Catopolis. Part 19

"No, move away from the light," Mhari urged him, still speaking Serval. "Into the jungle."

She was not certain where that word came from, but it had an electrifying effect on the man. He spun toward the wooded area, eyes narrowed, and dropped to his belly. He began crawling toward the trees, pausing once to bat away a nonexistent swarm of bugs, and twice more to cringe and throw his arms over his head.

Mhari watched him with puzzlement and something approaching pity. Clearly, this human could hear wild-speech-not perfectly, but in small twisted bits. For some reason, his quiet-ears could hear what the domestic cats could not perceive. And if his slow, tortured progress toward the woodland shadows was any indication, he heard and saw other things, too-things wilder and more fearful than a tame-born Serval cat.

Suddenly Mhari understood why the Woman had returned the koi to the pond, to live until it died. A swift, clean death was a blessing. And sometimes, life was no blessing at all. No creature should have to endure the suffering this wild man knew.

She stepped out onto the path and called to him. "You are sick, brother, and confused, and very tired. What you have done, you did not intend. You deserve ease. If you wish, I will give it."

The human scrambled to him feet and patted himself down with quick furtive movements, his eyes fixed upon Mhari. "Too small, too small," he garbled. "Don't shoot the smallcats, you fool. The big cat. The wild cat. The great cat."

He produced a familiar-looking gun from the folds of his filthy coat and pointed it at Mhari. The weapon spat fire, and Mhari's shoulder blazed and burned.

A wail of pain escaped her. She fell where she stood, dimly aware of the brush of fur against her flanks and the thoughtless jostle of many small bodies as the smallcats rushed past her.

They swarmed the wild man like large, deadly rats, biting and tearing. His screams were terrible, but they did not last long. The smallcats lingered on.

And then, just as quickly, they were gone.

A small, rough tongue rasped over Mhari's face again and again. It was rather pleasant, and so was the soft thump of a furry head against her neck. Except for the pain in her shoulder, Mhari was quite content- The pain roared back, loud and angry. She gasped, and the sudden intake of breath carried a familiar scent. A moment pa.s.sed before Mhari's groggy thoughts could focus enough to identify it: the big tom who had tried to stop this thing.

She forced her eyes open. Yes, it was the handsome cat she had fought and vanquished. If he wished to settle scores now, she could do little do stop him.

"Get up, Freckles," the big tom urged her. "We have to move now."

Mhari heard it then-the deep, reverberating thumps of a horse's hooves. She had seen horses in the park during some of her walks, always ridden by a policeman.

She struggled to her feet, allowing the big tom to guide her into the bushes. He found a small hollow beneath a fallen tree and gently pushed her into it. A good choice, Mhari thought dully. Shelter. Defensible.

"The smallcats will find me," she murmured.

The tom touched his nose to hers in an oddly comforting gesture. "Don't you understand? The smallcats, as you call them, set you up. If I hadn't found you, the police would have found that crazy man dead of an animal attack, a gun lying beside him and a large wild cat dead nearby. They probably wouldn't have looked any further."

He twitched his whiskers in frustration. "I've been trying to stop this. Maybe this man was a threat, but cats killing humans? Imagine the repercussions! I thought Smithwicks's gang recruited you for muscle. I had no idea..."

The tom's voice trailed off. He glanced over his shoulder toward the place where the wild man's torn remains lay. "No thinking creature deserves such a death. Not even one whose thinking is somehow twisted."

"Perhaps, especially not such a one," Mhari said softly.

"Agreed."

"I did not attack him. I did not tear him apart or eat his flesh." For some reason, it seemed important for the tom to know this. "But I would have killed him had he desired a quick death."

The male blinked, apparently surprised by her candor. "From what little I saw of the man, that would have been a kindness."

"May I know your name?"

"Jason," he said absently as he scanned the woodland shadows. "Listen, I think you'll be safe here for a while. I know where you live. I'll do what I can to get word to your human. But you have to stay here, Freckles-any human with a gun is likely to shoot at a cat your size."

"My name is Mhari," she said. "And I would be pleased if you would visit me from time to time."

That made him smile, albeit a little grimly. "Let's get you home first."

The night pa.s.sed and most of the next day, and still no one came. No smallcats, no Jason, no Woman. Weak with pain and thirst, Mhari was almost glad a small, yapping dog found her hiding place. She was almost pleased to see the grim-faced humans in their Animal Control jumpsuits and long poles with loops at the end. She was almost relieved to have the relative comfort and safety of a small metal cage. And surely no water had ever tasted so sweet. One of the humans stuck something sharp in her hip, and she slept. When she awoke the next morning, her hurts had been cleaned and wrapped. Even though they planned to kill her.

Like the koi, Mhari would be permitted to live until she died.

Her Woman came later that day, bringing the portly Man with her. He waved important Papers and bl.u.s.tered on and on. Some of the things he said were sensible. All of the blood on Mhari's fur was her own. The man had shot Mhari, but there was no evidence that she had attacked him. The Woman had insisted upon something called an autopsy, which proved that none of the wild man's many wounds came from a Serval's teeth or claws. There was evidence of other animals, and many of the small bites had been taken before the wild man died. And apparently there was no trace of something called "human DNA" in Mhari's scat.

The round, loud Man talked and talked. Mhari still did not like him, but she could see that he impressed the humans at Animal Control. Mhari's Woman signed many papers. Thick wads of money surrept.i.tiously changed hands. Finally the Woman was allowed to open Mhari's cage and strap her into her jeweled harness.

The Woman sat in the back seat of the car with Mhari on the way home, while the Man drove. She stroked Mhari's coat and talked and talked, but for once Mhari did not hear. She did not hear English or Italian. She would not have heard even if the woman suddenly spoke Serval, for her own thoughts were too loud, and too troubling, for her to hear anyone else's.

Mhari understood why the smallcats "set her up," to use Jason's term. They wished to protect themselves and their civilization. Perhaps they suspected that the wild man could hear the tiger. Perhaps they suspected that the wild man was doing the tiger's bidding, acting as the wild cat's agent in the city. And as Smithwicks had said, there was no place for the greatcats in the city.

Perhaps they thought there was no place for her in the city, either.

Perhaps they were right.

The Woman leaned down to give Mhari a careful squeeze. "I'll be much more careful about your gate," she said. "It just isn't safe for a Serval to wander the city. You'll stay in the house with me tonight."

"No, I won't," Mhari said. Her Domestic was strongly accented by Serval, but perhaps the woman would understand. After all, hadn't her ancestors kept company with Serval for hundreds of years?

The Woman sat up, smoothed a hand uncertainly over her hair. "But it's such a lovely day, isn't it? It would be a shame for you to stay indoors on such a night as this will be." She laughed a little. "Perhaps I'll stay in the habitat with you."

"No. You won't."

"But of course I can't." She sighed and turned away to watch the city pa.s.s by.

Despite her best intentions, the Woman didn't quite secure Mhari's gate that night. The Serval waited until the waning moon was nearly set, then she slipped through the quiet streets to the zoo.

The tiger was still lying beneath his tree. Mhari wondered if he had bothered to move at all in the days that had pa.s.sed.

"Your human is dead, Great One," she said respectfully, "but not by my tooth or claw. I did not understand until it was too late. Forgive me."

"And you understand now?" he asked, but in a way that suggested he had little interest in her answer.

"I think," she said hesitantly, "you were trying to get him to free you."

That got his attention. His ears went up, and he gathered his hind legs beneath him as if he might actually consider rising. "In a sense, yes, that is so."

"Life will never be as you once knew it. I have wandered the city, Great One, and have learned that there is no place for us here. For the Serval, much less the greatcats, freedom is death."

"Freedom is death," the tiger repeated softly, "and death is freedom."

Mhari thought this over until she understood it fully. Until she understood what she had taken from the tiger and what she must give him.

"I had kittens once," she told him. "Savannahs, they call them. The sire was a smallcat, so they are not quite Serval. But they are beautiful kittens, lithe and lovely. They are not smallcats, not quite, but it seemed to me that the humans heard them, a little. I will bear another litter, and I will wean them to the knowledge of what must be done. In a generation, or perhaps two, my young can speak to the humans, and you will be free."

The tiger's yellow eyes brightened, then blazed. "Their seasons come early, these smallcats. One generation, perhaps two... It is not so very long."

She dipped her head and then padded away to seek Jason and breed the tiger's death. And echoing in her mind were heartfelt words-words no Great Cat should ever have to say: Thank you.

TO CAT, A THIEF.

by Robert E Vardeman.

After dark, all cats are gray, Robie thought over and over as he struggled to drag his bag of cat food along the littered alley. He kept to shadows as much as possible, hiding his snowy white chest and the mittens on his front feet. The rest of his matted fur was a mixture of gray, black and orange-the only legacy he had received from his long gone father. His mother had been a long-haired Himalayan, but although his fur was long, it lacked the silkiness he remembered of hers before she was run over by one of the noisy, smelly human machines.

Another few yards, he thought. That's all. A few more feet until I find where the stray cats are hiding.

He had found the homeless cats a few days earlier in an alley behind an apartment building. He had given them what help he could, but it had been little enough that it tore at his conscience. The mother cat, a scrawny tabby, tried to nurse six kittens and had barely enough milk for two. Mother and litter alike were slat-thin and starving. Life in the city had been hard lately, even for a clever, quick cat like Robie. These others needed his help, and he was willing to give it to them.

He hunkered down as lights raked the brick wall over his head. He pulled in his feet and pressed his chin to his chest to hide his reflective white fur until the humans left. The rattle of their machine, the crunch of gla.s.s under the stinking rubber wheels, the gaseous filth spewing from the rear, all sickened Robie. His nose twitched, and he opened his mouth as he sampled their scent to memorize it. When he had a chance, he would get even with them for disturbing his peace-and his rescue mission.

Loud music blared from inside and the human guiding the machine smelled of burned hamburger, tobacco, and something else strong and nasty. Robie filed all this away on an already long list deserving retribution. Everything about that human was annoying and mostly illegal even by human laws.

The machine clanked down the alley and onto the street, finally allowing Robie to once more grab the sack in his teeth and begin pulling. The bag of dry cat food tipped the scales at ten pounds, only a little less than he weighed. He had stolen it from a place down the block. Determination kept him sliding the bag along the alley until he came to the cardboard box turned to face the brick wall where the mother and her kittens were hidden from prying human eyes.

He released the bag and reared up on his hind legs, his long ringed tail twitching in indignation. The female already had eaten and lay on her side so her kittens could have their meal. Robie's nose worked hard, and he found himself wanting to share her new edibles.

"Where did you get the canned food?" he asked.

Lazily, the female lifted her head. Her whiskers twitched. For the first time there was a hint of vitality to her movement, and her pale yellow eyes were no longer cloudy. The succulent canned food had revived her better than his dry food ever could have.

"Another cat brought it for me," she said. "I was sleeping and the little ones can't really focus too well yet. A savior, bringing me food when I needed it most."

Robie sniffed some more. This was not only canned food, it was high-end victuals. The sort of food the hoity-toity fat cats up in the penthouse apartments ate.

"I brought you some more," he said.

"Thank you, Robie, but I don't need it right now. Later." The cat purred and lay back down as her kittens finished their meal and crowded close for their postprandial nap. Mother and kittens fell asleep together.

Robie dropped back to all fours and considered scattering the bag of food across the alley. A slash of his claws and the plastic-coated paper would rip open. What good was it for him to be the most agile, daring cat in the neighborhood if he wasn't allowed to use those skills? He had gone through a tiny pipe that pressed his whiskers close to his face, climbed up a chain-a chain!-and broken into a store to get this food. There wasn't another cat feline enough to sneak in using such skills. He was the best!

His anger died at the idea of wasting good food. It wasn't the female's fault someone else had brought her nourishment before he could return. Someone else giving it to her did not diminish his skill or daring.

But someone else was muscling in on his philanthropy. Why should a talented cat go out of his way to help others if it wasn't appreciated because such charity came too late?

"A challenge," he purred. "A challenge to supply the best food. Fancy food from cans? I can equal or top that. I know I can."

Robie left, tail high as the idea of how to soothe his wounded pride took form. He walked into the street and looked up at the ten-story building. Getting to the top floors where the richest humans lived with their pampered slaves would not be too hard. Getting back down with the goods posed a huge problem.

I'm clever enough to solve it after I get the loot, he decided. Robie pressed against the warm brick building and glided around the corner bonelessly, waiting for the front door to open. After five minutes, he dropped to his belly and thrust his paws in front of him like an Egyptian G.o.d. Then he put his head down on his legs and went to sleep for another ten. His nose alerted him before he heard or saw the approaching human. Robie rose, stretched, and waited with seeming indifference, as if he expected a mouse to pa.s.s by. As the human fumbled in her purse for the keycard that electronically opened the door, he readied himself.

A quick gray blur, sinuous and twisting, he entered the apartment lobby without the human ever noticing. Robie thought about rubbing against her legs, but he restrained himself. Instead, he pa.s.sed his paw over his forehead and the scent glands there, but did nothing to follow and mark the female. She was unscented-free-range human. He shook himself, having more important things to do than claim this woman as his property.

The elevator doors slid open, and she entered. Robie considered his chances, then decided he would be seen. Even if he wasn't spotted, worse things might happen. Trapped in that cage, unable to open the doors or move between floors, meant he was fair game for the Animal Control kidnappers. Of all the friends he had ever had, not a one had returned after the AC gangsters s.n.a.t.c.hed them away. Other cats had told him stories about markers-RFIDs-implanted beneath their fur. Robie wanted to avoid being cornered or caged at all costs.

The elevator hissed upward on its magnetic drive. It caused his fur to stand on end. Robie slunk along the wall to get away from the elevator, staying close to the floor to avoid being seen on the ever-present security cameras. He had no idea who watched them all the time, but whoever did could howl for the AC kidnappers to come-and they would.

He worked his way around the small upstairs lobby, hardly more than a dim shadow moving toward an emergency door. The humans were meticulous about some things, if not their personal grooming. Marking exits with the white letters and red lights afforded him a way to get to the upper floors. Rich people always lived on upper floors. Robie came to the door with its single handle high up.

He had watched, and he had learned. Robie gathered his legs under him and launched himself with all his strength. He easily reached the handle. He quickly placed one paw on top of the other and swung down, his full weight bearing on the latch. For a moment he hung there, fearing that he wasn't heavy enough to open the door. Then he felt a metallic click, and the door swung away. With a quick midair twist, he landed on his feet in the stairwell.

Robie had entered a different world from the lobby, with its disinfectant smells and the constant inward rush of air from the street that ruffled fur and made his whiskers twitch. Here was a shaft of concrete quiet. He felt the distant throbbing of machines working lower in the building and took some solace from them. He barely remembered, but the rhythmic sound was like his mother's heart beating as he lay next to her. Scents were more vivid here, mustier and distinctive, but not unappealing.

Gingerly placing one paw on the metal step leading upward, he waited. The small vibration he'd made would not attract any human's attention. They were so isolated with their feeble hearing and puny senses of smell that he could walk past any but the most astute-or allergic. At that thought, Robie had to thrash his tail about in irritation.

How dare they start sneezing when I come into a room? I'm as clean as I possibly can be, living in the alley and fending for myself. And others.

Robie stopped when he reached the top of the stairs. Getting through this door would be a little easier since the silver panic bar would yield to a good leap. He had to try three times before the lock snapped open and his weight carried the door inward just enough for him to get through. Landing on soft feet, he sniffed and then began walking down the middle of the corridor as if he owned the building. The scents coming to him were heady and confusing, but he quickly found where a cat resided. Stepping back and looking up convinced him there was no easy way inside. The complicated lock on the door was meant to keep everyone out.

He lightly jumped to a table at the end of the hallway and poked his nose at a window. It took several minutes for him to figure out how to get a paw underneath the partly opened window and lift it enough to slip under. Robie glanced out and down. Ten stories. The street below was filled with the smelly, noisy machines humans dashed around in rather than depending on their own legs. Stride sure, he walked along the six-inch wide ledge, went around the corner and admired the stone gargoyle set at the corner. He rubbed against that corner to scratch just the right spot on the middle of his forehead.

Purring, he continued his exploration and immediately found the window to the apartment where he had scented another cat. Opening this window would take a little more skill since there was a motor attached. His quick claw caught at a wire, and he stopped. The motor and a burglar alarm were already disconnected. Someone had made it too easy for him. The window opened easily, and he jumped down on feather-light feet to explore.

He inhaled deeply and caught the female's scent. A pang of worry almost caused him to reverse his course and leap for the window. The entire apartment had been marked as property by the other cat, but it was such a beguiling scent that he had to continue his exploration. He found the female's bed and poked his nose under the soft blanket.

How decadent. She actually sleeps on a blanket!

Robie continued poking around but did not find where the female must be napping, although signs of her presence were everywhere. Toys. Fancy feather toys that looked like birds dangled from rubber bands. Robie had to bat at one, enjoying the feel of his claw taking off a feather.

She doesn't get to hunt real birds, he realized. He felt a little sad for her. Then anger grew at her decadent lifestyle.

He turned a corner. A bowl filled with refrigerated water from a humming electrical unit waited for her. Beside this fountain of pure elixir was her china food bowl. He sniffed and knew he had to find the pantry. The food that had been delicately lapped from this bowl was gourmet quality. The kittens would benefit from it when their mother dined in style.

I'll show that mangy interloper who can provide the best food for a mother and her kittens!

Robie prowled about and stopped to stare when he found the litter box. Tiny yellow plastic fingers waited at the rear of a veritable sea of litter. He stepped into the box and the urge to urinate and excrete overcame him. A few quick scratches buried the evidence, but when he jumped out a growling sound caused him to spin, arch his back, and hiss.

The yellow fingers stroked forward, finding the clumps he had left and whisking them away into a trough that somehow closed. The fingers retreated and once more the litter was clean and the automated box waited for the next visit. Robie had to shake his head at such opulence-and restrain himself from using it again. He lowered his back and let his fur return to normal as he continued to prowl.

A few quick sniffs led him to the pantry. The door stood ajar. A quick paw opened it all the way. He let out a yowl of pure delight when he saw a plastic bag already loaded with food. Opening the cans would be easy enough but getting them down ten stories without being seen presented a problem.

He dragged the loot from the pantry and then looked around the apartment. It took a few minutes to pull down a feather bird on its rubber band. He tucked that into the bag, then batted toys into it from all the rooms. The kittens would be playing with them soon.

A kitten does not live by milk alone, he told himself, grinning. Robie continued to scout the apartment and finally jumped onto a table by the door laden with pictures. The humans did not impress him. They were all the same, but the 3-D picture of the human holding a Siamese stopped him dead in his tracks. Pressing his nose so close his whiskers rubbed the frame, he studied the blue-eyed, purebred Siamese.

His heart raced. Never had he seen a female so appealing. Robie rubbed his chin against the picture and purred. He b.u.mped his head against the frame and sent the picture tumbling to the floor. The gla.s.s shattered into a thousand pieces but the picture remained intact. Lightly dropping to the floor, he stepped through the gla.s.s and rubbed against the picture again. Now that the frame mechanism had broken, it only gave a 2-D image. Robie carefully put his paw on the human's face and caught the edge of the picture with his teeth. A toss of his head tore the picture so that he carried the lovely female and the human remained on the floor.

Robie added the picture to his treasure trove in the kitchen, then sat and stared at the bag. He would definitely be a legend when he returned to the alley with this. He could pa.s.s out food to more than the mother and her litter. Any stray cat wanting food could dine like a prince.