"Mike Resnick - The Long and Short of It" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike)

gently tossed it toward the fireplace on the far wall. It got halfway there when a graceful figure that at first
seemed human but was definitely feline launched itself from its perch atop the refrigerator in the next
room and snared the bill in her mouth.

"If you like it, I have a dozen more," said Mallory dryly. "I'll even pour a little mustard on them for you."

"I thought it was a little white bird," said the cat person, spitting the bill onto the floor. "A fat little white
bird. A fat helpless little white bird. A delicious fat helpless . . ."

"Spare me the catalog of its virtues."

"All right," she said, hopping lightly onto his desk and lying on her stomach. "Skritch between my
shoulder blades."

"I've been meaning to ask you for some time now, Felina," said Mallory. "What exactly is the difference
between scratching and skritching?"

Felina reached out a hand, extended her fingers, and suddenly a two-inch claw shot out of each. "I
scratch," she said. "You skritch."

He reached out and skritched her back. Then suddenly she sat up.

"Let me guess," he said. "I did it wrong."

"Shhh!" she hissed. "They're arguing."

Mallory looked around the empty office. "Who's arguing?"

"Them."

"I don't see anyone."

"Me neither," said Perriwinkle, the game vanishing long enough for it to look around the room.

"They're outside the door," said Felina.

"What are they arguing about?" asked Mallory.

"You."

Mallory slid open his desk drawer and made sure his pistol was in it.

"They're arguing about how much they're willing to pay you," continued Felina.

"Are they now?" said Mallory, closing the drawer.

Felina nodded. "One of them is saying that if you cost too much they should just forget about it, and the
other says it doesn't matter what you charge because you almost certainly won't survive to collect it."

"So there are two of them," said Perriwinkle.