The Cat's Job

by Sharon Lee

  "What might any man -- wizard or no -- give the King of the Cats?"

  "Fair words. Perhaps you do not value it as highly as I had thought."

  Fallan shrugged. "It has some small worth. Approximately equal to your life, as I have said. But another may always be crafted."

  "So?" Both brows were raised. "It seems I chose a poor hostage. Forgive me." He let the crystal go.

  Fallan cried out, Words forming of themselves. The crystal's descent was arrested a scant inch from the slate floor. Sweating heavily, the mage caused it to waft to safety and wedge itself between two jewel-encrusted spell books.

  Shaking, he turned to deal with the King of the Cats.

  But the small man had slid from his perch and was busily pulling jars from the poisons cupboard, mixing the contents of one with another, indiscriminately, disastrously.

  "Begone, you misbegotten creature!" screamed Fallan, lost to all but his rage. "Begone from here and never come again! I ward you from this world forever. Begone, begone, be--"

  Val Con saw the balled lightning leap from the magician's staff, and stilled his impulse to dodge. He felt heat enter him, expand him, begin to unravel him --

  Miri!

  * * *

  "Val Con!"

  He blinked, felt the heat of that which pursued him and jumped, slamming into Miri, covering her with his body as they rolled, shielding her from the --

  FLASH! Poof...BOOM!!

  After a time he moved, cautiously, and heard the tinkle and crunching of glass.

  "Val Con?" a small voice murmured in the vicinity of his left ear.

  "Yes."

  "Can we get up now?"

  "I think so." He shifted; knelt. "Yes."

  "Good." She knelt as well, combing fingers through wild red hair as she surveyed the room. "Some party. Wish I remembered more of it."

  He grinned and waved a hand at the remnants of the platform. "What was that?"

  "A funnel. To get you back. I can show you the math." She cocked a suspicious gray eye. "Worked."

  "So it did," he said, and reached out to touch her face.

  #

  Some time later, when they were both on the edge of sleep, Miri shifted next to him and murmured.

  "Val Con-husband?"

  "Yes, cha'trez."

  "I bought the hyatt."

  "So? Did you fire the manager?"

  She grinned. "Naw. I thought about it. Then I thought that one of the changes I'll be making is to open up a wing especially for mercenaries. Figured I'd put him in charge of that."

  "Not too bad a notion," conceded her husband, curling closer and nestling his cheek against her hair. "I'm sure he'll learn quite rapidly."

  * * *

  Kinzel stretched and smiled at the setting Moon. Cats, curious about surroundings, about sounds, about glitters and gleamings in the pre-dawn sky, had wandered off, by ones, twos and sevens. His staff purred contentedly in his hand.

  From the west, a breeze arose, telling tales of the ocean, hinting of the further shore; of dragons, perhaps, or of a King reunited with his Queen.

  Kinzel smiled and stepped out -- westward, for lack of a reason to walk in another direction, and whistling.

  All was Right with the world.

  10th Life

  A Column

  In Search of Feline Personality

  by Archibald M. McGee

  Assistant Director, IFPER

  In almost every society devised by human beings there is an emphasis on position. The relationship of one individual to another and to society at large is very carefully calibrated; rank has some prerogatives not allowed those without rank.

  One of the most curious attempts at ranking is the invention of the Western mind. I don't mean the rather obvious ranks of military designations: those have equivalents everywhere.

  The invention I'm thinking of came about in the mid to late 1880s as a tool of the psychologist and later were refined more and more until today they are seen by the mass of humanity (at least in the Western world) as a real measure of potential importance. Yes, the invention is the measurement of Intellectual Quotient. The device is the I.Q. Test.

  The funny thing is that man is not content to rank himself within his group, but then must also rank himself in relation to the other creatures abounding in this world of ours.

  So, having proven that one man or woman may have more of whatever it is that I.Q. Tests measure than another, scientists proceeded to use the tests, in varying forms, on animals.

  Thus we discover that young chimpanzees have an I.Q. quite on the same order as that of young humans. Also, we find that dolphins may (or may not) be at least as bright as an average man, or that a horse is somewhat smarter than an elephant and somewhat less smart than say, a chimp.

  Assigning ranks of importance can give a professor something to do, but it doesn't work in the real world, especially not for tests developed through college students silly enough to get themselves into the testing rooms of the universities. Although there may be some utility to I.Q. tests, what they are not good for is measuring the relative abilities of a small full grown cat and a small child. Apples and oranges, the old math reminder, is appropriate here.

  Cats are our concern in this column. Of all the creatures man has attempted to measure, cats may be both the most appealing and the most unwilling to cooperate. While the cat is probably the most alien intelligence on the face of the earth after the dolphin, the cat at least shares the same environment!

  What we are proposing is an anecdotal base for the start of real research into communicating with cats on a reasonable basis. Most people who have lived with cats have run into the cat's disconcerting ability to put across a viewpoint. A cat will complain if ignored or leave the area if it wishes not to be bothered. It will tell you quite loudly if it needs food, or if the litter pan needs to be cleaned. Cat also show a remarkable ability to learn things. They can open closets, turn doorknobs, learn schedules, work together cooperatively, become accustomed to a wide range of habitats, and discover the place a person will step next and occupy it first. These are wondrous things.

  These wondrous things probably break down into groups of behaviors that could be studied properly. It may be that experimenters who currently use cats for research are as guilty of hurting intelligent creatures as those who use chimpanzees. And now that man has learned that chimpanzees can learn to communicate on a one-to-one basis it may be that it is time for a serious attempt to be made to communicate with creatures who may have grasp (if not an opposable thumb), who live on four feet but who have managed to voluntarily live with man, with creatures who already often vocalize for their own benefit, with creatures who show that personality may be much more important than intelligence tests when it comes to determining who is or isn't a person.

  We started by talking about position and human societies and then pointed out that scientists are trying to rank cats with dogs, dolphins, humans, and chimpanzees. Let's get away from "ranking" and look at the basic question: can we show cats to be people?

  We are asking for stories – true experiences – that will help us build a file of evidence pointing toward cats as people. If you have a cat who opens doorknobs, let us know. If you have a cat who steals or hides and collects special things, let us know.

  We are currently developing a report form which will be used to help document things properly. Until the form is complete we will ask for the following information: age and sex of cat, if known, type of behavior, was it a regular or a one time event, were there witnesses beside yourself who are willing to corroborate your report.

  You can help: our group is known as IFPER, or The Institute for Feline Personality Research. IFPER will use this column to report on some findings, but a more formal and extensive listing of reports and progress will be made in our quarterly journal, The IFPER Report.

  #

  [ Originally published in the November, 1979 issue of The Star Swarm News, Gaithersburg, Md. We have
omitted obsolete PO address, phone numbers, and editorial office location information. The column was collaboration between Steve, Sharon, and Archie – Sharon's cat of all work at the time. ]

  About the Authors

  Sharon Lee and Steve Miller are the internationally celebrated co-authors of the best-selling Liaden Universe® series and have been writing together since the first "Kinzel" short stories hit Fantasy Book in the early 1980s. They started the first Liaden novel in 1984 and have published thirteen novels and several dozen short works in that series alone.

  Along the way they've become fan favorites at SF conventions in the US and Canada, with Guest of Honor and Special Guest appearances at PenguiCon, COSine, AlbaCon, Trinoc*con, ConDuit, MarsCon, ShevaCon, BaltiCon, PortConMaine, SiliCon, Second Life Library, and elsewhere from California to Fredericton to Orlando.

  Their work has been published in the US by Baen, Del Rey, Meisha Merlin, Ace Books, Phobos, and Buzzy Multimedia and they have several foreign language publishers in Germany, Russia, and Poland as well. Their short fiction, written both jointly and singly, has appeared in Absolute Magnitude, Catfantastic, Dreams of Decadence, Fantasy Book, Such a Pretty Face, 3SF, and several incarnations of Amazing, among others.

  Lee and Miller's work has enjoyed a number of award nominations, with Scout's Progress being selected for the Prism Award for Best Futuristic Romance of 2001 and Local Custom finishing second for the same award. Local Custom was published by Buzzy Multimedia as an audio book read by Michael Shanks --Stargate's Daniel. Balance of Trade, appeared in hardcover in February 2004 and hit Amazon.com genre bestseller lists before going on to win the Hal Clement Award as Best YA Science fiction for the year.

  Their most recent Liaden novels are Fledgling published in hardcover in September of 2009 and in mass market in March, with Saltation (sequel to Fledgling) appearing in hardcover in April and Mouse and Dragon also this year. Baen will also be reprinting the original ten Liaden novels in four omnibus editions, with The Dragon Variation out this June starting the reprint program. As usual, the authors have several other works in progress, with Sharon's urban fantasy Carousel Tides due out in November from Baen and the Liaden novel Ghost Ship due out in January 2011.

  Steve was Founding Curator of Science Fiction for the University of Maryland's SF Research Collection as well as Vice Chair of the Baltimore in 80 WorldCon bid, while Sharon has been Executive Director, Vice President, and President of the Science Fiction Writers of America; together they were BPLAN Virtuals, an ebook publisher in the late 1980s. These backgrounds give them a unique perspective on the science fiction field.

  Hexapuma and the Cat Farm --

  A convoluted history and feline time line

  OR

  About This Book

  We're reminded of an Anthony Trollope novel when it comes time to start talking about Hexapuma and the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory here in East Winslow because, frankly, all stories start before you know it. Sometimes years before you know it.

  Hexapuma, for those coming late to his adventure, is a Maine Coon cat. Not just because we say so, but because it is in his blood, blood traced back generations of champion and grand champion Maine Coon cat lines. He has a heritage of beauty and grace, and Coon cat talkiness; and he's even got paper from not one, but two internationally recognized agencies certifying him as a Maine Coon cat of distinction. Let's consider him an athlete of sorts. His job initially was to stretch well, to be alert, to be calm in front of a public. Like the big cats he so much resembles, part of his job was to be regal.

  Distinction aside, Hexapuma arrived in Maine, where the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory is located, in October of 2008, when he was just over two years old and by which time he should have been well into his career of chasing pretty peacock feathers at cat shows and racking up champion points before going for stud to spread his striking looks around. That's Hexapuma on the cover. My, he does have striking looks, doesn't he?

  Hex, as he is sometimes known, though he is also known as 'puma, Hex we say, arrived here because his career showing other cats how to look precisely the thing was cut short.

  This was not, we note, in any way his fault.

  He was not, like some athletes, overfond of gambling, nor of alcohol. He didn't fight, and he wasn't abusive to arena crews.

  Like other athletes, Hexapuma's job depended on his physique, his essential regal catliness and form. Working out of Ithaca, where he was of the Blueblaze Cattery, Hex went on the road to compete. He already had 101 Championship points in the 2007-2008 season**, when nature failed him. One of his ears developed an irritation, which developed into polyp. The good folks at Blueblaze committed to a complex surgery for Hexapuma, which he went through quite handily.

  Alas for the competition cat, the surgery affected nerves in his ears and face. On eye lost a bit of roundness and his head assumed a constant rakish tilt, with a slight curl to his lip, as if he always had a private, and ironic, opinion about whatever proceeding he was viewing. While entirely attractive, not to breed standards, alas.

  This, meant change.

  Now, let's go back to Trollope. Remember Trollope? This essay started out mentioning Trollope.

  Right. Approximately 29 years before Hexapuma was born on August 23, 2006 in Ithaca, two people who'd previously met made a holiday date for a party in Baltimore, where one of them was temporarily living in the upper floor of an former theater owned by a friend (an even longer story that, saved for some other occasion, perhaps).

  Right, it was Sharon who was living in the ex-theater, which had a charming and complicated custom-built spiral staircase with rope-hung bridge leading from the lower floor to the upper. Steve arrived at the party with poems-and-stories in hand, intending to spend as much time a he could with Sharon while otherwise engaging in partyish behavior, this in a year which had been very mixed for him, as it had encompassed some excellent professional progress and some very awkward and painful personal moments. Party sounded good.

  What Steve hadn't expected was Archie, Sharon's short-haired orange and white feline companion, who had the run of the place. Archie quite enjoyed navigating the marvelous stairway, and once introduced to Steve he was all about laying on the folder of poems-and-stories when he wasn't buzzing about Steve, mooching peanuts. Archie'd been born on a tugboat, and liked activity.

  As it turned out, Sharon wasn't adverse to the company of someone Archie approved of – and who approved of Archie – and a few days later the trio got together again, this time at the undisclosed location Archie called home, a location which also had a spiral staircase. Archie made it difficult for Steve to leave that first visit, and not long after they reached an agreement that Archie would move in with Steve, as long as Sharon could come along. The cat Arwen could come along, too, since she was somehow attached to Steve...which meant an adventure for many was just starting.

  And thus, a household was born that orbited around the shared needs of cats and people: some housing was rejected for permitting only two cats when the household had grown to three – Archie, Arwen, and Brandee. And that started the trend, for all three of the cats were to some extent "rescues" which is to say, cats who needed to leave prior situations, usually for reasons not of their own making.

  Archie'd been born on tugboat and his mother, Captain Nemo, wasn't up to taking care of boat and kitten at once. Arwen was born of a cat who'd lived in a desk drawer at the Social Security Administration's headquarters, and was in need of a sudden home when she'd come to Steve's care through his first wife, Sue.

  Brandee had lived with Steve's brother Ron when Ron was in transition and needed to find a comfortable spot for his pal. Later came Buzz-Z, who'd tangled with racoons – and got a tooth-in-bone souvenir for his trouble – and also the Reverend Mr. Blackwell, who guarded Book Castle and Dream's Garth's office in Reisterstown after being rescued from a 12 cat household where he was unable to thrive... and he moved on to Sue's house before the great migration from the 900 square foo
t townhouse on Lowergate Court to Liberty Road, where Archie, Arwen, and Brandee got to oversee hundreds of storage units and a few crazy patrons from the comfort of their own ranch house at the top of the hill. Those guys went a-traveling to Maine, Brandee sleeping in the cat crate, Archie sitting in the window of the Beretta Sharon drove to keep her company, and Arwen riding shotgun in the rental truck that carried the cat's furniture.

  Once in Maine, the cats tried out a small apartment on Water Street in Skowhegan within earshot of busy Route 2, but that paled quickly and the crew came to Waterville, where they had a city house of their own (except for a tiny apartment carved out of the upstairs) on Park Place. That house was a comfortable spot; Archie, then Arwen, finally Brandee went from it to their tenth lives, with young Patia (that's Hypatia to you!) having entered the household from a local holding pen for kittens of uncertain futures, and Kodi – formerly the Cat Doctor's own office cat! – having joined in along with Nickalot der Fluffer, who had needed a quiet place away from children.

  A move to the country was next. The Cat Farm and Confusion Factory land-and-building had been spotted on one scouting trip and then nearly forgotten, the location being just too excellent to expect it to be available. But then it was available, and so was financing, and Nick, Kodi, and Patia took charge.

  The city kids took to their new, roomier digs. Kodi adopted the brown cat role, Patia tried out the new location of the co-pilots chair in Steve's sudden new office, and Nick became king of the roost. This state of affairs lasted for some years, with the sudden and unexpected addition of young Max Hamish, later known mostly as Max!, who came to the Cat Farm because he had defended himself from a young girl who insisted he was a doll and treated him as a lifeless lump. He'd been huddled in an high level cage at the local shelter, with a note that said "does not like to be handled" … but when Sharon, using some of her friend-of-the-cat-shelter-fu opened the door he immediately draped himself round her neck on her shoulders, an act he later also displayed to a visiting Tom Easton. So much for cat shelter Max!