Cat’s dressed exactly like a member of one of the schools of brightly colored secretaries that flit around the skyrakers at lunch and after work, trying to avoid-attract the barracuda managers. An ice-maiden, unapproachable, unless your monthly pay’s eight-K nuyen or up. Then she’ll be all titters and smiles and unspoken invitations. Me, on the other hand, the only way I could get eight-K nuyen in a month would be to sell my folks into slavery, then hit big in the lottery. She sees me strolling her way and freezes up.