A quick flash of dark fur, and a fleeting impression of lucent eyes, glimpsed out of the corner of his eyes, then...nothing. He thought for a moment it might have been his spirit guide, but no growl of complaint came out of the shadows in his direction. Yes, if it had been his panther, which every now and again took his form, it would certainly have grumbled at him. He grumbled, Blair grumbled, it would have been very strange if his spirit guide did not grumble.

As if on cue, a black tail switched in indignation, and the big cat fixed him with a sharp yellow glare as it stalked into the shadows and vanished, rumbling its displeasure as it did. There, it did grumble, he thought with a perverse sense of vindication.

Justified assumption or not, he found himself wondering at its rather abrupt manner of departing, and thought briefly of calling Blair. 'Hey Chief, I think I've managed to really piss off my spirit guide, and it bailed on me. Any ideas?' Then he considered his human guide's probable response and the remedy most likely to be suggested. Incense and meditation? He might as well burn one of his old used socks and zone on the smoke. Still, he preferred to leave this sort of thing to the kid, who was after all the ostensible expert in mystical matters. He'd save those socks for an emergency, he decided, and returned to his original objective of sorting the laundry. Whites, colors, socks...god those socks smelled vile! Just what had he stepped in, and why hadn't he noticed the stench before?

Puzzled, he cautiously began to catalogue and filter the odors, trying to identify the culprit.

The honk of a car below brought him back to reality with a jolt. He set the laundry aside, blinking at the slanting rays of sunset, confused at first, then irked that he had spent at least two hours of his day off zoning on a sock. And a sock reeking of cat piss for that matter, he thought, finally figuring out what it was.

Where had it come from? He hastily dropped them in a basin, filling it with more detergent than water, then went to sniff over his shoes. No, they were quite clean, or as clean as a hypersensitive Sentinel could keep them without looking obsessive. Then how...?

As he turned back to investigate the mystery of the stinking socks, he nearly tripped over something warm and furry that wound itself about his legs, and he thought for a crazed, panicked moment in a fit of half-remembered lectures on karma that perhaps the Blairhair he had complained and disposed of over the years had accumulated into a giant clump and returned for vengeance, but it was too short and soft for that, and he dismissed the wild idea even as he regained his balance almost instantly.

It was a cat. A black cat, with huge golden eyes, purring as it twisted around his legs, and he teetered dangerously again, slightly more surprised than might be warranted by the situation. Where on earth had it come from? He eyed it suspiciously as it gazed up at him with an almost worshipful look, entangling his feet every time he tried to take a step.

How had it gotten in? He turned over the possibilities in his mind. Blair couldn't have let it in; he hadn't sensed its presence before he zoned, and the cat piss was already in the loft before he zoned, so Blair couldn't have come back just long enough to do it and leave while he was zoned, even if he hadn't noticed his Sentinel frozen with the laundry hamper. Through a window...not unless it could fly. Through the skylight, from the roof? Then how had it gotten onto the roof? He growled in frustration, mystified and trapped.

Trapped. By a cat. He knew it was bad luck to cross a black cat's path. It had made several circuits around him by now, so he wasn't sure he could go anywhere without crossing it. A niggling voice, the voice of long, strange experience, told him it would probably be a bad idea to try and pick it up, and he wondered if Blair knew a way to negate the jinx.

He glared at the cat, willing it to recognize the impossibility of its existence and vanish, or at least slink away the way most criminals did in recognition of the potential ill-effects of continued proximity, but it only purred harder, rubbing him adoringly. Hadn't he read somewhere that cats found a direct stare threatening? Why was this one acting so strangely?

So overt hostility didn't work. Time to try a little reverse psychology. Carefully bending down, he rubbed the fuzzy head with a gentle hand. The ecstatic animal bumped him even harder, purring enough to shake the dustbunnies under Blair's bed to...dust? He could hear them disintegrating from the vibrations.

The little monster had to be high on something, he decided, and wondered if it would understand if he read it its rights. Maybe he could shoot it, but Blair would be horrified, he would still have to cross its path, and most importantly, he wasn't sure if actual violence would result in a heavier penalty, considering as it was already a bad thing to cross its path.

He closed his eyes, wistfully remembering a time when he had no Sentinel senses, no Blair, and nothing stranger than the caprices of women's whims ever happened to him. Like Carolyn. And Lila. Damn, the senses were much better after all.

No, wait, it wasn't as if he didn't have any trouble with women after the senses returned. But, he thought as he tuned into the sound of a familiar engine gasping and choking its way back, and then the approaching quick, familiar steps accompanied by muttering about the lift, it certainly was much more interesting with Blair around. He opened his eyes as Blair opened the door, relieved that rescue had arrived at last. Just as he was about to ask Blair about the cat, he realized that it was nowhere in sight or hearing. He couldn't even smell the cat piss. Or the detergent he was so certain he'd drowned his socks in.

"Hey, Jim, what are you doing standing here? Jim?" Blair looked as puzzled as he felt, glancing about to see what he was searching for.

"Nothing, Chief," he said distractedly, then whipped around when he heard the panther's snort, only to see the animal sprawled comfortably in a corner. Big, black cat.

Damn senses.

It is very bad to cross a black cat.

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