A Mouser in the Hearth

IV

The box left the table before he did,

Snatched from the papers.

The sheets waved them goodbye.

He sat on a chair.

"Don't play with that, kitty, it's dangerous."

He stood on his hind legs and reached for it anyway.

She tapped his nose.

"No. Vinylite's dangerous enough.

Only the stars know what might happen if you break it."

Not much really, but that wasn't the point.

She knew the risks, yet she had it anyway.

He trilled and cocked his head.

With Fortune's mercy, his question would travel

clear and true.

She pet his head.

"Aw, I know you didn't mean any harm.

That's the way cats are:

Who needs a wise old owl

When cats are doing fieldwork?"

She opened the album and pulled out a track,

Calling each by its name.

He sniffed them both.

"When you hold it up to your ear, music plays.

But this has a siren song, so I'm hiding it away.

I only have to keep it for three more moons

Then nevermore must I hear The Beatles croon."

For who? For who?

"I just hope he doesn't get caught up in work again."

The box was closed, then set aside

To make room at the table for a wistful sigh.

He sat in the chair next to her,

a sympathetic paw on her lap.

Sensing an open ear, she began to chat.

"He'll come eventually, he always does,

But he can get so lost in the pursuit!

When he told me about this

I figured I wouldn't see him for a year,

Then he dragged me into it.

"And this! Of all the topics to write about,

His thesis had to be the research equivalent to

Kraken-hunting!

Sirens! And not just any old group,

The Beatles!

I'm fortunate—he still sends me letters.

He still can.

Though it's been a while since his last.

He survived a week of interviews

But desires a second!

Can you believe that?"

He cocked his head again. A neutral gesture

she could use as she pleased

as long as she kept speaking.

"I'd be angry if the work wasn't purposeful.

For years, most siren literature has been nothing but

Hearsay.

Legend.

Conjecture!

And the Hold?

Ha!

Even Doctor Davies knows precious little!

Not to discount the sailors, of course, but

We can't say they're unbiased.

Now we might have information

straight

from the

siren's

Mouths!"

She slumped in her seat.

"If he lives, that is.

He could lay the foundation

for a revolution in music consumption,

if not human-siren relations,

If he lives long enough to print.

If he has not succumbed to their song

like so many others.

Like their Cult of Fab."

He watched her steadily. Just what did she know?

"I don't know much about them

and to be frank, I don't want to.

From his letters, they're humans with the Hold

that serve as some kind of...emergency ration for the sirens.

There's no record of such a practice before,

And it doesn't appear to be gaining popularity,

but..."

She sighed.

"I hope they're alright.

It sounds like they are, but still."