Part 1 (1/2)

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 relations.h.i.+p. 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 friends.h.i.+ps, 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 s.h.i.+ver. 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 flas.h.i.+ng. 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 s.h.i.+rley. Poor critter never knew what hit her, thank Seeds.”

”s.h.i.+rl-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 s.h.i.+rley.”

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 s.h.i.+rley 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.”