He got the comb, and looked in the mirror. What was once white and black fur had changed with age. The origenal border between the two, which was at one time crisp, clear, and precise, was now a fuzzy distinction of white, black, and an inbetween grey. He decided to do the useual guest combing and smoothed his feline whiskers with the combs teeth. He always kept his whiskers it tip top condition, to him it was sort of a tradition.
	Yes, he was grey, but it didn't mean he had aged badly. Far from it in fact, for his age, now in his 90's, he would be considered very, very fit and healthy. Exersice was only part of the reason.
	Putting down the comb, he opened his pine draw which the mirror was resting on. Inside it was a odd assortment: A yellow stone, a medicene bottle, and a colt .45 handgun. He ignored the latter two, pushing the athritis bottle aside, and picked up the stone. It helped him to stay, relativly, youthful, and to tell the truth a few years ago he began to wonder if it was keeping alive.
	Or was it him keeping himself alive? His willpower, he had found, worked the thing It had taken him ten years to fully relise that. In those days he wondered how soon his life would last. Now he wondered how long untill it ended.
	It was, in all honestly, a gift. A gift in the normal sence. A gift from an old frend. How old he never did know, or cared. Probably only about ten years older then him. That frend had gone a long time ago, they had said he had been in Vietnam when he was shot. What he was doing there nobody really worked out, but the memorial service was about as average as they could be.
	Snapping out of the memories, he relised he hadn't moved for quite a while. "There you go, stupid Frank, happy now with your track of time? Those investigaters will be here any second, and your in a trance. Stupid. Bloody, mindlessly, stupid." He grufly shoved the Amber in his pocket. Checking his blue buttoned shirt and brown trowsers, he was satified that there were no creaces.
	Looking around, he knew there wouldn't be any space for the two to sit down. After all, the room he rented at the old furrs home wasn't exactually cosy, but he was ok with that. Not that he had any visitors. Nobody he knew saw him these days, as he had no family, and his frends were either departed, or gone senile.
	He went to the only avaliable seat, the one that backed up as a lot of other things too, like a bed. He flattened out a crease, and sighed.
	He haited waiting. Not knowing why he was called by the police to be questioned was bad, but he hated the waiting the most.
	He sighed again, and sat down on his bed. It wasn't like the old days, the good old days. The only picture he had was of those days, a picture of his company. Most of them in it had died by now, if not all.
	Someone knocked on the door. It was a polite three knocks, with a patiant wait after the thrid.
	He got up off his bed, pushed out the creases in the matress, and went to open the door.
	The two investigaters were a sight and a half. They were either over devoted to their work, or MIB wannabies. Flashing their law badge, they went in, both dressed in black jackets and white shirts. As expected, there were two of them.
	The taller, by a foot, of the the two spoke. "First of all, we both thank you for sparing the time to allow us to visit you. We are sure you have other responcabilaties. The rason we came is that we are currently looking for an old frend of yours. Canine, to be more clear. He went missing a short while ago."
	Frank thought he knew who they were talking about. The only Canine frend he had that was still of the living was James Harris, a Golden Retreaver, who was about the same age as Frank.
	"You mean Harris? I didn't know he was missing. To tell the truth, we havent spoken in over three years..."
	"Not harris" Came the blunt report. "Another Canine, Ash-"
	"Ash?" Frank inturrupted. "You don't mean Ash, do you? Well, you got your facts wrong, or just a little late. I attended Ash's funeral back in '55 I think it was. 'Stroke, I beleave they said. We were close, damn shame."
	There was an awkward silence. When the shorter of the two spoke, he shattered more then the one illusion they were showing. "Thats.. not exactually true. He faked his own death, to avoid a standing charge. The athoraties thought he was deceaced too, untill he started making the odd apperence. We kept an account of his activaties, finding various facts. After examining several... incidents he had left, we came to find his gun of choice, for example. But, regretabbly, we have... misplaced him again. We were wondering, do you have any idea what he could be intending to do? You knew him more then most..."
	Frank had douts on what was going on, but played along with a half truth of his own.
	"Well, I havent seen him in over fifty years now, I'm afraid people change.I have no idea what he could be up to, after all, I assumed he was dead for that time too. Heck, I don't even know how I'll be reacting to this. I'm sorry." He lied. He knew what he was going to do, but he wanted to test them.
	"Not to worry. We were to try every oppertunaty, just in case. I'm sure you will tell us if you thinmk of anything." The taller of the two said, pleasently.
	Thanking Frank for his time, the two left. Frank himself fell to his bed heavily, mind racing.
	'So, old Ash isn't dead, eh?' He mused. 'He would normally contact me, if he could. But what the hell would keep him from doing that, for 57 years?'
	He got out his piece of amber, and pawed it absent mindedly. 'You gave this to me. Why leave? Someone big must have faked your death, old dog. But why question me? Mabie thats the truth, they chack all old contacts. But why the lie on his choicew of gun? He dosn't use guns, he likes Crossbows better, you stupid moggy. If they were really checking all his old contacts, there is a way to check them out.'
	Frank reached under his bed, and got out the telephone. Dileing the only preprogrammed number, he listened to the other end ring five times before a responce. While he waited, he swiched on the telly, for the news. Paying little attention, he heard something about a metorite hit in Gejiu, China, and a possibal terroist bomb doing off in some local woods.
	"Harris here. What do you want?" Came the gruff voice.
	Frank started the personalised talk. It wasn't a code, but oftern sounded like one. "Captin. Got a possibal stinker here. Two suit coppers, poss X-rays, came and asked about old Ash. Claimed he is kicking. they claim to ask all old school. Need to know, you get 'em?" He asked.
	Harris' voice didn't waver al all. "No. Isolated I'm guessing. Personally, I'd say a stinker, but you'll bait it anyway, wh?" Harris made the refrence to the trap.
	"No choice. Into the breach, eh? I oue him. I'll mosey you in one fat lady day later, bingo. If I don't, then 'twas a stinker." He said, basically saying he will report in six days, and if not, that he was probably not going to be able to do so again. If that happened, Harris would act. Few could prepare for Harris' actions.
	"Fine here. Watch yourself, though." He warned, and hung up.
	Frank wasted no time. Opening a second, lower draw in the chest, he took out ten fifty notes, and put them on the bed. He then got changed. Into black that he last used in Aube.
	The effect was quite amusing. An old cat in 1940's commando gear. What made it odder was both the costume, and commando, were origenal.
	In one average night Frank had a new mission: Search, and if need be, rescue.
	Thankful that he had insisted on a ground room when he had origenally arrived at the olf furrs home, he climbed out the window with tipical feline grace and ease.
	Making for the nearest cover, he felt something land on his arm. Looking at it, he didn't reconise it as the receaving end of a Taser. The parralel wires were unfamilier to him, and he grabbed at them in mild confusion.
	Then his world went black as five thousand volts for half a second knocked him uncouncious.