Norton, Andre - Anthology (28 page)

 
          
 
Then—

 
          
 
"Patrol! Freeze! Drop your weapons
now!"

 
          
 
Something clattered to the deck beside him, as
more running feet approached; and with a sob of relief, Dick finally drew a
full breath. There was a scuffle just beside him, then someone helped him to
stand, and he heard the hiss of a hypospray and felt the telltale sting against
the side of his neck. A moment later, his eyes cleared— just in time for him to
catch SKitty as she launched herself from the arms of a uniformed DIA officer
into his embrace.

 
          
 
"So, the bottom fine is, you'll let us
take SCat's contract?" Captain Singh sat back in his chair while Dick
rubbed SKitty's ears. She and SCat both burdened Dick's lap, as they had since
SCat, the Captain, the DIA negotiator, and Erica had all walked into the sick
bay where Dick was still recovering. Erica was clearly nursing a stun-headache;
the Captain looked a little frazzled. The DIA man, as most of his ilk, looked
as unemotional as an android. The DIA had spent many hours with a human-feline
telepathic specialist debriefing SCat. Apparently SCat was naturally only a
receptive telepath; it took a human who was also a telepath to "talk"
to him.

 
          
 
"There's no reason why not," the DIA
agent said. "You civilians have helped materially in this case; both you
and he are entitled to certain compensation, and if that's what you all want,
then he's yours with our blessing—the fact that he is only a receptive telepath
makes him less than optimal for further Patrol duties." The agent
shrugged. "We can always get other shipscats with full abilities.
According to the records, the only reason we kept him was because Major Logan
selected him."

 
          
 
SKitty bristled, and Dick sent soothing
thoughts at her.

 
          
 
Then the agent smiled, making his face look
more human. "Major Logan was a good agent, but he didn't particularly care
for having a cat talking to him. I gather that Lightfoot and he got along all
right, but there wasn't the strong bond between them that we would have
preferred. It would have been just a matter of time before that squad and ship
got a new cat-agent team. Besides, we aren't completely inhuman. If your SKitty
and this boy here are happily mated, who and what in the Parol can possibly
want to separate them?"

 
          
 
"Judging by the furrows SKitty left in
that 'jacker's face and scalp, it isn't a good idea to get between her and
someone she loves," Captain Singh said dryly. "He's lucky she left
him one eye."

 
          
 
The agent's gaze dropped briefly to the swath
of black fur draped over Dick's lap. "Believe me," he said fervently.
"That is a consideration we had taken into account. Your little lady there
is a warrior for fair, and we have no intention of denying her anything her
heart is set on. If she wants Lightfoot, and he wants her, then she's got him.
We'll see his contract is transferred over to Brightwing within the hour."
His eyes rose to meet Dick's. "You're a lucky man to have a friend like
her, young man. She put herself between you and certain death. Don't you ever
forget it."

 
          
 
SKitty's purr deepened, and SCat's joined with
hers as Dick's hands dropped protectively on their backs. "I know that,
sir," he replied, through swollen lips. "I knew it before any of this
happened."

 
          
 
SKitty turned her head, and he gazed into
amused yellow eyes. .Smart Dick,: she purred, then lowered her head to her
paws. .Smart man. Mate happy here, mate stay. Everything good.:

 
          
 
And that, as far as SKitty was concerned, was
the end of it. The rest were simply "minor human matters/'

 
          
 
He chuckled, and turned his own attention to
dealing with those "minor human matters," while his best friend and
her mate drifted into well-earned sleep.

            
Brad Linaweaver is
the author of Moon of Ice and Sliders, The Novel, and has coauthored four Doom
novels with Dafydd ab Hugh. His nonfiction appears in magazines from National Review
to Famous Monsters of Filmland. He has also sold about 50 short stories, his
first anthology sale being to Andre Norton and the late Robert Adams.

            
Dana Fredsti doesn't
just read books about female warriors wielding swords. She may be seen doing it
herself at Renaissance fairs and in Sam Raimi's film Army of Darkness. Her story
"Muzak for the Dead" appears in Death's Garden, and her large cat
family appears in this story.

Cats are the runes of beauty,, invincibility, wonder, pride, freedom,
coldness, self-sufficiency, and dainty individuality ... the cat is a
gentleman.

—H. P. Lovecraft

The cats never wanted to take over the world. There was no need. They
had a good thing going. After millennia of careful conditioning, they had
prepared a cross-section of humanity to be perfectly acceptable companions.
Except for an awkward moment in the European Middle Ages, when cats were
slaughtered as the familiars of witches, the human record was acceptable.
Besides, in that one case mankind had been taught a severe lesson from the rats
and their constant companion, the plague.

 
          
 
So when the goddess Bast appeared before the
oldest Hemingway cat in
Glendale
,
California
, no one was more surprised than that old
tabby. "I have chosen you because you are the most intelligent cat now
living," said the goddess.

 
          
 
"Chosen for what?" asked the cat,
licking at the extra claw on his paw. Like all members of his species, he
couldn't be awed by much of anything. Still, the appearance of the goddess was
a significant enough event to finally distract him from cleaning himself.

 
          
 
The goddess answered in a long hiss that
communicated directly into the cat's brain: "Humans have made a number of
mistakes since they stopped practicing the true religion—the part of it they
were able to understand."

 
          
 
"You mean ancient
Egypt
, of course," said the cat. "My
mistress has many books on that subject. She even has a good reproduction of a
famous bronze statue in your honor; a votive figure of Bastet from the Saite
period, I believe. It's around here somewhere. My mistress has the proper
attitude . . ."

 
          
 
Bast grew larger. "You must no longer
think of a human being as your mistress. And stop trying to save her. She is on
the list to be spared. You don't need to make a special request for someone who
isn't scheduled to die."

 
          
 
It was at this point that the old gray cat
realized he was living in interesting times.

 
          
 
Bast accomplished her purpose in one night.
Except for one exception, only true cat lovers survived the Great Change. There
weren't as many survivors as might have been expected. People who pretended to
love cats for purposes of domestic tranquillity didn't make it through. A
number of wives were surprised to learn that their husbands had not been
entirely sincere about the affection they expressed for the family cat. Then
again, there were instances of the male half of a cat-owning couple being
around to greet, the dawn while his late wife turned out to have secretly
preferred the canine species.

 
          
 
No dogs survived. Not one.

 
          
 
There were some fortunate humans whose loved
ones shared a more important affection than what they felt for each other:
ailurophilia, the love of cats. These people saw the dawn .. . and the
Collapse-of-Civilization-as-They-Knew-it!

 
          
 
Bast had it within her power to exterminate
the victims painlessly. Instead, untold millions passed away in their sleep by
choking to death on what appeared to be giant hair balls.

 
          
 
At the request of the old tabby in
Glendale
, one person lived who was slated to die.
The cat might not have thought of making the request, but he was given the idea
by the goddess herself when she implied that she might grant a boon if phrased
properly. The result was the continued life of a young man who was a dedicated
cat hater. What saved him was having the right girlfriend! The cat knew this
guy was dead meat otherwise.

 
          
 
"He claims to be allergic to cats,"
the cat had told Bast.

 
          
 
"No problem," said the goddess
airily, sniffing the stars as a mortal cat would detect a bird. "If he
truly loves cats ..."

 
          
 
"Oh, but he hates us!" said the cat.
"I am certain that he has exaggerated a mild allergic reaction into a full
blown condition so that his girlfriend won't expect him to be around her
caitsMt's -even a good excuse for not marrying her because she wouldn't want to
get rid of her large cat family—especially not me!"

 
          
 
"So he will die."

 
          
 
"Oh, no, please spare him. I love Miko
and I don't want her to experience any pain."

 
          
 
"I will grant such a request only to
Professor Purr, because of the important work he must do in the new
world," announced Bast.

 
          
 
"Who is Professor Purr?" asked the striped
tabby.

            
"You are."

 
          
 
A word or two might be in order about the last
human of his kind, who awakened to a world not designed 10 improve his opinion
of the feline species. David L rence Alexander had always been an unhappy man.
In the old world, he'd delighted in making sure that other people shared his
misery. Now that cats ran things he had more misery to share than ever.

 
          
 
He didn't have a much higher opinion of women
than he did of cats. His powers of self-delusion were such that he couldn't
accept the fact that he owed his life to his girlfriend, thanks to her cat. In
the old world, he mouthed all the politically correct statements about the
female members of his species . . . while doing his best to undermine
self-confidence in the women around him.

 
          
 
He didn't let on to Miko how much he truly
loathed felines. In this, Professor Purr understood him better than Miko did. A
slight allergy to cat dander acerbated David's distaste for the animals, but it
really boiled down to the fact that cats wouldn't come when he called; and
couldn't (or wouldn't) perform amusing tricks to command and didn't accord him
the slavish devotion he felt entitled to by animals and women!

 
          
 
Where he got this overdeveloped sense of
self-importance had been a constant source of mystery to David's few friends.
Although reasonably intelligent, he was a classic know-it-all, lacking basic
social skills for doing anything other than enjoying his own company. Neither
courtesy nor tact were in his vocabulary or his behavior. He did have genuine
wit. though, which he used to throw verbal monkey wrenches into conversations.
Basically, he enjoyed causing trouble and could take credit for several
divorces and a lot of bad feeling among his acquaintances.

 
          
 
Physically, David was short and round, with
slicked-back hair that had a tendency to curl around the edges; a waxed
mustache with ends that pointed straight up as though seeking escape from the
halitosis wafting from his thin-lipped mouth. His taste in clothing ran toward
tight trousers, full-sleeved shirts and brightly colored waistcoats inevitably
clashing with the rest of his ensemble. In short, David resembled nothing so
much as the Mayor of the
Munchkin
City
in the Land of Oz.

 
          
 
The smartest thing he ever did was become
involved with Miko. He had chosen her not so much for her porcelain doll
appearance—although that was a most attractive feature—but because she had
received a traditional Japanese upbringing. He always had a knack for finding women
with low self-esteem.

 
          
 
He thought he'd found himself a subservient
geisha who would fulfill his every desire. Before the Great Change the
situation had been pretty much what he wanted. But now Miko didn't let him
forget that he was alive only because of his relationship with her. Professor
Purr explained the situation to Miko and she happily passed on these facts to
David. Of course, no human being had seen the goddess, Bast; but the Changed
World was impossible for even David to miss.

 
          
 
He was allowed living quarters to himself
because of the allergy. But one of his duties was to clean Miko's large house
every day and not annoy the large cat population living there. He wore an
oxygen mask when he came over. This was bad enough in itself, but what he
really couldn't stand was the change in Miko.

 
          
 
She had recently taken to displaying
unfortunate feline qualities herself. Gone were the days when she would take
his criticisms with downcast eyes and a promise to do better. He suspected that
Professor Purr had been filling her head with such notions. It was more likely
to be the fault of Purr than the other cats simply because Purr was her
favorite; and now that damned cat was the most important --'researcher in
Greater Los Angeles.

 
          
 
Communication worked through telepathy of some
kind. Since the Great Change, all cats were able to communicate with humans.
This in no way diminished their age-old ability of communicating with each
other in the language of cats. They'd simply picked up new tricks.

 
          
 
"Be careful," Miko warned him on
this fine Monday morning. Every time he entered her house with his oxygen mask
attached, he felt like some kind of giant insect come to invade her.

 
          
 
"Thanks for your concern," he
answered sarcastically (he hoped). He wasn't at all sure his words could be
understood clearly through the equipment on his face.

 
          
 
Miko sat on her thick, richly upholstered
couch with Sorscha, the Russian blue. All humans were required to replace
furniture every two weeks so their cats would have the highest quality
scratching surfaces. Sorscha's squirrellike tail wrapped itself around Miko as
it rubbed its head against her chin. The cat took a moment to raise its head
and shoot David a resentful glare, slanted green eyes agleam with animosity and
suspicion. Sorscha did not like men, not even cat-lovers born with the
disadvantage of being a human male.

 
          
 
Of all the men on the face of the Earth, David
would be Sorscha's last choice for visitor. Now here he was, stuck with being a
"geisha" not only for the Russian blue, but also for Zhadi, Luna,
Vootie, and Buster—the rest of Miko's cat family.

 
          
 
Zhadi was as fat and round as a bowling ball,
a happy Buddha who liked men, even poor specimens. Luna was, if anything, even
fatter than Zhadi, and enjoyed nothing better than sprawling on a lap, and
reaching out with a paw that made her look like a black otter. Then there was
Vootie, a multicolored kitten—a Beatrix Potter poster child—cuddly and playful.
Vootie liked everyone, even a big, dumb dog who used to live next door. (Vootie
often asked what had happened to her canine playmate. Miko and the others
agreed that she was too young to understand.) Finally, there was Buster, a
litter mate to Professor Purr. Buster was a huge, male tabby, very loud and
good-natured.