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... yet
they rejected saving it. No, no! The antagonist, be he the Beast of the
Apocalypse, or Galactic Overlord (I choked!), or whatever-he must be allowed to
think that he had succeeded; he must not suspect that the nest was empty, the
bird flown.
I felt a remembered sensation in my left leg: Lord Pixel was again
challenging the vertical front face. Furthermore he was driving in a fresh set
of pitons, so I reached down and set him on the table. "Pixel, how did you get
here?"
"Blert!"
"You certainly did. Out into the garden, through the garden, through the
west wing-or did you go around?-across the lawn, up into a sealed spaceship-or
was the ramp down? As may be, how did you find me?"
"Blert."
"He's Schrodinger's cat," Jane Libby said.
"Then Schrodinger had better come get him, before he gets himself lost. Or
hurt."
"No, no. Pixel doesn't belong to Schrodinger; Pixel hasn't selected his
human yet-unless he has picked you?"
"No. I don't think so. Well, maybe."
"I think he has. I saw him climb into your lap this noon. And now he has
come a long way to find you. I think you've been tapped. Are you cat people?"
"Oh, yes! If Hazel lets me keep him."
"She will; she's cat people."
"I hope so." Pixel was sitting up on my scratch pad, washing his face, and
doing a commendable job in scrubbing back of his ears
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