Petco’s cat adoption center was both a place of sadness and joy and Chris couldn’t help but swing by the four lonely cubicles whenever he dropped by to pick up another refill of Lessa’s cat litter.

The little faces inside always looked out through the plexiglass with utter trust.

“Please rescue me!” each small ball of fur pleaded, paws scraping at the window or poking through the air holes with desperation. The pleading mews tore at his heart. He’d adopt every single one of them if he could.

Perhaps if he cashed in his 401K he could build a sanctuary for the lost and abandoned. There were worse destinies than becoming a crazy cat man.

“You can’t save them all,” Hyperion whispered from his side. “Humans don’t give a fig for their own kind, never mind these poor souls. You’ll drive yourself crazy at this rate.”

“Jesus!” the British Shorthair in the lower left compartment exclaimed. “You can talk!”

Hyperion’s head jerked around and stared.

“What are you?” the cat demanded then looked around at the other three occupants. “Can you all talk?”

“Of course not!” the shorthair sneered. “They’re cats.”

“So are you,” Chris pointed out calmly, but still took the time to cast glances at the aisles around them for any eavesdroppers.

“Don’t be daft!” the cat exclaimed. “I’m one of you! Or you’re one of us! I thought I was doomed. You have to get me out of here.”

“Yeah, I’m not exactly following,” Hyperion stalled. “One of who?”

“Guys!” the cat pleaded. “Us. You know, us? The name’s James Faulkner. No, not really. Or rather, yes, it’s a code name. I’m not about to give out my real name. British Intelligence. MI6.”

“What, like 007?”

Agent Faulker gave a single hack, as if half-heartedly dislodging a hair-ball.

“Fleming has a lot to answer for. How am I going to get reimbursed if I put 007 on the hotel register? You have to give them a name, and if you have a name, why do you need a number? Idiocy! All of it. But look, I’m desperate here. I’m begging you.”

“I’m not saying no,” Chris assured him. “But how did you end up here?”

“Corporate espionage mission,” James explained. “I can’t give details, of course, but it’s of vital national importance. For both our countries.”

“Corporate espionage?” Hyperion asked. “Like Jamie Sullivan?”

“That bitch!” James spit. “We’re supposed to be allies but she just stood there, hugging the wall. Oh, don’t look at me, I’m just a coat tree. Meanwhile, they stuffed me in a carrier and hauled me down to the pound.”

“And now you expect me to fork two hundred dollars,” Chris asked, suspiciously. “I’ve seen some strange things, but how do I know you’re a British secret agent and not just some run-of-the-mill talking cat?”

“It’s only $150 today. They’re having a sale. And I’m begging you. What more do you want? I’ve already been neutered. I don’t even know if they’ll grow back. Oh, God let them grow back!”

The cat put a paw over his face and began to sob.

Hyperion sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Excuse me!” Chris called to get the attention of one of the staff.

“Can I get an adoption form over here?”