Social Things

Jen opened her closet and froze.  “What is all this?”  She plucked at a random pair of jeans from the waist-high mound on the floor.  “I think I’d remember being able to afford these.”

“I swapped them.”  The cat leaped to the dresser.  “Remember you said Vivianne was the most popular girl in school?”

Jen didn’t answer, slumping slowly to the floor.

“Well,” the cat went on, “now she’ll smell like you, and everyone will think you’re popular, too!”  She licked a paw and scrubbed her cheek in satisfaction.  “And you keep saying social things are too difficult for me.”

Adaptive Radiation

"It's truly astounding," Brindel said.  "There are small cats and big cats; there are herbivorous cats; cats in the water chase after the nematodes; cats with skin flaps launch from fungal stalk to fungal stalk in the forest; cats have filled every gap in the local ecosystem.  Who knew it was possible to squeeze so much versatility out of one species?"

"When needs must..."  Her guide, Tomi, shrugged.
"And your people, they are descendants of the colonists on that original ship, the one that crashed and brought the cats?"

"Something like that," said Tomi.  She offered Brindel a bag.  "Mouse-puff?"

Mouse Intestines Are Honestly the Best Case Scenario

“You didn’t need to get us anything.” Beth tutted as she hugged Celia in greeting.

“We didn’t. This was sitting on your stoop.”

“Oh.” Beth looked at the package, wrapped in red ribbon.

“Is something wrong?”

Beth sighed. “It’s a long story. You remember Grandpa? And his obsession with cats?”

Celia laughed. “He said they’d rule the world if they had opposable thumbs.”

“Right. He had a lot of spare time after he lost his job with Genetix.”

“I don’t follow.”

Beth took the box gingerly. “Let’s just say that access to tools expands your range of potential prey considerably.”

Pet Stains

The cat crawled in on his belly, making sounds like, "hoork, hooork," and wheezing worse than our fifteen-year-old vacuum.

"Gotta do that here, you bastard?" I asked.

The cat's ears flattened, and he rolled one baleful eye at me. "Hraaaack!" he said. "Glortch." He barfed up a wet trickle of brown-orange gunk. Something silvery glinted in the puddle. I leaned over.

It was a little disc with a clear bubble in the middle. Inside, a tiny, green-skinned man pounded on the glass, staring at me with terrified eyes.

Then the dog swooped in and ate it.

Just as well, really.

Retractable

The pack circled him, cracking their knuckles and snickering. "We are Wolf, little thief," said their muscular leader. "Whose are you? You stink of Tiger."

"Cat," said the thief. "House-cat."

The Wolves roared with laughter. "Little puss-puss!" one cried. "Shall we fetch some milk?"

The leader plucked at the thief's hand. "Such soft, velvet pads!" he chuckled.

The thief smiled. There was a blur of motion, and the pack leader staggered back, clutching at his spilling innards.

"The first lesson Cat teaches," said the thief, leaping atop the fence with one bloodied hand, "is this: the claws are always there."

The Kitties Play a Game

When I woke up, my cats were staring at me intently. That's pretty normal. The feathers on their heads were new, though. Also the handcuffs on my wrists and ankles.

"Oh, great god Quetzacoatrack!" said Boots. Talking was new, too. "We give to you this puny human! Eat his heart, oh wingy sir pants-"

"Hold on," said Smokey. "I thought we were Indians."

"Native Americans," I corrected automatically.

"Whatever," said Smokey. "But, like, bravos and Tony Hawks and stuff."

"Whatever," hissed Hambone. "As long as they cut out hearts."

"Indians do scalps," Boots said.

"Hearts or get the fuck out."

Fangs Gleaming in the Darkness

The doors creaked open with the shudder of long-rusted hinges.

"Is the Count not here?" asked Harker.

"Oh, no, sir," said the bedraggled servitor. His skin was red and welted, and his shoelaces undone and partially shredded. "The Master never rises before dark. He will meet you in the dining chamber."

"Any chance of a good glass of wine?"

"The Master does not drink... wine." The servant blinked. "We have milk, and water. Dinner will be tuna tartare, and..." He paused, rolling his red-rimmed eyes before sneezing powerfully. "The Master prefers to be scritched behind the ears, but no belly-rubs."

Freedom

Brindle purred on his back in the sunbeam. Dust motes danced as the sun drifted lackadaisically toward the horizon. He flicked his tail, threatening to smear Hardod's scroll. The wizard jerked the paper away, muttering imprecations. Brindle sneezed merrily.

"It's all very well for you," Hardod grumbled. "Cats serve no lords, so what have you to fret about? All whimsy and carelessness."

"Of course we are frivolous. It's our only defense." Brindle opened his eyes. "Have you never thought, O Wizard, what it means to serve no one? Cats are beholden only to ourselves, and there can be no excuses."

Business as Usual

"I need you to stay late tonight," said Mr. Whiskers. "End of quarter is coming up. We really have to catch that red dot."

"You can't catch the red dot because the dot isn't there!" said Ted, holding his face in his hands. "It comes from the laser pointer. It's just light."

Mr. Whiskers blinked and flexed his claws. "I know that, Ted, but that doesn't change the fact that the quarter is ending. Our stockholders want to see that dot caught."

"You could do this to dogs, you know. Turn the tables completely."

"Yes," said Mr. Whiskers. "We know."

Incomprehensible

There is no way out. We have seen to it. The "rat" enters the complex, and the way is sealed. My natural weapons exceed theirs to a laughable degree. The comparison to rats is not inapt; enough of them, perhaps, or a singularly lucky blow might enable them to turn the odds, but otherwise, the outcome is assured. We know it, and they know it.

And yet they fight. When they are at last cornered, they turn and fight. My hunter-brothers sing of it.

I hate it.

Tonight my prey will die quickly. It is all I can give them.

Mouser

"You follow strange trails, little one," said the Cat. "It is not your kind's nature to stand and fight."

The Mouse marshaled what courage she had remaining to keep her place. Her legs badly wanted to bolt.

The Cat approached silently, as was his wont. "Intriguing," he said, inspecting the tiny needle-sword, the thimble hat, the foil breastplate. "Truly, you are the most unique mouse I have ever seen. I am impressed by your daring."

"Impressed enough to show mercy?" she squeaked.

"Alas," said the Cat, as his paw came down, "I am not possessed of your strength of character."

Sunfire Whiskers and a Tail Made of Stars

We were overrun before we knew it. Not an invasion, precisely. An infestation. Their ships stole when our backs were turned, nibbling away at our nascent web of interstellar travel. Rats. Space rats.

We sent cats to fight them. They hunted their prey with cunning and agility. The cats never shared a kill, but sometimes they'd leave a bit of wreckage in a docking bay.

When the last of the foes was gone, we waited for our heroes to return, but they didn't. We received one last communication from the Alpha Cat: "BRB. Chasing a comet."

They never came back.

A World of Rocking Chairs

"Fetch my blade!" cried Prince Sarib.

The weapon clattered to the tiled floor. Sarib hissed and leapt down after it. It spun several times before he managed to hook one paw through the handgrip. He stalked three-legged for the door.

"Perhaps," suggested his majordomo, "a duel is not the ideal solution? In your current condition?"

"I may be an ensorcelled cat," Sarib spat, "but that man is a flea-bitten dog who dares touch my sister. I shall teach him a lesson regardless!"

Sarib stood in place, shedding angrily. "Well?" he said. "Aren't you going to open the door for me?"

Can Humanity Survive?

There was a scratching at the window. Lilah ignored it. A pathetic yowl soon followed.

“No!” she said aloud. “No more food for you. You’ve ruined your last flowers. Get your handouts somewhere else, you pests!”

A series of meows distracted her from her work. She resolutely kept her gaze on the dishes. Then the tapping started. It was regular, almost patterned, like Morse Code. At last, Lilah gave in and looked up.

She met the startling blue eyes of an enormous Siamese. It lifted a single paw and placed it flat on the window, displaying the tiny, perfect thumb.

Roadcat

We had a couple of missed days in there, so I'm playing catch-up. Here's the one from last Thursday or thereabouts.

---

Leon reined in at the rest area and dismounted, wincing at the pain in his thighs.

“Prrrrirrow?” said Zither. “Tuuuna?”

“Sorry, pal,” said Leon, reaching for the spigot and a bowl. “I don’t have enough money for premium. It’s going to have to be the generic meat blend.”

“Pfeh.” Zither dropped his enormous head to his paws. They fed the new tabby models well at the breeding factory.

“Tell you what,” Leon said. “I’ll spring for a sprig of catnip.”

Zither perked up.

“But not till we get home. I can’t have you flopping over sideways on the highway.”

“Mreow."