CatFantastic

by Catfantastic- Nine Lives

  She picks me up by the midsection and dumps me halfway across the cabin. "Not now, Smitty. Go play somewhere else!" she snarls, and mutters "preferably in the depressurized hold."

  That place is not for cats either, unless the blinking light by the air lock is on and the humans are coming and going without pressure suits. Herself is only in a tight coat of artificial fur that covers all but her paws: (She is holding people-things. in her back paws and is playing with the instrumentation and the control board with her front paws. She can change her claws and her fur, but she doesn't have any of her own, nor any tail. But the things she changes are a lot of fun to watch.)

  She is upset. It is human business. My business is finding the wrong smell, and I wouldn't be a cat if I let a little thing like Herself's moods get in my way. I sniff and prowl until Herself straightens up, gives one more growl, and says, "All right, Smitty, all right! I'll feed you!"

  Well, hunting means food and food means hunting to my ancestors. With another sniff, I follow her to the food bag. The wrong smell is very strong around there, but it is not a bad-food smell. It is a strange-prey smell. The food bag has been chewed. Herself looks angry at me, but I do not chew the bag. Plastic tastes nasty.

  The food is almost too sticky to eat, and it gets in my whiskers, but it is totally delicious. Strange things happen to your sense of smell in no-weight, but humans—clever beings!—mix food with sharp-smelling things called spices to make it smell right. I go for another wash, and then I see a Thing out of the corner of my eye, over by my food bowl. The Thing smells like what I am smelling all day! Once again, I pounce.

  Then Herself starts to laugh. "Oh, Smitty," she says, picking me up, "I'm sorry I snapped at you. You're just having fun, aren't you? I wish I were a little cat and could take things as easily as you do." And while she is cuddling me, the bad-smell-thing finishes my cat food, goes over to the control board and starts nibbling at the long strings between the lights.

  It is cold in the ship. The lights are nice and dim, but they flicker and get strange and flicker again. The air is stuffy and the water tastes nasty. Herself is very worried. She keeps poking at all the buzzing and flickering things, taking off large sections of bulkhead and looking at the long strings behind them. She makes no more snarls and growls; she sits on the back bulkhead and howls, with water on her face the way humans do.

  I love her and want to help; but the wrong-smell thing is being very busy. It is always at the long things. I try to catch it, but it is very fast. Sometimes it does not move at all, and then I cannot see it. When I do, it runs away.

  It is eating all my food. I cry to Herself. She picks me up and wrinkles her face. "I don't know where all that cat food is going, Smitty. You must be growing a new coat of fur," she says, sounding very confused. The bag is not very full. She shakes her head. "Looks like half rations for you until we hit Ceres," she says. "If we ever get there!" She pours out a very small amount, gives me a little from her own squeeze bag, then gets back to work. I eat, catnap, then go back to work myself.

  The bad-smell thing is poking around the place where she has the bulkhead open. Taking careful aim, I spring. I am between Herself and the string the bad thing has. I land. A hit! I have a mouthful of soft fur and loose skin, and my claws feel the tip of a long, long ear. I sniff deep.

  In Luna City there are rabbits. Humans keep them for meat, fur, and leather. This is not a rabbit smell. But it is a rabbit feel under my paws. O-KAY! Now I've got you, you son of a rodent! Gleefully I stalk this long-eared varmint, following it everywhere. I know where it is being before it is being there, and go there first. I head it off at the bulkhead and I head it off at the food bowl. Herself wipes her face with a long piece of artificial fur and closes up the bulkhead. The rabbit-thing is in there. I pounce!

  "Smitty!" she screams. "Look out!"

  I hear a sizzle, a snap, a crackle, and a pop! It goes right through my fur and into my body, making it snap and sizzle, too. I jerk two or three times while the smell of singed fur reeks in my nose. I am hurt!

  But so is the thing. I see it crawl feebly into the main cabin and over to Herself's pressure suit. It starts chewing again. I never know why it chews everything so much, but I see a dim glow around the string it chews. I see this glow when I am hurt. I hurt too much to chase the thing now. I lie on the bulkhead and mew. Herself brings me a bulb of water and squirts it into my mouth. In space you drink from the bulb like a kitten with its mother. Herself is my mother in space, I think; and I try to purr. She smiles, which is a human purr, and pets me. Then she sighs and sets me on the crash couch and gets up again.

  She is going to the pressure suit! The bad-smell thing is there. The string it chewed has that glow that means it will hurt. With one last effort I spring for the suit and sit on it. I growl. Herself sighs again and tries to pick me up. She must not touch this suit! It will hurt her, and the bad thing will get away! I show her my claws.

  She says, "Oh, stop this nonsense, Smitty; this is an emergency." She tries to set me aside.

  Now I spring at her! All my claws are out, and I bite her, too. She stares at me and starts to howl. Water comes from her face. "Smitty, that's too much! I hate to do this to you, but I have to lock you up. You've gone space-nuts from the strain. And the bad water and the bad air and the fear and the cold… ." she shakes. "They'll make me put you to sleep, Smitty. You don't want that!"

  She means "kill." Humans are prissy about that. I do not want her to kill me. But I have a job to do, too. I growl and show her my claws again and sit on the suit. I do not let her near it. She draws a stun-gun. I stare at her. She will not touch this suit! It is Not For Humans until I take care of the bad rabbit-thing! I stare and stare. She looks at me, puzzled, and says, "I think you're trying to tell me something, Smitty. I always heard cats were a little bit psychic, but to tell you the truth, I don't have the least idea what's going on here."

  Then the rabbit thing moves and I see it again. I pounce. This time I have it! I shake it back and forth until it squeals like a rabbit in the jaws of a cat. Herself is staring at me, gun dangling from one paw. "Maybe I've gone space-nuts?" she asks me. But I know better.

  I shake it and shake it and play with it until I see drops of blood come out of it and fly across the cabin. Several hit the bulkhead. Herself drops the gun, breathes deeply, and straightens up. "All right, Smitty, I'll take it from here," she says. She takes the thing in her hands and her eyes get very big. She goes over to the cat-bag and zips it in. It will eat the bag. I hope it does! But that will be a big job even for that chewy rabbit.

  She picks up the blood in a little squeeze-dropper and hurries over to her lab bench. She puts it in one of the machines and stares and stares. Then she starts to laugh.

  "A rabbit! I do not believe this!" She goes over to the cat bag again and very carefully feels inside. She yelps. I could tell her the thing bites. She feels inside again. She gets a flashlight and looks inside. "I don't see him," she says, puzzled. "But I feel him." She zips up the cat bag again and goes back to the lab. I am on the crash couch having a good wash.

  Then she makes a very loud and happy noise. She jumps and twirls around, making loud human happy sounds. I understand some of it. She is singing, "You caught me a wabbit, caught me a wabbit, caught me a wabbit, a wabbit you caught!" I hear those sounds when she listens to the Luna City Opera, but it is not about rabbits. I like her song better. She picks me up and hugs me to her. "And, Smitty, you're a little feline hero, you know that? And the scientists are going to love you to bits and pieces. I wonder what that critter's secret is?"

  Then she goes to her own food and brings out a nice fat juicy fish steak and gives me half, and cuddles me until I get tired of it and jump down. Me for a good nap!

  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 spaceport, 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 Ineptitude 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 Associate. 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 Practitioner 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 transmutation 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 assembling the various Elements necessary to the Spell. I watched with growing Unease as he mixed the Chemicals, added the … organic Parts … 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 shiver 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 Altitude. 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 assume 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 associate 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 Institution. 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 Gen
tleman 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 … 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 writer—especially a female science fiction writer—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.