Catopolis. Part 1

Catopolis.

Martin Harry Greenberg.

INTRODUCTION, OR "PROPAW".

As most of you know, I've lived with cats for much of my life. A gorgeous, elegant long-haired gray and white lady I christened Star because of the markings across her face adopted me when I was four. Apparently, life in the house three doors south of my home wasn't to her taste. With very little encouragement, and ignoring the strenuous protests of my mother as only a cat can, Star became "my" pet. (My oldest sister fed her, encouraged her to stay, and blamed it on me.) Star and her numerous offspring became close friends, homework helpers, and play-mates as I grew up.

I began to suspect that there was more to "domestic" feline society many years ago. I couldn't get any of my furry a.s.sociates to tell me more than snippets of things going on in that hidden level of existence. They didn't want me to get in trouble with either the humans I had to live with, or with other cats. And especially not with the G.o.ddess Bast, who might have taken offense and squashed my earliest investigations. She seemed amused instead. I persisted, trying to discover more of the unique society I knew must be br.i.m.m.i.n.g just beneath the human stratum. The longer I lived with cats, the more sure I was that they had communication and rich lives beyond what I saw.

Prince, son of Star, was not the most talkative of cats. An almost-feral, I persuaded him from the garage to the back porch with treats. He liked his comforts too much to imperil them by whispering to me the secrets of his kind. But he loved curling up in my lap, sighing, and making vague references to things I, a grade-schooler, couldn't quite put together.

After Prince died of old age, Ari Mithral Shannonn and I had a very close relationship. That 16-pound Blue Point not-quite Siamese and I talked a lot during his too-short life. He was my first Guardian, and he took his duties quite seriously. It was through him that I learned how large a cat's vocabulary can be, both in catese and in human words. He adored music and listened to me practice singing for hours from the top of the piano, a smile on his face as I worked on Mozart, Johann Strauss, Jr., and art songs. Shann was also my first a.n.a.lytical cat: He'd play with strings until he realized where their motion stemmed from, then all he wanted was my hands and fingers. After him, Bastjun Amaranth was a tabby that gave nothing away but the barest hints, but Canth Starshadow (my first black cat) started me on the road to understanding more of what cats do while they appear to be napping. He also offered suggestions as to why cats sit on anything printed and why they sometimes stare at walls for extended periods.

After all this time, I began to understand.

I've gleaned much more through close living with my current trio. Tabirika Onyx has extensive conversations with crows when the windows are screened during the summer months. She also tells the deer when they're too close to the house and monitors the crazed hollering of the chipmunks. Her information network is extensive, and she keeps a paw on everything going on in the neighborhood from our windowsills. Syrannis Moonstone, who is half Abysinnian, gets odd expressions on her face, then studies walls and corners as if expecting them to speak. It's as if she sees ghosts of the past or future against the paint and wallpaper. Baron Figaro de Shannivere, my rare mist cat, is an a.n.a.lytical creature who turns doork.n.o.bs and has a huge vocabulary reminiscent of Shann's. He won't play with a laser pointer because he's figured out that its motion comes from my hand. Trouble is, he told Syri, and now she won't play with it either.

All of this information slammed together in a headache not too long ago. That's when the idea for Catopolis was born. Cat society, as thick and varied as that of humans, exists in a stratum below ours. We see only a fraction of it. It is there, our feline companions allowing us to know bits and pieces of its tapestry, while they watch us with knowing eyes.

I started keeping notes about a Catopolis society. My cats, after they became accustomed to my knowledge about their secrets, contributed a goodly proportion of the details. We believe this has Bast's approbation, because our notes haven't disappeared in flames, been shredded by ghostly claws, fluttered away without the agent of wind, or destroyed by soggy organic means. The authors telling the tales within these pages offered to flesh out the rest, building on our initial descriptions.

And we all had a lot of fun.

So welcome to Catopolis, the city of felines that exists on the same plane with humans, yet is hidden. Here you'll find Guardians, mentors, detectives, Robin Hood-second story types, demon-fighters, guides, kings, strays, oracles, true love, incredible friendships, and those hoping to win elected positions via mouse ballots. (Those may have to be rethought before next time: there were too many missing for an accurate count).

Enjoy!

Janet Deaver-Pack Tabirika Onyx Syrannis Moonstone Baron Figaro de Shannivere.

Williams Bay, Wisconsin.

Autumn 2007.

GUT FEELING.

by Esther M. Friesner.

The small, plump tabby female sat before the ma.s.sive black and white tom and did her best not to let him see her shiver. Courage, Lulu! she told herself. He can't kill you. He wouldn't dare. But even as she did her best to hold onto her last few shreds of valor, an insidious afterthought whispered: He can't kill you... yet.

Unaware of the female's fear, the big tom gave her a long, cool stare from beneath half-lowered eyelids. "Well, kit? Have you reconsidered my... request?" he drawled.

"I have," Lulu replied, keeping her voice steady. "My answer's unchanged. I won't betray my gift by making a false prediction."

"Ah, but would it be false?" The black and white tom licked one paw lazily, then opened his mouth so that one of his minions could pop in a KrunchiYum cat treat. "I will be the sole, undisputed ruler of Catopolis. It is fated. Your prediction will simply hasten the happy day."

Despite her fear, Lulu scowled. "If you're so certain it's predestined, you don't need my services."

"Oh, but I do," the tom replied. "You see, kit, I am not the most patient cat in this city. Even nine lives end some day. I want the power I deserve while I can still enjoy it for a long, long time. You are this city's respected Seer. Your prediction will make all accept the inevitable immediately! You shall perform the Reading I desire at the next full moon, when-"

"No," said Lulu. She pressed her forepaws closer together to steady herself. "If I don't interpret the omens truthfully, I dishonor the G.o.ddess Bast, who gave me my powers. I'd-I'd sooner die."

A low, warning ululation welled up from the big tom's throat. It was echoed by his attending minions, a cadre of seven muscular felines, scarred victors of many battles. The most vicious looking of them all, a street cat born and bred, took a step toward Lulu, fangs bared, eyes flashing. She cringed, awaiting the slash of pitiless claws.

"Stop!" the big black and white tom commanded. "Don't lay one paw on her, Hss'shah! She is still of use to me."

Lulu opened her eyes in time to see the black and white tom looming over her. He was smiling, and it was not a comforting smile. "Did Hss'shah frighten you, my dear? It was his idea of a joke. A crude one. What do you expect from a feral?" (Lulu's stomach churned at the subtle insult. Her mother was a feral cat, too.) "But if you were so afraid, why didn't you call upon Bast to protect you?"

"I-" Lulu bowed her head. "Lady Bast is a great G.o.ddess. She has more important things to do than look after me."

"If she looks after any of us," the big tom purred. "If, in fact, she even exists as more than just a story to make kittens behave." Lulu stared at him, horrified at such blasphemy. This only made him laugh. "Why don't you stop worrying about our so-called G.o.ddess and look after yourself? Reconsider my request. I'll make it worth your while." She answered him with silence. He lifted one wispy eyebrow. "No? Then go. We shall meet again soon enough. Oh, and don't bother running to tell the Elders about our little meeting tonight. My comrades here will swear I was nowhere near you. You'll have no proof to back up any accusations against me. What do our human servants say? That the proof of the pudding is in the eating?"

For an instant, his urbane smile turned into a grimace of such deadly menace that even the street cats in his service were taken aback. Then, as swiftly as that demonic expression had flashed over his face, it was gone. He brought his muzzle close to Lulu's ear and murmured, "In the eating, kit. The proof of many things is in the eating."

As soon as he stepped back, she bolted, but as she raced away, she heard him calling after her, "Whether or not you wish to serve me, you will. So speaks Senor Pantalones!"

In the days and nights that followed, Lulu's mind was haunted by apprehensive thoughts of Senor Pantalones' sinister intentions. If he can't have my cooperation, he'll twist things so I have to help him, whether I want to or not. But how will he do it? O great Bast, help me! Such anxieties wreaked havoc with her disposition and her digestion. Thus it was nothing extraordinary when the two-days-from-full moon looked down on a city alley and saw Catopolis' Seer in an all-too-familiar position.

"Argh!" said Lulu as she crouched, bug-eyed, in the lee of a garbage can. The sentiment was soon followed by deeper, more throaty sounds. Had the humans with whom she deigned to reside been within earshot, they easily would have read the omens in those guttural eruptions.

This did not mean that Lulu's humans shared her wondrous powers. It merely meant that after two years of living with her in an apartment of pure white wall-to-wall carpeting, they could instantly foretell an incipient regurgitation and shot-put her into the tile-floored bathroom or kitchen before you could say "Jack Robinson" or, more likely, "Not on the rug, G.o.ddammit! Not on the rug!"

There were no rugs in the alley, nor any fussy humans. Lulu let nature takes its course uninterrupted, unmolested, and-so she believed-un.o.bserved. When she was done, she set to tidying herself. She had a fair distance to cover between this night's lonesome rendezvous point and the high-rent East Side apartment building her humans maintained solely for her pleasure and comfort. She would not-could not-be seen on the streets in an uncleansed condition. She had her pride.

She was almost done with her ablutions when a small, sarcastic voice from the darkness caught her with her right forepaw up and her tongue in midlick extension. "Well, that was disgusting," it said. "And by 'disgusting,' I mean 'disgusting even for a barfing cat.' That, my friend, sets the bar d.a.m.n high!"

Lulu tensed. "Who's there? Show yourself!"

The small voice chortled. "Who died and made you the boss of me? No, let me rephrase that: I know who died. I saw her die, and then I followed the cats who killed her. I watched them bring her to you and I saw you rip her open, guts and gizzard. Say, do mice even have gizzards? Ah, what the h.e.l.l, you get the picture. And then you ate the picture. I mean the mouse. I mean Shirley. Poor critter never knew what hit her, thank Seeds."

"Shirl-the Reading I just gave was a friend of yours? I'm sorry." Lulu felt odd, apologizing to the unseen critic, but the words escaped her mouth unbidden.

"The Reading? Is that how you think of her? As a thing? Look, furbag, there's more to our lives than being your toys or your four-legged pu-pu platters!" Abruptly, the voice changed its tone from harsh to conciliatory. "Y'know, I want to set the record straight: I'm not cheesed with you for eating Shirley."

Lulu was puzzled. "You're not?"

"Nuh-uh." The hidden speaker was firm. "Cat eats mouse, that's the way it goes, the big, bad food chain, the balance of nature, the circle of Disney copyrighted songs, the end of an old life, the beginning of a new heartburn."

"If you're not mad that I ate her, then why-?"

"You couldn't have done her the courtesy of keeping her down?" the small voice shrilled. "It's no shame to die if you're going to become nutrition, but what's Shirley now? Wasted. And not in the good party-hearty way! It's one thing to kill my friends when you're hungry, but it was pretty obvious that you were already stuffed when you gobbled her down in two big gulps, mostly because you horked her up again just as soon as the other cats got their ugly mugs outta here. She was nothing more than a snack to you, but she was my friend, and she deserved better treatment than you gave her. She deserved to be appreciated. She deserved to be savored. She deserved to be digested. She deserved to be-"

"I get the idea." Lulu was under enough strain without the added agita of dealing with this strident phantom. She switched her bushy tail angrily as her pale green eyes plumbed the shadows. As excellent as her night vision was, she could not locate the source of the snide diatribe, and it made her bristle. "How about you get the idea of shutting up?"

"If you can't take the truth, move your overfed b.u.t.t out of my alley."

"Your alley? You don't sound big enough to lay claim to a sock drawer. I don't take orders from mice."

"Shows what you know." There was a soft, rustling sound followed by the faint tap-tap-tap of miniscule paws trotting across pavement. Only a few ragtag splotches of light touched the alley-the glow of moon and stars, the faint radiance of not-so-distant streetlamps, the borrowed wattage from apartments with less than desirable views. Now, as Lulu watched, a ball of golden fluff sauntered right into the middle of one such splotch with as much devil-may-care att.i.tude as a rock star claiming his place on stage.

"I am not a mouse."

Lulu narrowed her eyes. "So what are you, then?" she growled. "A tailless dwarf rat? A stunted groundhog?" (She had seen the beast in question when her human servants watched a February 2nd newscast, and she hoped she'd never have to behold such a monstrous rodent again.) "I've never been so insulted in all my life!" The downy-furred golden animal sat up on its haunches. "I'm a hamster, you preshrunk puma!"

This latest insult was one too many for the badly stressed young cat. "Oh, so what?" she snapped. "Go away before I pounce on you where you stand and flatten you like a pizza!"

"I'm shaking," the hamster replied dryly. "And I'm not going to go away. I'm the one who lives here, not you."

"I don't have time for this." Lulu stood up and started back for the city streets. "Good luck not becoming someone's lunch, with that att.i.tude," she declared as she stalked off. "Good luck and goodbye."

"And good luck to you with Senor Pantalones!" the hamster hollered after her.

Lulu froze, every hair on her body standing upright. She could scarcely draw a breath. Her paw pads felt dank and cold. "How-?" The word was a hoa.r.s.e whisper. She turned and regarded the hamster nervously. "How to you know about Senor Pantalones?"

"Same way I know about lots of things." The hamster met Lulu's curious gaze with a complacent smile. "I know that the thugs that killed Shirley are Senor Pantalones' minions and that he sent them here to test your limits. Again. They'd rather see if you can read the future in your own entrails, but they're willing to wait for that. No matter what you see in the omens on the night of Catopolis' full moon conclave, the final score's going to be Senor Pantalones, 1; you, dead."

"Why-?" Lulu's voice was barely a whisper. "Why are you telling me all this?"

The hamster ran its dainty pink paws through its whiskers. "Because you're my best hope for payback on Pantalones for Shirley, even if you are a cat. The enemy of my enemy, right? I was just a pup when I escaped from my cage and found my way here. I didn't know the first thing about surviving in the wild. Shirley taught me how to keep my freedom without ending up as kitty chow. Funny how I wound up learning that lesson better than she did." He wore a wistful smile. "I told her to stick close to her nest tonight, but she said, 'And miss toss-out-the-stale-cheese day at the corner deli? I'll be fine.' Sure, now she wishes she hadn't been such a know-it-all. Now she's all, 'Oh, if only I'd listened to you!' Now she's-"

"-dead," Lulu cut in. "Why do you make it sound as if she's still speaking to you?"

"Uh, because she is." The hamster gave Lulu a let's-not-allow-you-near-any-sharp-things-just-yet look. "And she'll keep on speaking to me until I manage to give her remains a decent cover-up." He cast a mildly sickened look at the spot where Lulu had relieved her belly. "I can't say I'm looking forward to it, but if I don't send her off properly on the Last Cheese Hunt, she'll be on my case about it until she decomposes all the way."

"This is nonsense." Lulu shook herself vigorously, as if she'd been caught in a rainstorm. "I refuse to believe that your dead friend talked-still talks to you!"

The hamster uttered a contemptuous sniff. "And how many cats believed you the first time you claimed you could read the future in the entrails of dead rodents, O Oracular One?"

Lulu's eyes went wide. "Oracular One? That t.i.tle is secret! It was Lady Bast's gift to me when she consecrated my powers! How do you, a mere rodent, know it?"

"Well, duh," the hamster said, quite calm. "There's nothing mere about reading minds."

"You can do that?"

"How do you think I knew about Senor Pantalones and his moggy mob? I can't see everything going on inside someone else's head, but accessing their life story's always a piece of seed cake. You're Lulu, child of the feral female Yurrrrr and a miscellaneous tomcat. You and your litter-mates were discovered behind a bookstore, in a discarded shipping box for one of the Harry Potter novels and taken to a no-kill shelter from which you were all happily adopted. You discovered your special gift at six months old when you had some kind of vision."

"The dream," Lulu whispered, awestruck. "The dream Lady Bast sent to me."

"You and a couple of other cats. They were your witnesses, right?"

Lulu nodded. "When I told the Elders about the dream, the other two cats confirmed it, as Lady Bast commanded."

"All of which mystic hoo-hah officially made you the Seer of Catopolis. Nice work if you can get it. You have the admirable power to gaze into the future, though I can't say I care for your methods. Ever consider using something besides my kinfolk's entrails? You know, there's more than one way to skin a-"

"Who are you?" Lulu demanded. "

What are you?"

"My name is Huey. As for what I am-"

"Besides a hamster," Lulu put in quickly.

"Shush, you're ruining the moment." Huey struck a dramatic pose. "What am I? I am, like you, one of the few, the gifted, the chosen, the Oracular!" He paused for a reaction from his audience of one, but Lulu only stared, gape-jawed and gobsmacked. At last he said, "Kitty, close your mouth before someone sticks a cheeseburger in it. This is real simple: I am an Oracular hamster, you're an Oracular cat, together we fight crime!"

That fetched her. "We do what now?"

"It's not a crime to eat rodents you're only going to barf up two seconds later? I saw how miserable you were when you ate Shirley. The cats who brought her were watching every bite closely, as if they wanted you to quit. Hey, you looked like you wanted to quit, too! Why didn't you?"

Lulu sighed. "Once a Seer has examined and interpreted the pattern of the entrails, she must ingest all traces of the Reading."

"And if you don't, won't, or can't eat the whole thing?"

"Then it's a sign that the omens in the Reading are reversed inescapably. Seekers who don't like what I see in their future always hope I'll overlook the last bite."

"Like the cats who brought you Shirley's body," Huey concluded. "I could tell they were really dissatisfied customers even before I read their minds."

"Reading minds... speaking with the dead..." The impact of being in the presence of such power was too much for Lulu. She pressed her belly to the ground and hid her face against outstretched paws. "Huey, your gifts outshine my own. I am but a dust-bunny in your presence."

The hamster affected a modest look. " Reading minds and talking to the dead just lets me know about what's going on in the here-and-now.

You can see the future. Closest I come to that is a little recreational seed-reading. The results are unreliable. That's why Shirley laughed off my warning tonight."

"Seed-reading?"

"That's the way my kind foresee the future. It's a lot like your method, finding the answers to a Seeker's question in a pattern, only the Reading material's not so messy-b.l.o.o.d.y-sticky-hork-hork-hork- bluargh!" He winked at her. "The Seeker brings me some sunflower seeds, I throw 'em into the air and interpret the design they make when they fall. Then I have to make the Reading vanish, just like you do, or it won't come true." He puffed out his cheeks happily. "Being Oracular rules; we always get to eat!"

Lulu murmured something under her breath.

"Say again?" Huey p.r.i.c.ked up his ears.

"Don't like..." The rest was lost.

"Don't like what?" the hamster persisted.

"I don't like-I don't like eating rodents, okay?" Lulu yelled so loudly that Huey was bowled backwards, tail over toes. "I loathe having to eat the Reading afterwards." She shuddered with revulsion. "The smell, the taste, the fur in my throat, the crunchy bones, the way the liver always pops in my-"

"Enough!" Huey groomed himself frantically, a sure sign of anxiety in hamsters. "These are my kin you're talking about! Our lives are short enough without you making them shorter and dissing our livers! Do you know why so many of us have died for your stupid Readings lately? So this Senor Pantalones creep can find out just how big a Reading has to be before it's impossible for you to eat it all!"

"So that's it." Lulu looked grim. "I thought that they were getting larger, night after night."