CatFantastic

  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 … 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 colors….

  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 story—especially one that nobody 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 something—some, sign—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 large—giant-flapped monstrous black wings and flew away. I heard a muffled 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 prone 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 bump and the mouth a slit, almost invisible when closed. It wore a garment that looked like a faintly iridescent bodystocking and a bumpy 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 space. 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, wishing 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 nobody 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'rah—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 bump.

  "Let's go into the house," I suggested. "We can get something to drink. The sunshine 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 bump 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. A
nd 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 glasses and poured out some Coca-Cola. "Welcome to Earth," I said, setting down the drink.

  He grasped the glass 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?"

  "I will explen," he said, uncovering his face and reaching for his drink again. "The Prael hef a talent for learning languages. We hef a device to enhance thiss talent. I used it before coming here to find the ba k'rah. I was to observe and monitor your electronic entertainment to bedder learn your language. However, I hef not had time. Thus you spicking to me serves thiss purpose."

  "That's nice. But what's your trouble?"

  He had to search for the right words, but adequately explained he served as manifest officer aboard a starship that collected animals across the galaxy for zoos. These animals were ordered and half paid for in advance. A starship transporting animals needs water. They'd just come from a world called Igroon and the Prael didn't care for Igroonian water, so they stopped by Earth to take some on. A young assistant decided the ba k'rah needed exercise and the ba k'rah flew the coop.

  "You mean," I prompted when Worl fell silent, "your assistant let the ba k'rah out of the ship?"

  "No, no. But the ba k'rah es very large. If not confined, hit goes where hit wishes. We cannot harm thiss expensive animal. With our mistakes linked together, the ba k'rah escaped the ship."

  I suddenly had a vision of a bunch of frantic little gray aliens chasing after the giant bird with a net. "Hit es my responsibility. My assistant failed in his duty. The purchasers of the ba k'rah want their specimen. The ship will deliver remaining animals, then return here. My commander leaf me behind to capture the ba k'rah." He sighed, staring into his glass as if hoping to read answers in the melting ice cubes. "More trouble. Now I hef spoke to you. Many violations of laws. And the ba k'rah flew away; perhaps far, when Clairk Kendt frightened hit." He turned an accusing gaze on Clark who calmly continued washing his face, not at all contrite.

  "Let me get this straight," I said, studying the little alien. "You must recapture the bird and keep your identity a secret." I punctuated the last words with a wistful sigh—here was solid proof to show the world….

  Worl blinked innocently at me. "You help?"

  "Yes." I let my dream fade and squared my shoulders. "Of course, I'll help. Do you have any idea where the bird might go?"

  "Eat." He shook his head sadly, his manner so pathetic, it made me want to comfort him. "Ba k'rah find food first."

  "What kind of food?" I asked, hoping humans weren't on the menu.

  "Here on your planet, citrus. More trouble."

  Clark perked his ears up as if listening intently and I noticed Worl spoke both to me and the cat. I smiled, realizing the little alien assumed Clark could understand the conversation. Clark meowed at me as if he could read my thoughts. Startled, I concentrated on Worl who began talking again and rubbing the bump on his head at the same time.

  "I hef to find the ba k'rah. Must go now." He stood and swayed.

  I caught him. He felt very cold in my arms and certainly didn't weigh much. "You're not going anywhere yet," I said, compassion for the poor unfortunate creature welling inside me. Maybe a bit of guilt, too. After all, I fell on the little guy. "It's nearly dark and you're injured. Rest for a while and then we can decide how to catch the ba k'rah. Okay?"

  He didn't agree or disagree. He just collapsed in my arms. I carried him into my bedroom and laid him down on my bed. He looked strange; yet so vulnerable lying there with those luminous eyes closed. He moaned softly. Clark leaped upon the bed to put his nose against the bump on Worl's head. In some way it must have helped, because Worl quieted and turned sideways, snuggling against my cat. Clark purred in a hypnotic rhythm that nearly lured me down beside them. I shook off drowsiness and forced myself into the kitchen, where I tossed a salad to chill in the fridge. If Worl got hungry, natural foods might be kinder to his alien digestive track.

  A sudden knock echoed through the house. Don't panic, my mind screamed. I ran to the bedroom where Worl and Clark lay sleeping and shut the door, then rushed into the living room to reach the front door before my unexpected visitor began ringing the doorbell.

  Opening the door a crack, my breath caught as I recognized Mike Harris, the blond hunky deputy sheriff whom I'd been hoping to meet since I moved here. But not now. Was harboring an alien a crime?

  "Hello," I said, attempting to keep, my voice from squeaking.

  "Howdy. Sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but we've had reports of strange activities in this area. Could I come in for a few minutes?"

  He looked great in his uniform and filled it out exactly like a woman wants a man to. I never dreamed I could resist inviting him into my home, but I heard myself whisper, "This really isn't a good time, officer."

  He placed one suntanned hand against the doorframe, his gaze hardening and his voice deepening. "I think you ought to let me inside, ma'am."

  I nodded, swung open the door and decided to take my chances rather than rile the deputy sheriff. He relaxed and grinned as he entered my living room. What a grin! It made my heart dance, until I remembered my "other" guest.

  "I'm Mike Harris," he said, taking my hand into his firm, warm grasp.

  "Please sit down, Mike," I responded with my best smile, wishing I'd combed my hair after the tumble with Clark and Worl. He stared briefly at my auburn curls and I hoped no leaves or grass clung there. "I'm Jackie Carlson."

  "I know." He grinned again, flashing pearly teeth. "The writer lady." He sat on my sofa, his long legs stretched out in front of him, quite at ease. "Miss Carlson, last night our switchboard lit up with calls from across the Valley, people reporting everything from flying saucers to monster birds. Most of the sightings came from this way. You see anything?"

  Now, I don't make a habit of lying to lawmen, but when he cocked his handsome head, those keen blue eyes of his assessing my credibility as a witness before I even opened my mouth, all I could do was mutely shake my head no.

  Part of me wanted to grab his hand and drag him into the bedroom to show him my little alien friend; most of me resisted.

  Scratch, scratch. The bedroom door. I had to let Clark out before he woke Worl. "Excuse me," I said before dashing off to carefully open the bedroom door. Clark streaked by me, straight into the living room. I peeked at Worl, sleeping peacefully, and closed the door softly.

  Clark stopped several feet from the sofa, staring warily through those green-gold eyes at Mike. Mike bent down, wiggled a finger and cooed softly, "Here, kitty, kitty."'

  "Clark's pretty shy," I said, seating myself in my recliner. Clark circled around, then jumped into my lap.

  "Clark? Crazy name for a cat," Mike said, appearing a bit embarrassed that my pet had snubbed him.

  "Clark Kent, actually," I replied, stroking the cat's silky fur obediently. Clark had trained me in a very short time.

  Mike started to laugh. A nice deep laugh. "I see why—he looks like he wears glasses, right?"

  Clark stuck his pink nose up disdainfully. "One of the reasons," I answered. "Do you have any more questions for me? If not, I do have a deadline on my story……"

  Mike got the hint and stood. "No, guess that's it. Unless you heard something last night?" he added hopefully.

  "Sorry." I
picked Clark up, then walked Mike to the door. Reluctant to completely blow my first meeting with this appealing man, I smiled and said, "It was a pleasure meeting you and I hope we see each other again soon." Just not too soon, I finished to myself.

  Mike's blue eyes targeted mine. "I'd like that, Miss Carlson." He grinned and I felt tempted to ask him to stay. Clark sprang from my arms, reminding me of our situation.

  "Please call me Jackie," I said, consoling myself with that much. Again, Mike shook my hand and even held it a bit longer than necessary before bidding me good night and departing.

  Clark shot out the door as Mike left. Out of character for that cat. He rarely ventured out at night alone, but I let him go, confident he'd return shortly. Very shortly.

  I grabbed a bowl of salad and settled down on the sofa to watch the late news. I clicked on the remote just as a newscaster announced last night's UFO sighting had been classified as ball lightning. "Oh, sure," I grumbled. Next came the big bird story, explained away as a runaway kite, since its huge size ruled out hawks, falcons or even— eagles.

  Clark scratched at the door, so I let him inside and together we watched a newswoman interview old Sheriff Tuffy of West Grove.

  "Warren Baily claims one of his competitors stripped his orange groves. Do you have any evidence?"

  "Nope," Sheriff Tuffy replied, puffing out his plump cheeks and staring directly into the camera.

  "What?" the reporter asked, looking surprised. "No tire tracks, footprints, witnesses?"

  "Nope," Tuffy responded, teetering toe to heel, heel to toe in his cowboy boots, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he still stared into the camera.

  "You're saying that Baily's Better Oranges lost a whole crop of nearly ripe fruit, two hundred trees stripped bare, and no one even left a clue?"

  "Yep," said the sheriff, scowling at the camera.

  "Uh, thank you, Sheriff," said the flustered reporter. "Back to you, Bob." I turned off the television and stroked Clark, who was acting strangely quiet since arriving back home.