The Cat and the Calculator

For the first time in perhaps sixty years, the Cat and the Calculator agreed on something.

“It’s here,” the Cat muttered again. “I’m sure of it.”

The Calculator sniffed in mild derision. Who knew, in the whole of the Myriad Worlds why the Cat was sure of anything. It hadn’t even bothered to look properly. It had just sat there, seeming pleased with itself, while the Calculator had done all the work.

It didn’t blame the Cat, of course. It had at first; almost sixty years ago, the Cat had confused the Calculator terribly. It was an ordained priest of the Linear Church, and had certain expectations about the world. It didn’t expect perfection — only high deacons, like the calculator, knew all thirty-six of the divine senses — but the mangy beast didn’t even seem to use the four or five they did know about.

Now, some three-score years later, they had come to an understanding.