she moved into a push-up. Or rather, she froze, realizing her proximity to the treacherous feline who’d caused her downfall. “That hurt,” Elizabeth said idly as she coiled her arms. Slowly she pulled herself together and managed to sit, crossing her legs and staring at the cat.

“Now why’d you do that?” she addressed the cat. “And while you’re at it, tell me why you have no feelings.” A random person walking by might think the girl quite loco. But even though Liz was reasonably certain the strange kitten couldn’t comprehend her, she’d always preferred pretending that animals could.

So she sat in front of the perpetrator and stared it down with interrogative anticipation as she fumbled with ideas in her head.

One floor up, Nico was a-struggling. Dead-still-air was stupid. It made him flap too hard. he couldn’t glide very well in the small-long-rooms between the small-small-rooms. But Stupid was behind him, annoying him. So Nico wanted to leave.

He flapped-flapped-flapped down a narrow room before taking a turn to a big-open-space. “Hahaha!” squawked Nico in righteous victory. Stupid would never catch up! His finely-feathered hiney turned and glided down some steppy-steps, flapping down to a lower level. Nico was smart. He knew his way around the big-big-big-biggest-building. He knew where lots of rooms were, both big and small. And he was looking for a big one. One with lots of small-square-things like what Lizzy-Beth would unfold and read.

A lie-berry. That’s what it was. Nico remembered it. Nico was smart. Much smarter than Stupid-Cat, who couldn’t fly.

Flap-flap-flap went Nico to the lie-berry.

There were crossed legs: needing no further invitation, the black kitten lightly stepped over shin and knee, and took its place on her lap. It rolled on its back, offering up its soft fuzzball of a stomach to her fingers with a soulfully contented mew.

If fingers did not hastily comply with its clear orders, there would be less complacent mewing to follow, until such time as the human got the hint.

And then, once they were well and properly acquainted:

“I,” purred the kitten sweetly, “am a distraction. But ssssh, you’re not supposed to know.”

This answered her first question. As to the latter: he presumed that a talking kitten in a Mansion full of mutants answered that, as well.

One floor up, the tomcat stalked its prey with delicious patience. Oh birdies, born to fly: clipped wings meant born to die. He had seen insects hit a windshield and fly on better than the gray bird, if flying one even wished to call it; more like a feather duster, hovering.

The orange tom followed at a leisurely saunter, its luminous green eyes elevated ever upwards, ever watching, its appetite whetted with each overly energetic flap of what the bird called ‘wings.’ Not exactly aerodynamic, those. How long could it keep this up, the cat wondered?

Oh how it wondered, as it quietly paced the ground below. (...Though not directly below, mind you. He had no doubt the mannerless creature could and would stoop that low, should he give it the chance.)

Oh, were they going to the library? Was birdy going to study up on the foodchain? Why, the tom could help him with that.

It’s not crazy to talk to animals. It’s crazy when they start talking back.

“Ack!” Elizabeth so eloquently replied to the kitten’s authoritative declaration.

Her fingers had been in the midst of a tummy-stroke when the scoundrel had deigned to answer her. And those few words were a world of revelations.

The girl figured that the kitty was a person, and therefore immune to her powers. Or maybe not her primary one. Its other words confused her--why would a kitten need a distraction? There was nothing of value she had that needed to be taken. Unless sinister plots were afoot in her room, the very place she was before the chase and run.

Paranoid of plottings, Liz focused on the kitty. Fast as it was, her thoughts were so much faster. With a twinge of effort and the deciding wish, the girl separated her mind and body and send the former into the kitty.

But when her mind slammed back into her own, she realized there was no hope. Possessing the person would not work, and so she wouldn’t find out the needed data that way.

Instead the girl frowned then shot to her feet, not even caring if with injury the cat did meet. Liz began her new journey and retraced her steps, dashing through the halls and up the staircase.

Meanwhile, however, woosh went Nico’s wings! Some person opened a door and Nico flew through the rapidly closing gap.

Haha, Nico made it to lie-berry! He angled his wings and made his momentum push him upwards. Immediately he found himself above a bunch of perches. The wooden perches full of small-square-things. “Squawk!” he cried in jubilee. He dropped down on a perch and chose to hobble, walking away from the edge and laughing to himself at Stupid-Cat. Stupid-Cat can’t get him there! Stupid-cat can’t fly.

“Ha ha squawk!”

Alas, not everyone reacted with either eloquence or elegance to the majesty that was a Talking Kitten. In the case of Ms. Elizabeth Sundance, there was staring—quite intense staring, as if she was attempting to join him in the occupancy of his pretty kitty head—and then;

And then, there was violent displacement of his fine self onto the hallway carpeting.

Well, then.

After grooming himself most thoroughly (and making his fluffy fur appear even fluffier in the process), the kitten quietly bounded, tumbled, and rolling its way back up the staircase, and to the doorway of her room.

"Yes," it purred, "you can stay here. I don't need to distract you from here."

Not any longer, anyway, as the birdcage on her floor may have already alerted her.

Back in the library, the laughing bird had failed to take one simple thing into account:

Bookshelves are made of wood.

The ginger tom gazed lovingly upwards at its meal; such fight, such spirit, such marinating idiocy. Yes. Yes, this would be quite worth it, when all was plucked and eaten. With the sweetest, most succulent sense of anticipation, it placed its first paw against the bookshelf's side, unsheathed its claws, and climbed.