“Yes, sir,” said the assistant. He left.
About then the animal trainer, Etienne Flaubert, was admitted. He walked right up to Mr. Untz. Flaubert was nearly seven feet tall. He had tremendous shoulders and none of it was coat padding. He had a chest one might have gone over Niagara Falls in. He had a huge golden beard. When he spoke it sounded like the bass viol section of the Los Angeles Symphony tuning up.
He said to Mr. Untz, “Where are these monsters I hear about? I’d like to see the monster that isn’t just a big kitty, like all the rest. Big kitties, that’s all they are. You gotta know how to handle them.”
Mr. Untz led Flaubert to the cage and said, “There.”
Flaubert gasped. Then he 58 steadied himself. The monsters had been maneuvered into the bigger cage by now—Dr. Mildume had enticed them with broken electric light bulbs and slammed the drop-doors behind them by a remote-control rope. They had finished their meal of glass. They were curled in a corner of the cage now, tentacles wrapped about each other, squeaking contentedly.
Flaubert recovered a bit.
“Kitties, just big kitties,” he growled.
Eddie Tamoto called, “Hey, Max, we’d like to get ’em in the center of the cage for a shot.” He was gesturing from the camera boom seat. “Only moving around. You know—looking fierce.”
“Can you do it, Flaubert?” said Mr. Untz, turning to the big trainer.
“Just big kitties,” said Flaubert.