Cat Tales

CAT TALES:
Fantastic Feline Fiction

MORE FANTASTIC FICTION
FROM WILDSIDE PRESS

Nobody Noticed the Cat
Anne McCaffrey

If Wishes Were Horses
Anne McCaffrey

Fantasy: The Best of the Year
edited by Rich Horton

CAT TALES:
Fantastic Feline Fiction

Edited by George H. Scithers

CAT TALES: FANTASTIC FELINE FICTION

ISBN 978-0-8095-7321-9

Compilation © 2008 by Wildside Press

All rights reserved.

Introduction © 2008 by George H. Scithers

All stories are original to this collection and are
copyrighted © 2008 to their respective authors
except “The Cats of Ulthar” by H.P. Lovecraft, first
published in 1920; “The Cat” by Charles Baudelaire,
first published in 1857; and “Kreativity for Kats”
© 1961 by Fritz Leiber, reprinted with permission.
Original illustrations
© 2008 by George Barr.

Wildside Press
www.wildsidepress.com

For more information, contact
[email protected].

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION
, by George H. Scithers
      
Feline fiction: fantasy, mystery, & science fiction.

NOT ANOTHER BLACK CAT STORY
, by Geoffrey Maloney
      
The Devil's website was clear enough. . . .

SCOUT
, by Mary A. Turzillo
   
The whoosh of an advanced propulsion system.

AMERICAN CURLS
, by Nancy Springer
   
Catnapping . . . and a murder.

THE CATS OF ULTHAR
, by H.P. Lovecraft
   
It is said that in Ulthar, no man may kill a cat.

KREATIVITY FOR KATS
, by Fritz Leiber
   
A silver ribbon,
sparkling
with sunlight. . .

NON-EXISTENT CATS
, by Tony Richards
   
As the title says, this is about non-existent cats.

ANGELIQUE'S
, by Sandra Beswetherick
   
Her cat, Thomas, was good at finding things.

THREE HAIKU
, by Mark Budman
   
Your paws weave time. . .

THE CAT
, by Charles Baudelaire
   
A feline poem . . .

BLACK PUMPS & A SKANKY TOM
, by Pat Esden
   
The cat had been hiding the killer's left-overs.

DRAGON DREAMS
, by Shereen Vedam
   
The bright, orange light from the two suns. . .

CAT CALL
, by K.D. Wentworth
   
I squeezed through my catdoor and saw the body.

A CHRISTMAS CAROL
, by Jack Williamson
   
The yellow-striped cat slipped inside.

THE EYES OF RA
, by Jim C. Hines
   
“Did Bast send you to chastize me, Bast-ta-sherit?”

CREEPER SHADOWS
, by Fred Chappell
   
Medieval magic and a very large, very black cat.

INTRODUCTION

by George H. Scithers

H
ere are thirteen stories, three haiku, and a conventional poem, all involving cats. A few, like “The Cats of Ulthar” and “Kreativity for Kats,” are well-known classics; others, like “Creeper Shadows,” are freshly written and came meowing to us in search of a home at
Cat Tales,
9710 Traville Gateway Dr, #234, Rockville MD 20850 or by e-mail to [email protected]. (Do be sure that e-mailed stories include
both
your snail-mail
and
your e-mail addresses.)

Cat Tales: Fantastic Feline Fiction
offers a home for many sorts of stories involving cats: fantasy stories, mystery stories, and science-fiction stories — and every so often a story that doesn't quite fit into any of these genres, just to present our readers with the unexpected. We also seek poetry involving cats.

Cat Tales
is intended to be a continuing series, rather like a magazine in paperback-book format. Our first volume is devoted mostly to fantasy stories — a deal with the Devil, a re-incarnation, and a long tale of Medieval magic, even a dragon — along with a couple of murders and a science-fiction story. For our next volume, well, let's see who we find purring inside our mailbag.

It's hardly surprising, considering all our fiction involves cats and the people who are owned by them, that so many of our contributors are from the United Kingdom, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand.

While we welcome reprints as well as new stories, we prefer ones that have not been published recently in North America. Do beware of stories whose “cats” are better described as elves, gnomes, or little men who are dressed up in furry costumes and are just pretending to be cats. We and our readers strongly prefer believable cats behaving in believable, cat-like ways, coping with whatever strange things — fantastic, mysterious, or science-fictional — that befall them and their human companions.

Our upper limit is supposed to be around 15,000 words, but can be flexible about that. We want to avoid talking cats (yes, yes, we know: one of the cats in this issue does say six words, but that's a special case — you'll see what we mean) and and to avoid cats coming to a bad end on stage. Think of
Cat Tales
as a place for stories told (or read) by the fireplace with a contented cat purring in your lap.

NOT ANOTHER BLACK CAT
STORY

by Geoffrey Maloney

T
HE INSTRUCTIONS were quite clear on the website: the cat must be black and it must be dead. The dead black cat must be taken by the tail and dragged gently across the top of a freshly dug grave, care being taken not to awaken the inhabitant within who was sleeping the restless sleep of the newly dead.

The website was one of those ones you come across from time to time . . . the sort you find in a moment of desperate searching late at night, the sort that if you don't capture the information when you see it, then you may never have the opportunity to do so again. Such sites come and go, first giving you access, then denying it, or simply vanishing as if they never existed. Perhaps later, they emerge under a brand new URL to supply their esoteric wisdom to others, giving them the one-time opportunity you, yourself, have missed.

This time, however, I did not miss it. No, in my desperation, I took a pen and clean piece of paper as quickly as I could, and began to write down the precise details of the ritual which needed to be performed. If you are familiar with these types of websites, you will know there is no point in hitting your browser's PRINT
ic
on. Nothing will happen. Your printer may activate as per normal; and a sheet of paper may well scroll through it; but when you take the paper in your hand, you will find that there is nothing printed there, not even a faint outline or an indentation of the words which conveyed the information you sought.

So there was nothing for it, but to archaically transcribe the details by hand. And this, as it turned out, needed to be done swiftly. As soon as I started writing, I found the page on the screen beginning to blur. It faded to grey then, in a green flash, I was confronted by a young woman showing me her breasts. Had I merely been duped into accessing a pornography site? But she
was
wearing a funny red hat that had two cute little devil horns curling out of it. So I believed I'd found what I was looking for. Finding the authentic Devil website had been one thing, but now it seemed I had a bigger problem on my hands. To wit: where does one find a dead black cat in Brisbane?

Despite my shortcomings, and — believe me — I have many, the slaughtering of innocent pets for personal gain is not one of them. No, the truth is I am pacifist who abhors violence of any kind. Honestly, I would not hurt a fly; and, notwithstanding a rational fear of spiders — I was convinced those living in Brisbane were all poisonous — I always managed to usher up enough courage to carefully extradite them from my house and into a habitat more conducive to their ongoing survival. Others, as you know, think nothing of squashing every spider they see between shoe and floor, ignominiously sweeping up the remains and disposing of them down the toilet afterwards.

So you will appreciate my dilemma then. I could not simply go to the pound, the pet shop, or look up the newspaper classifieds, purchase a black cat, bring it home, and strangle or perhaps smother it in some way. No, if I was to purchase a living, breathing cat in this way, I would be more inclined to give it a saucer of milk, stroke it behind the ears, and immediately give it some endearing name. At least in this way, I would have some other creature to share my immediate and present danger with. The alternatives, however, seemed very few. There where certainly a number of veterinarian surgeries in my neighbourhood; and I knew from childhood experience that people often took sick or unwanted animals there to be quietly put down. But I could not very well walk through the vet's front door and make a discreet enquiry about purchasing a dead black cat. I would immediately be thought of as a weirdo. The police might even be called and a confession forced from my throat. Then I would be in even more trouble than I am now. The advice from M. on this matter was unambiguous: seeking assistance from the police would result in a tragic loss of life. Mine.

You are probably thinking that I
am
some sort of weirdo, or perhaps that I am completely insane with my talk of strange internet sites that come and go, dead cats and fresh graves, and my inability to kill spiders, let alone cats. I can assure you that I was simply a desperate man who needs a very large sum of money in a very short space of time. You might think I have a gambling habit; that I've invested in shonky real estate deals on the Gold Coast; that I've been leading a lascivious life, squandering money on women, booze, and illicit drugs. You might also think that I had already borrowed too heavily from my friends and had now stooped to borrowing money from people who became dangerous enemies when they found I could not pay it back quickly enough. And you would be right to think such things, because, alas, it is all true. But reforming my behaviour was not my immediate concern; obtaining a large sum of money was. And there is only one being I know of who will happily provide that to me in a short space of time.

You might say: why not do what many other desperate men have done? Why all this nonsense talk of dead cats and graves, when you could simply rob a bank, a corner shop or a petrol station? But remember, flawed though I am, I am a pacifist who would be totally incapable of waving a gun about, threatening to shoot people's heads off if they did not hand over the money. No, any attempt along those lines would immediately be seen for the charade it was; and, no doubt, those I threatened would fall to the floor — not from fear — but from the laughter rumbling in their bellies. Besides, did I tell you I have an aversion to guns?

No, I have thought about this in a very rational manner and decided the irrational was my only option. That is, I would summon the Devil and seek his assistance. In this modern age, he is only a phone call away — provided, of course, you undertake the necessary ritual which alerts the evil gent to your presence. So a dead black cat was definitely called for.

Unfortunately, the internet offered no further assistance. I learnt there had been a famous horror movie called
The Black Cat
starring Boris Karloff and Bella Lugosi. I learnt that black cats were associated with evil in Babylonian and Hebrew mythologies. Also, black cats in Finland were thought to carry the souls of the dead to the other world, and during the Inquisition many a black cat was burnt at the stake. I even came across a pop-up advertisemententicing me to search for dead black cats currently on offer at eBay. Not surprisingly none were available; but I was advised to check again in a few days, obviously when the dead black cat market would be more buoyant. It seemed really that I had no choice but to trust to pure luck.