Catfantastic: Nine Lives and Fifteen Tales Part 22

The people at Ceres never do find out what the bunny's secret is. They think he is a Luna City rabbit that got away, started living in the s.p.a.ceport, and changed color fur to match whatever he was near at the time. I think he goes into the Otherworld but not the one cats look at. I am sure there is an Otherworld for rabbits as well as one for cats. Even humans have one, though they don't look at it much.

I say we go back to Luna City will catch a few and find out. Tally-ho! A-hunting I will go!

From the Diary of Hermione.

by Ardath Mayhar.

It is with great Hesitancy that I take Pen in Paw to recount this latest Incident. Indeed, I find it most difficult to criticize my Human in any way, and particularly when it involves, as does this, his seeming Inept.i.tude at working within his own Field of Endeavor.

However, if this is to be an accurate Account of the life I led in the House of Harlow Biddington, Sorcerer and Adept, I must, I fear, neglect my finer Feelings in the interest of Truthfulness. I do not, however, allude to anything of this Nature when speaking to my Kits, as they must be trained from Infancy in Respect and Admiration for nose who are in our Charge.

As I am a Graduate of the Coven of Familiars, it is, of course, my Responsibility to oversee and to Correct any Error of Judgment or of Practice that I note in the usages of my a.s.sociate. This has never, until now, posed a Problem for me, for Harlow Biddington, with all his Faults, and even considering that he is merely a Human, has been a most skilled and devoted Pract.i.tioner of the arcane Arts. His Studies have continued over the Span of many Years, and his Efforts have, more than once, been crowned with Success.

The dish from which my Kits drank their Milk was proof of this. His short Foray into Alchemy resulted in the trans.m.u.tation of every metallic Object in the House. While the Result was a bit ostentatious for my Taste, it was nevertheless impressive when one considers the Many who have labored for Years without achieving any similar Effect.

His Explorations into the Nature of the Universe resulted in a Volume of great thickness and complexity, filled with Mathematical Formulae of most esoteric Nature. This Work rebounded both to his Credit among Men and to Mine in my own somewhat more subtle Field. It is generally considered that the Atmosphere created by a Familiar can do Much to Stimulate the creative Processes of those involved in the Occult Sciences, and I pride myself that I am not lacking in that Area.

With such a formidable Array of Matters accomplished, it would seem that my Sorcerer should be one who would be content to rest upon his Achievements, except for minor Attempts to refine his former Work. Biddington, however, had never known Contentment in all his Life.

After his Triumph over both Mathematics and Nature, he determined that he must summon up a Demon. Although I found myself most Doubtful of this Project, I lent my small Skills and Efforts to his Objective. Any who has ever experienced such a Phenomenon will understand why I do not describe the Fulfillment of his Efforts. Some things are not suitable for the Perusal of decent Beings, and I will draw a veil over That. However, he did succeed, which set him Afire to attain Further Achievements.

At this Time I remonstrated gently with him, pointing out to the Man that he had gone more Deeply into Forbidden Matters than most are ever privileged to Go. "Be happy with what you have done!" I conveyed to him, through my most seductive Purrings and Twinings about his Ankles.

He understood my Message. Of that I am certain, for he was no Fool or Dullard, no matter how Simple he might sometimes appear. He reached down to pat my Head, stroking my Fur backward, which is always most Disconcerting. I placed my Paw firmly upon his besocked Ankle and let him feel my Claws, but he did not desist from his Researches.

At this Point, many of my Confreres might well have felt their Duty to be satisfied. However, I am made of sterner Stuff. I leaped into his Lap and put my Head on the edge of the Table, my Eyes being level with a large Book, at which he was staring as if Mesmerized.

Imagine my Horror when I read the illuminated Words writ in red Ink upon those musty Pages!

The incautious Man was studying a Spell for changing the Shape. I recognized the Ritual as being similar to one studied at my Alma Mater, and I almost Gasped with Astonishment and Fear. Of all Spells used by Sorcerers and Witches and their Sort, this is the most often subject to Error, to Misuse, and to most uncomfortable Accident.

I turned about in his Lap and thrust my Head beneath his Chin, mewing in my most pitiful and moving Voice. He scratched my Ears (which, though undignified in the extreme, is yet most Gratifying as a Sensation), and turned another Page.

Suffice it to say that he was in no way deterred from his Intention, no matter how I pleaded with him. At last I gave it up and went to suckle my Kits, musing sadly all the while upon the strongheadedness of Mankind.

When I returned to the Study, the Sorcerer was a.s.sembling the various Elements necessary to the Spell. I watched with growing Unease as he mixed the Chemicals, added the a organic Parts a and spoke those terrible Words that I had never before heard uttered by human Lips.

At the end of the chant, he lifted the Vial and sipped its unsavory Contents. There was a hissing Sound, and the fire in the Grate burned blue for a long Moment. The Shape of the Sorcerer who was in my Charge seemed to s.h.i.+ver about the Edges. Biddington groaned deeply, his Voice becoming lighter, higher, more like a Squeaking every Moment.

He shrank rapidly, his Clothing failing into untidy Heaps on the Carpet. For a moment I wondered if he had succeeded in totally Obliterating himself. Yet there was Motion among the displaced Garments. As I watched, Something moved in the Clutter, wriggling its Way out into the Firelight.

It stood on four frail Legs, looking about the Room from its suddenly altered Alt.i.tude. The Whiskers twitched frantically, and the long, slender Tail jerked in a spasm.

I could feel Pity for the unhappy Sorcerer. He had, according to the Spell he used, been trying to a.s.sume the Shape of a Bear, and what he had achieved was the tiny Body of a Mouse.

I could see in those beads of Eyes the desperate Plea for Help that he turned toward me. I sighed and washed my paws, which usually can soothe my Spirits while my Mind wrestles with heavy Problems.

The Situation was a difficult one. He had sent away his Housekeeper for a Fortnight Holiday, so as to be alone when his Plan went into Effect. There was no Human Aid to be had for many days. He did not a.s.sociate with Others of his Kind, for there is none so jealously Solitary as a Sorcerer.

I washed again, Tail to Nose, for this was a Difficulty greater than Any I had encountered before. At last the only Course that I could determine was one involving much Risk and not a little Danger.

I must seek out Tabitha, with whom I had attended my training Inst.i.tution. Her own Sorcerer lived on a nearby Estate, and though he was an Archrival of my own dear Biddington, I felt some Hope that he might come to the Aid of a fellow Human, whatever his personal Prejudices. Before leaving upon such a doubtful and desperate Mission, however, I must suckle my Kits again, for they must not be allowed to suffer through the Inattention of their Mother.

And there I made a fatal Error of Judgment.

The Kits had grown hungry while waiting for me to finish my Plan. All three, now moving quite well upon their strong little Legs, sought me out in the Study, as they had done before. Unfortunately, in former Visits they had found me in the Company of a Human Being of large Size and forbidding Aspect.

I was now attending upon a Mouse.

As with other beings of sensible Nature, my Kin does not censure the Young for their Ignorance and Enthusiasm. I had taught those Kits from their Birth that one of their major Roles in Life would be the Catching and Dispatching of Mice, whenever and wherever found.

My Peers, upon Consideration, agreed that Horatio, my only Son of this Litter, was not at Fault for following the teachings of his Mother. I must admit, however, that in my Heart I feel that it was very harsh Treatment for my erstwhile Sorcerer, no matter how Wrong-headed his Behavior might have been.

We have, of course, moved away from the Site of the Disaster. A Situation became available upon the untimely Death of another of my fellow Graduates when Hortense ran afoul of a Hansom Cab. We have been placed with her Charge, a most pleasant Gentleman who is interested solely in the Motions of the Stars and Planets.

Though I think often of Harlow Biddington, I feel that the Atmosphere here is far more Healthful for my Litter, who now have arrived at the playful Age, during which all too many of our Kind come to Grief. The Arrival of those of demonic Nature in the Home is never, I feel, a useful Matter when one is rearing Young.

So I must begin a fresh Diary, setting aside this Account of the years of my Youth and my first Sorcerer. Yet before I lift Paw from Pen, I will affirm a new Vow, freshly made in case of Accident.

Never again will I teach my Kits to catch a Mouse and eat it immediately. First, they must show their Prey to Me, so that I may determine that it is not Someone I may know.

signed: Hermione, The Grange, Oxbridge.

1882.

It's A Bird, It's A Plane.

It's a Supercat!

by Ann Miller and Karen Elizabeth Rigley.

Locals spotted a giant bird.

Simultaneously, UFO sightings started up again. Okay, fine. This time I planned to totally ignore the whole thing. If a flying saucer landed in my yard or an alien fell out of a tree on me, then maybe I'd mention it. Other than that, forget it.

Do you know how much credibility a science fiction writera"especially a female science fiction writera"who claims to spot UFOs receives? Zip. Zero. I saw one once, yet all I got were sage nods and knowing smirks. "Oh, sure," they all said. "Crazy Jackie Carlson is trying out a new plot, ha ha."

I was not amused.

I'd moved down here to the Rio Grande Valley from Houston when my writing finally started buying the beans, and bought a small cottage on several acres at the edge of town. Perfect for writing. It apparently came with a cat who appeared the morning after I moved in; a large cat, light gray with dark gray markings. His pale green-gold eyes, encircled by dark lines, gave him the appearance of wearing spectacles. That, along with his neutral coloring and timid personality, inspired me to call him Clark Kent.

He came to me now, settling in my lap with a contented purr while I sat staring at a blank piece of paper, wondering where my muse had flown. I heaved a sigh and leaned back in my chair. My new story refused to come to life. No matter what I tried to do with it, it just lay there, a flat old a tater. A day-old french fry. Soggy.

Stroking Clark's silky coat, I looked out the window. Light from a waxing moon filtered down through leaves of the orange tree that stood just beside the house, casting lacy patterns as a breeze stirred the branches. Odd, how the light flickered, almost changed colorsa.

OH, NO!.

I scrambled from the chair, dumping a surprised Clark, and rushed to the window to peer through the foliage of the orange tree, every cell in my body denying what I saw. A glowing saucer-shaped object hovered a few feet off the ground at the edge of my backyard. Two bands of changing colors, moving in opposite directions, flowed around the midsection of the craft. It hung there immobile while I gaped at it for several minutes until it dawned on me proof hovered just outside my window!

Springing for my camera, I quickly slunk out the back door and dashed from tree to tree, trying to get as close as possible to the UFO without being seen. I didn't relish the idea of becoming an abductee. There's a limit to what I'll do for a storya"especially one that n.o.body would believe. I took several shots, then grew aware of an increasing hum that hurt my ears, but felt good at the same time. The rotating color bands sped up and the saucer shot upward. Just like that. Poof. I gazed at the spot where it disappeared, wondering if my pictures would turn out or if they got zapped by anti-picture rays.

That's what old Jim Trammell said happened to the photos he took during the previous rash of sightings that showed an empty meadow instead of the flying saucer he claimed had been there. Jim didn't carry any more credibility than I did, maybe less, due to the pickling process he had subjected his brain to for all those years. Except old Jim quit drinking after that night, even started going to church. UFOs have a way of changing your life, all right.

I hurried back inside to my darkroom, Clark sticking close beside me, determined not to be left outside alone at night.

Some brave cat.

Well, sure enough, my photos showed everything but the saucer. I could see a strange "pull" where the saucer had been, and figured they had a cloaking device. So much for proof of my sanity.

"Why can't you talk?" I asked Clark. "Act as my witness?"

"Meow," he replied delicately.

I put my writing away for the night, my muse having packed up and probably hitched a ride on that saucer. The next morning I drove into West Grove to the newspaper office and spent several hours writing up local stories about weddings and charity cake sales. I didn't mention my little excitement of the night before. Ed would have wanted me to write it up and I didn't intend to. My dear boss didn't mind me making a fool of myself on the front page of the West Grove News if it brought him publicity and more readers, thus increasing his advertisers. After that first flurry of UFO and big bird sightings, even people over in Harlingen and McAllen were buying our little weekly paper just to see what I'd say next. Ed Watson, esteemed publisher and editor of the News, cackled all the way to the bank. He didn't care if I was writing Chapter Seven or dabbling in controlled substances, as long as my articles increased circulation.

Perhaps later, if others reported sightings, I'd write up their stories, but not mine. And if Ed didn't know, then he couldn't badger me about it.

When I got home that afternoon, I walked out into the backyard to look around where I'd seen the saucer hovering the night before. Clark trotted at my heels, making little trilling sounds, probably advising caution. The big sissy. I didn't see a mark anywhere on the ground underneath the saucer, so I went back over to the tree I'd hid under the night before and leaned against it, thinking. I was carrying my camera, hoping I'd find somethinga"some, signa"I could photograph. Nothing.

Clark stretched and sharpened his claws on the tree, then started climbing it. He disappeared into the foliage. Presently, I heard rustling above me and peered up through the branches, trying to see what Clark was doing. At that moment something largea"giant-flapped monstrous black wings and flew away. I heard a m.u.f.fled cry, then Clark and something else fell out of the tree on me, knocking me down with a whump. Trying to protect my camera, I managed to avoid getting crushed, but in the process I tumbled across the fallen object.

Clark, atop the victim, let out a squall and scrambled behind me. I gazed at the p.r.o.ne form and thought, what's this kid doing here? Then I realized the wizened creature I lay upon was no kid. I moved off it and looked it over. It had a grayish complexion, narrow, four-digited hands, and a hairless, slightly oversized head. Large, half-closed eyes revealed dark irises that nearly filled the entire sockets. The nose was only a small b.u.mp and the mouth a slit, almost invisible when closed. It wore a garment that looked like a faintly iridescent bodystocking and a b.u.mpy belt around its middle.

Still alive, it made a hissy-moany sound and I wondered how much I'd hurt it. It wasn't big, only about the size of a skinny ten-year-old.

Now what?

Clark crept forward to sniff at one slender gray hand and the huge sparkling eyes opened, the lids sliding up almost like a doll's eyes.

"Are you hurt?" I asked, not expecting a reply.

"Oooh, ooooh," it moaned, like crying, drawing away from Clark's inquisitive nose.

"Take it easy," I soothed. "He won't hurt you." My mind hit overdrive trying to believe all this. Obviously, the little creature was an alien. Extraterrestrial. It came from outer s.p.a.ce. I glanced off in the direction the big bird had disappeared, then looked back at the alien. It was gazing wistfully in the same direction.

"Does that bird belong to you?" I asked sympathetically, wis.h.i.+ng we could actually communicate.

"Shess," it sighed, startling me.

"Did you understand me?" I asked incredulously.

"A liddle bit. Hef you talk to me, I hunnerstand you bedder."

Still looking at it I said, "My name is Jackie. I write science fiction stories and also articles for a newspaper. Some people think they're one and the same. This animal is my pet cat, Clark Kent. Ah, several people in the area have seen the giant bird and even some flying saucers. I saw one, but n.o.body wants to believe a science fiction writer. I took pictures of a craft that hovered here last night, but they didn't turn out. Did you arrive in it?"

"Shess. I em come here to bring back the ba k'rah."

"The ba k'raha"is that the giant bird?" The alien nodded and I asked, "What's your name?"

"Worl."

"Worl," I repeated, not quite getting the sound right.

"En you, Shockie, you are not afred when you see the craft?"

I shook my head. "I told you I'm a science fiction writer. I write stories about those things. That's acceptable. But when I started writing true articles about them I got some skeptical looks to say the least. Are you understanding this?"

"Much bedder. Pliss continue spicking. Does Clairk Kendt also spick?"

"Meow," Clark replied, giving Worl another curious sniff.

"I do not hunnerstand his spicking."

"Cats don't really talk, Worl. They're animals. Does the ba k'rah talk?"

"No. Hit es stupid. But much trouble. And much expensive. I must get the ba k'rah back." He put a hand to his head and winced and I noticed he had a good-sized b.u.mp.

"Let's go into the house," I suggested. "We can get something to drink. The suns.h.i.+ne is growing warm."

Worl agreed to come inside with me. I believe he felt rather befuddled from the fall and conk on the head or he wouldn't have been so cooperative. I rested my hand on his thin shoulder, steering him toward the house and he walked beside me, one hand on the b.u.mp on his head. Inside, he gazed around at everything as I guided him to the kitchen table. Clark leaped into his own chair and stared across the table at Worl. I'd never seen old sissy act so friendly and open before with a stranger. And you couldn't get much stranger than Worl.

"Cola? Iced tea? What would you like?" I asked.

"I don' know. I not hef thiss things before."

I dropped ice cubes into two gla.s.ses and poured out some Coca-Cola. "Welcome to Earth," I said, setting down the drink.

He grasped the gla.s.s in one long-fingered hand and raised it to his mouth, watching me to make sure he was doing the right thing.

"Woo!" he said, blinking rapidly at the fizzy bubbles tickling his flat little nose. Not put off, he drank again. "Hit test preddy good. Thiss es a pleasure drink?"

"Yes, but nonalcoholic. It won't make you drunk. At least, it doesn't make humans drunk. I don't know about you. What are you? Where do you come from?"

"I come from Pra. I am Prael. And I am in a lot of trouble." He morosely dropped his head into his hands.

"What kind of trouble? And how come you speak English so well?"