The Chronicals of Alaraf

Now was not the time to be under the medicative influence of a moxy Clockwork-orange flavoured, liquid live-resin THC diamond vape, nor the matching catnip kitty treats for Osprey.


They made it inside Shady Maple okay enough; Rob Reichhörnchen actually remembered his blue disability tag, so parking was within the first mile of the entrance, and only two tour buses tried to hit them intentionally as they limped toward the golden lights of the buffet.


Rob was actually fairly prepared for this; Osprey was not expected to brave human form when all he really wanted was a piece of salmon, a little oat milk, and maybe a stargazey pie for dessert.


In the back of the cab of the truck was a cardboard box full of cat vests for most local police departments and global agencies, and one ridiculous Fargo polo shirt that was not even close to the authority of a cat vest, though everyone in Fargo thought it did as Catsylvanians knew it carried no international weight whatsoever.


Sizing up Osprey, Rob realized he was too big for half the legitimate vests, but there was a bright red and white CSIS RescueCat vest: a program to rescue Catnadian assets with a cat trained in complex veteran rehabilitation skills and defense, like defense against being asked too many questions in hardware stores because “You look like you belong here.”


The vest did not clash as much as one might think; the vermillion red matched his red stripes nicely, making him appear politely Catnadian, but more posh.


It was only mildly offensive to the United Kittydom, but three Catnadians stuck behind US lines long-term, observed him at the buffet line & saluted.


Osprey had never seen a buffet line with hour-markers and labyrinth queue patterns like a roller coaster before. He settled comfortably on Baron’s shoulders, looking well-educated and not threatening to buffet Ordnung.


At the register, Rob attempted to show a generic orange cat ID that said “Officer Kevin Fieldcat,” However, he forgot to change the birthdate away from 1996.

The lady at the register sighed, but recognized Baron as the hospital chaplain who once straight up called her mom’s ER surgeon a racist to his face in Hershey Med; as a result
Baron and Osprey ate free.

Rob still paid full price, and Osprey received special paw covers to prevent cathair loss from his paws into the heating trays.
Before they could eat, they found their table precisely beside two prominent shuyoukh: one from Chicago, the other the Qutb from Vancouver.


“Asalaam Alaykum wa Rahmatullahi wa Barakatuh,” said Baron, with as much formality as possible. He could feel the comforting weight of Osprey on his shoulders, purring reassurance.


They motioned for him to sit as they eyed the cat with great interest and unspoken speculation.


“What brings you to Catsylvania, dear Sayyidi and Sir?”


“Fancy cat show at Alaraf,” said the Chicago Shaykh, “Cosmic Grandpa here thinks he can still win the long-haired division.”


…And sure enough, in green brocade was the largest, most beautiful white cat with the longest fur. Every tourist suddenly wanted his picture, his pawprints, or to ask about how he keeps that turban on his head (he wraps it seven times, or has his own Khadim do it for him; his Khadim’s beautiful voice was currently distracted by the donut bar on the far side of the restaurant)….


….Meaning Baron was faced with two of the most influential shuyoukh of Islam, on a Halal Tuesday special, at Shady Maple Smorgasbord with no defense except a loving English short-hair and Officer Reichhörnchen.


    “We are also here to inquire on the health of your Shaykh, Baron Leto. What is his status lately?”


     “Gentlemen, I would like to introduce you to Shaykh Robert Reichhörnchen Al Dagastani, Dervish and intelligence supervisory educator of four plus agencies… I have studied with him directly since the death of his right hand Murīd, October two thousand eleven. It isn’t exactly safe to be Tassawolves here, so we kitty-compromised.”


A large bobcat was suddenly facing Cosmic Grandpa nose to nose.


“I think Rob’s Fylgja deserves a place at the Alaraf Cat Show.”


“Well, certainly,” said the luminously dressed Shaykh from Chicago, whose clothing may or may not emit nur in the dark.

     “But son, we have questions for you. You are causing quite a stir in the Musawwir networks, such as rumours you stole a rather high-level cleric from public view into your care.”


Osprey crawled into Baron’s lap and glared unblinking at the elder men, absolutely resisting every implied compulsion to “man up.”


    “Well, yes. I absolutely do not regret it. They were making an absolute fool online of Mufti Butler.

I could not allow further erosion of the Dīn into the hands of Dunya peddling Mango merchants from MENA without a foundation in solid Islamic Golden Age scholarship.

Naam. I offered Mango, I mean, Akhi Butler, full Bayat at my own left hand and then left the university in his capable hands.”


“You made Mufti Butler your Murīd? He is trained in five countries.”


“My Shaykh speaks Cyrillic and can talk to CIA and GRU at the same time without being accused of being a terrorist.”


Both tables were dead silent.
Osprey retrieved a piece of salmon from the stir fry fish station and started to munch politely in the middle of the table, keeping dominant eye contact with the Kitty Qutb and that glowy uncle from Chicago who resembled a shiny Count Dooku.

“We also heard you are leaving Catsylvania again, and we wanted to wish you well.”


That melted Baron’s heart slightly, but he was still trained in Philadelphia.


“Shukran. When someone says ‘Your life is less important than mine or that of my family,’ you realize it is unwise to stay.”
Osprey nodded slightly.


“So my Shaykh Rob is driving us to the airport. He authorized a period of restorative seclusion with my partner. We were about to sign Nikkah later, quietly. If you want to be witnesses that would pre-emptively solve a lot of problems.”


“Can you do it as cats? Less paperwork that way.”


“Certainly. How would you like me to look?”


Osprey and Rob both face-pawed.


“Baron, you are the only cat here who gets to choose how they look. Just try to look respectable.”


And before they left the table, Baron paused.

He removed his white turquoise speaker ring and placed it gently on the table before the long-haired Vancouver Qutb-cat.


He said, “Thank you for keeping your ears on Alaraf while we were compromised. It would honor me if you chose the next ring bearer yourself at the Alaraf Cat Show.

My work with that ring is complete.”


The white cat nodded solemnly, tail curling over the ring like a seal.


After an hour of boring paperwork, Rob introduced them to Amos of Amos’ Veteran Vinyl, where he gets his squirrel decals indicating successful elimination of targets [42], as well as Kafka’s slightly fluffier decals for his office door indicating squirrels befriended.


Old Amos asked each party member how many kills they had and if they wanted their own vinyl for it.


Osprey could not count that high with a full tummy, but kept note for future projects.


Rob drove them quietly to the airport where Osprey relaxed into a beige suit, a rather nice Oxford sweater, smartly matching belt and shoes, as he helped with the luggage, gave Rob a sincere hug after Baron, Rob handed him a Distlefink Leatherman tool with great solemnity, then they both left on the next flight out of EWR to anywhere but here.


…with the CSIS vest in Osprey’s carry-on, just in case.