The kitten, whose name was Smokeball, was a
friend of his; soon she would tire of her game and jump up beside him to
be petted.
Then suddenly, he seemed to hear a girl's voice beside him:
"Oh, what a darling little cat! What's its name?"
"Smokeball," he said, without thinking. "She's about the color of a
shrapnel-burst...." Then he stopped short, looking about. There was
nobody in sight, and he realized that the voice had been inside his head
rather than in his ear.
"What the devil?" he asked himself. "Am I going nuts?"
There was a happy little laugh inside of him, like bubbles rising in a
glass of champagne.
"Oh, no; I'm really here," the voice, inaudible but mentally present,
assured him. "You can't see me, or touch me, or even really hear me, but
I'm not something you just imagined. I'm just as real as ... as
Smokeball, there. Only I'm a different kind of reality. Watch."
The voice stopped, and something that had seemed to be close to him left
him. Immediately, the kitten stopped playing with the crumpled paper and
cocked her head to one side, staring fixedly as at something above her.
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