The Second Cat Megapack. George Zebrowski

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      His tail twitched. He had grown restless even before losing his own two-legged creatures, before that night when oth­ers of their kind had come for them, dragging them from his house and throwing them inside the gaping mouth of a large, square metal beast. He had stayed away after that, lingering on the outskirts of town, pondering what might happen in a world where two-legged ones turned on one another and for­got their obligations to cats. He had gone back to his house only once; a banner with a black swastika in its center had been hung from one of the upper windows. He had seen such symbols often, on the upper limbs of two-legged ones or flut­tering over the streets; the wind had twisted the banner on his house, turning the swastika first into a soaring bird, then a malformed claw. A strange two-legs had chased him away.

      “I want to roam,” he replied as he gazed up the road, won­dering if it might lead him to the top of the mountain. “I want to see far places. It’s no use fighting it when I’m compelled to wander.”

      Mewleen bounded toward him. “Don’t you know what this means?” She gestured at the broken mirror with her nose. “When a window to the other world is shattered, it’s a sign. This place is a nexus of possibilities, a place where you might move from one world to the next and never realize that you are lost to your own world.”

      “Perhaps I’m meant to perform some task. That might be why I was drawn here.”

      “Come with me. I offer you a refuge.”

      “I can’t accept, Mewleen.” His ears twitched as he heard a distant purr, which rapidly grew into a roar.

      Leaping from the road, Hrurr plunged into the grass; Mewleen bounded to the other side as a line of metal beasts passed them, creating a wind as they rolled by. Tiny flags bear­ing swastikas fluttered over the eyes of a few beasts; pale faces peered out from the shields covering the creatures’ entrails.

      As the herd moved on up the road, he saw that Mewleen had disappeared among the trees.

      * * * *

      Hrurr followed the road, slinking up the slope until he caught sight of the metal beasts again. They had stopped in the middle of the road; a gate blocked their progress.

      Several two-legged ones in gray skins stood by the gate; two of them walked over to the first metal beast and peered inside its openings, then stepped back, raising their right arms as others opened the gate and let the first beast pass. The two moved on to the next beast, looking in at the ones inside, then raised their arms again. The flapping arms reminded Hrurr of birds; he imagined the men lifting from the ground, arms flap­ping as they drifted up in lopsided flight.

      He scurried away from the road. The gray pine needles, dappled by light, cushioned his feet; ahead of him, winding among the trees, he saw a barbed-wire fence. His whiskers twitched in amusement; such a barrier could hardly restrain him. He squeezed under the lowest wire, carefully avoiding the barbs.

      The light shifted; patches of white appeared among the black and gray shadows. The trees overhead sighed as the wind sang. “Cat! Cat!” The birds above were calling out their warn­ings as Hrurr sidled along below. “Watch your nests! Guard your young! Cat! Cat!”

      “Oh, be quiet,” he muttered.

      A blackbird alighted on a limb, out of reach. Hrurr clawed at the tree trunk, longing to taste blood. “Foolish cat,” the bird cawed, “I’ve seen your kind in the cities, crawling through rubble, scratching for crumbs and cowering as the storms rage and buildings crumble. The two-legged ones gather, and the world grows darker as the shining eagles shriek and the metal turtles crawl over the land. You think you’ll escape, but you won’t. The soil is ready to receive the dead.”

      Hrurr clung to the trunk as the bird fluttered up to a higher limb. He had heard such chatter from other birds, but had paid it no mind. “That doesn’t concern me,” he snarled. “There’s nothing like that here.” But he was thinking of the shattered mirror, and of what Mewleen had said.

      “Foolish cat. Do you know where you are? The two-legged ones have scarred the mountain to build themselves a cage, and you are now inside it.”

      “No cage can hold me,” Hrurr cried as the bird flew away. He jumped to the ground, clawing at the earth. I live, he thought, I live. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with piney air.

      The light was beginning to fade; it would soon be night. He hunkered down in the shadows; he would have to prowl for some food. Below ground, burrowing creatures mumbled sluggishly to one another as they prepared for sleep.

      * * * *

      In the morning, a quick, darting movement caught Hrurr’s at­tention. A small, grayish bird carelessly landed in front of him and began to peck at the ground.

      He readied himself, then lunged, trapping the bird under his paws. She stared back at him, eyes wide with terror. He bared his teeth.

      “Cruel creature,” the bird said.

      “Not cruel. I have to eat, you know.” He had injured her; she fluttered helplessly. He swatted her gently with a paw.

      “At least be quick about it. My poor heart will burst with despair. Why must you toy with me?”

      “I’m giving you a chance to prepare yourself for death.”

      “Alas,” the bird sang mournfully. “My mate will see me no more, and the winds will not sing to me again or lift me to the clouds.”

      “You will dwell in the realm of spirits,” Hrurr replied, “where there are no predators or prey. Prepare yourself.” He bit down; as the bird died, he thought he heard the flutter of ghostly wings. “I’m sorry” he whispered. “I have no choice in these matters. As I prey upon you, another will prey upon me. The world maintains its balance.” He could not hear her soul’s reply.

      When he had eaten, he continued up the slope until he came to a clearing. Above him, a path wound up the mountainside, leading from a round, stone tower with a pointed roof to a distant chalet. The chalet sprawled; he imagined that the two-legs inside it was either a large crea­ture or one who needed a lot of space. Creeping up to the nearer stone structure, he turned and looked down the slope.

      In the valley the homes of the two-legged ones were now no bigger than his paw; the river running down the mountainside was a ribbon. This, he thought, was how birds saw the world. To them, a two-legs was only a tiny creature rooted to the ground; a town was an anthill, and even the gray, misty mountains before him were only mounds. He suddenly felt as if he were gazing into an abyss, about to be separated from the world that surrounded him.

      He crouched, resting his head on his paws. Two-legged ones had built the edifices on this mountain; such creatures were already apart from the world, unable even to hear what animals said to one another, incapable of a last, regretful com­munion with their prey, eating only what was stone dead. He had always believed that the two-legged ones were simply soul­less beings whose instincts drove them into strange, incom­prehensible behavior; they built, tore down, and built again, moving through the world as if in a dream. But now, as he gazed at the valley below, he began to wonder if the two-legged ones had deliberately separated themselves from the world by an act of will. Those so apart from others might come to think that they ruled the world, and their constructions, instead of being instinctive, might be a deliberate attempt to mold what was around them. They might view all the world as he viewed the tiny town below.

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