Amos wondered if they were mistaken. He looked around the office.
Things weren't disarrayed in any way; it looked as if Frank had simply
lain down and died. "When did you find him?" he asked the watchman.
"A little after one. The door was closed and the lights were out, but I
heard the cat yowling in here, so I came in to let it out, and saw the
body."
"Any family?" one of the city men asked.
"No," said Amos slowly, "he lived alone. I guess you might as well take
him to the ... morgue. When can I call about the autopsy?"
"Try after lunch."
Amos watched them carry Frank away. Then he put out the lights and
closed up the laboratory. He told the watchman he'd be around for a
while, and went to his office to think.
As nearly as he knew, Frank had taken the drug less than twenty-four
hours before he had. Death had come late at night, which meant Frank
had been working overtime. Why? And why hadn't he been able to save
himself?
"Not logical," his unconscious stated firmly. "He should have felt it
coming and made repairs."
"This whole thing's a delusion," said Amos dully, aloud.
"No, it isn't," said a peculiar voice behind him.
He whirled and saw the black tomcat grinning up at him. He gasped,
wondering if he were completely insane, but in a flash understanding
came. "Frank!"
"Well, don't act so surprised. I can tell that you took some yourself."
"Yes--but how--"
"I thought it would be an easy life and I want to stay around here and
watch things for a while. It ought to be fun."
"But _how_?"
"I anesthetized the cat and grew a bridge into his skull. It took five
hours to transfer the bulk of my personality. It's odd, but it blended
right in with his."
"But--your speech!"
"I've made some changes. I'm omnivorous now, too, not just
carnivorous--or will be in a few more hours. I can go into the hills
and live on grass, or grow back into a man, or whatever I like."
Amos consulted his own inwardness again. "Is this possible? Can a human
mind be compressed into a cat's brain?"
"Sure," said Unconscious, "if you're willing to junk all the excess."
He thought about it. "So you're going to stay around and watch," he
said to the cat--no, Frank. "An intriguing idea. My family's taken care
of, and nobody'll really miss me."
"Except Alice Grant," said Frank cattily. "I've seen the way you look
at her. The cat part of me has, I mean. And she looks back, too, when
you aren't watching."
"Well," said Amos. "Hm. Maybe we can do something there too."
* * * * *
His own metamorphosis took a lot longer than five hours; he had a much
bigger job of alterations to finish. It was nearly two months before he
got back to the plant.
He peered in through the window at Detrick, who'd inherited Amos' old
office. Detrick was chewing out a salesman. Amos knew what would be
happening now; Derrick's ambitious but unsound expansion would have
gotten the division all tangled up. In fact, with his sharp new eyes,
Amos could read part of a letter from Buffalo that lay on the desk. It
was quite critical of Detrick's margin of profit.
The salesman Detrick had on the carpet was a good man, and Amos
wondered if he was to blame for whatever it was about. Maybe Detrick
was just preparing to throw him to the wolves. A man could hang on a
long time like that, shifting the blame to his subordinates.
The salesman was finally excused, and Detrick sat alone with all the
frustration and selfish scheming plain on his face. No, Amos thought,
I'm not going to turn this drug loose on the world for a while. Not
while there are people like Detrick around.
There were no other pigeons on the window ledge except himself and
Alice; the rest had stopped coming when Amos disappeared and the
feeding ended. For that matter, they tended to avoid him and Alice,
possibly because of the abnormal size, especially around the head, and
the other differences.
He noticed that Alice was changing the color of her feet again. Just
like a woman, he thought fondly.
"Come on, Pigeon," he said, "let's go somewhere else. This tightwad
Detrick isn't going to give us anything to eat."