Tommy, a bruiser of a gray stray cat, observed an unkempt, thin newcomer wander onto his turf.

Hmm. My vigilance may pay off after all. She has possibilities, Tommy said to himself. Looks like I'm goin' to have an opportunity to use my favorite line.

Tommy stretched, licked his lips and stood. That line has never worked before, but what the hell. Since she's a stranger in this alley, maybe she'll be the one to have a favorable reaction.

He pranced up to the new gal wandering along the edge of the alley, tail high in the air and said in his best, most suave tone, "What's new pussycat?"

The stranger responded with, "Buzz off," and then collapsed.

Tom's legs stiffened. "Whoa, what's this?" he said, and edged up closer. He lowered his head, cocked an ear back and sniffed. He pawed at her head, tapping the fur.

"No sign of bruises. Just a little dehydrated and skinny," he said aloud. He sniffed, then licked her ears to try to arouse her but there was no response. Tom took her by the scruff of her neck, dragged the spent body behind his favorite fichus bush and reclined behind her to observe, evaluate and warm her.

In a few moments she awoke, saw Tommy and sprang onto her paws, claws at the ready.

"Take it easy, girl, no spitting. You're okay. You're with Sir Thomas, Lord of this whole alley." After a momentary standoff, Tommy said, "You look like you could use a drink. Come with me. There's a downspout right behind this line of bushes."

"Thanks. It shows that badly, huh?

The female lapped at great length while Tommy watched the tip of her tail flit at random. "I'm used to stainless steel automatic waterers," she purred and sat, getting comfortable lapping in the water. "Life in the streets sucks, like this yucky water." She sat up, then preened.

Tommy was non-plussed, but interested. His charming new acquaintance showed signs of class. "What's your name?"

The female stopped preening just long enough to say,"A3261."

Tommy looked at her with a blank stare. "Say again?"

"Ahy, three, two, six, one," she said with precision. "But you can call me Transie."

Tommy's mind was spinning. Searching for some connection, he sat on his haunches and snapped his tail a few swift wags. Both ears went rearward. "What's with the numbers? What kind of a name is Transie?"

"It's short for transponder. I've got one under my skin between my shoulders. Here, rub there. Go ahead, it can't hurt you. My PI used to palpate it every day."

What the hell is a PI, Tommy wondered? With some timidity, a strange feeling for him, Tommy licked between her shoulders. "Hey, there's a splinter or something under your skin there."

"A splinter of glass, with an electronic chip in it that identifies me as A3261. When the transponder is excited by an identifying electronic wand, A3261 beeps." She sighed, looked down the long line of bushes and sighed again. "Gosh, I loved all the attention I got at the lab from the animal technicians. Even the PI, that's Principal Investigator to you, was a gentle old coot. He loved cats. Had a few at home, too. I used to think I was his favorite. But, I was, er, liberated."

"Whoa. Wait a minute. Lab? What lab? You mean you escaped from a laboratory?"

"Escape? Hell no," she said. The fur at the back of her neck stood up. "Escape, so I could live out here in this god forsaken trash heap? Drinking from bird baths and puddles, and eating insects, flea-ridden mice, salamanders and whatever else I can catch? What are you, some kind of screwball? Hell no, I was liberated by some kooks who thought we would be better off in an alley than in an environmentally controlled, sanitized enclosure with eleven best friends and all the food and water we wanted."

"You mean you'd rather be cooped up, prisoner in a lab somewhere, instead of being, er, out here with me, for example?"

Transie looked into Tommy's eyes and nodded her head. "You're an okay kind of stray, got a nice set of whiskers, but I come from a long, expensive, pedigreed line born and raised specifically for research.

"So, you're the royal type, eh?"

"Yup. And I was in a research program where my heart was monitored for papillary muscle activity. I was helping a

researcher develop data on a new drug for use against heart attacks. That's why I have a transponder."

Transie lowered her head, sat on her haunches and a quiet sob escaped. "One moonless night, two women and a guy broke into the lab, collected all twelve of us, set the lab on fire and tossed us into their car, kidnapping, or catnapping us. They let us go, about five miles from our burning home."

Tommy had a hard time believing the tale he was hearing. "So where are the others, your fellow lab-mates?" he said.

"Word in the street has it that I'm one of the few still alive. Most of my friends couldn't deal with the real world out here. They either became sick, got run over or met up with some surplus unwanted dogs and were chased until they couldn't run any more. I'm sure you can guess what happened to them."

"Gee," he said. "You're lucky to be alive. And, you're really lucky to have run into me," he boasted, puffing out his coat. "Who were they, the people who broke into your lab?" Tommy could see Transie shaking. He moved closer to comfort her.

Transie allowed a brief purr, then stifled it.

"They belonged to an animal'rights' bunch called the PAAL's, People Against Animal Laboratories. They're on the FBI's list of terrorists. I hear the researcher lost all his data, fifteen years worth of work, and the lab was forced to close."

Tom laid down, disbelief ruffling his whiskers. He licked his chops. "I need another drink," he said. "And you were happy there?"

"Ecstatic. I had professional animal technicians taking care of my roommates and me seven days a week. The place was spanking clean, epoxy painted, temperature and humidity controlled, with lots of expensive resting ledges, scratching posts, toys and other psychological enrichment stuff. We even had automatic watering and certified feline chow, analyzed for nutritional quality... The whole enchilada. What ever that is. Even our vet was a kind and gentle woman. God, how I miss that place."

"Oh yeah, what about that chip on your shoulder, under your skin?"

"That's not a chip on my shoulder, wise guy. That's my ID number, so there couldn't be any mix-up in animals and data."

"What did you have to do in the lab to get all that great treatment you claim to miss so much?"

"My technicians put a jacket on me for about three hours a day, a few times a week. The jacket contained an electronic transmitter that sent my heart signals into some computer equipment that recorded the heart action. Sometimes I would get a capsule containing a hot, er, exciting new drug, exciting to the researcher that is, at the back of my tongue and I'd swallow, then I'd lie around for four hours or so. Most of the time I'd nap. Most of my friends and I would purr the days away. Neat deal."

Both Tommy and Transie were quiet for a moment. Transie looked down at her forepaws, lifted one and began to groom the matted fur..

Tommy shook his head. "I thought labs were all about pain and suffering."

"The pain and suffering is all about surplus, unwanted animals out here on the street, like you, dipstick. You don't have a collar, so do you have all your shots, de-worming medicine, a nice cozy home someplace with someone to take care of you?"

"Not bloody likely. I was tossed out with the rest of my brothers and sisters years ago. I think I'm the last of my family, too," he said in a muffled tone. His head drooped and he rested his body on the ground, staring down the alley. After a strong inhale, he let out a slow, drawn-out breath.

Transie put a paw on his back and said in her most feminine voice, "You're a survivor, and kinda nice, in a wild sort of way. From the looks of you, you must know all the best places to eat. How about showing this new pussy cat around?"

"A3261, follow moi." They headed towards a rusty old dumpster behind the town diner.

"By the way, Transie, how can I get one of those nice cushy jobs in a lab somewhere?"

"You can't. It's against the law in this state. Strays, animals in shelters and pounds that is, have to be either adopted or euthanized. That's one of the reasons I cost so much."

"What's euthanized?"

"Painlessly killed."

"Boy, are you a bundle of laughs. Come-on, let's eat. Then I'll show you the town."