Celta Cats

by Robin D. Owens

  Pinky lay on Antenn’s lap, purring. “Now you tell me all about the changing-into-a-Fam process.”

  With much stumbling and slow words, Pinky did, and got a little shock when Antenn told him that what Pinky had thought had passed in one day, had really occurred over three. Pinky had no recollection of that, but when he probed his memory found dark spots like he’d just passed out from exhaustion.

  Danith murmured, and stroked him now and then, too, and he decided he didn’t mind those dark times left in his head.

  The glider stopped and the door raised and Antenn hopped out and ran with Pinky toward the front doors. Pinky rather liked the jogging, did like the closeness with his FamBoy. “Residence,” Antenn yelled at the house, and that word fit like a puzzle piece in Pinky’s head. What the smart Houses were called, Residence.

  “Yes, Antenn?” the House said, in real words, because it had magic, too. Pinky thought it could put words in his head, too.

  That is correct. Welcome, FamCat.

  “Pinky is a Fam!” Antenn said. Sometimes he was a little slow.

  Congratulations, Pinky, the Residence said and it echoed and Pinky knew it talked to him, and Antenn and Danith and Antenn’s Dam who walked toward them with grace nearly like a cat’s, smiling. The adopted Dam’s hair looked like fire and light caught it and Pinky admired it.

  “Congratulations, Pinky!” caroled the Dam who didn’t have much Flair. “I’m so glad he managed to become a Fam. Now we can all talk together.”

  “Thank you, Mitchella,” said Antenn.

  Thank you, Mitchella, repeated Pinky.

  Antenn ran up to her and they hugged, Pinky between them. She was very soft. Pinky liked this hug the very best.

  Then Man-of-Many-Place-Smells, who the House owned, walked up to them and Mitchella stepped away. Pinky met the guy’s steady gaze and he reached out and knuckle-scrubbed Pinky on the head. “Congratulations, Pinky.”

  Thank you, Pinky said. He did not know what other humans called this guy.

  Man-of-Many-Place-Smells turned to Danith. “Do I owe—”

  “Absolutely nothing. Helping Pinky was my pleasure.”

  “Right. I want to thank you, also, for you and T’Ash coming tonight.”

  “We wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Later.” And he teleported away so smoothly and easily that Pinky envied his big Flair.

  Mew. The snotty Drina descended the staircase with much posing to show off how pretty she thought she was. Oh, she said. It’s Danith D’Ash, my very good friend. The FamCat sauntered over to Danith and stropped her ankles. Pinky suppressed his hair that wanted to raise. Danith had helped him more, been with him more, been a better friend. He even refrained from sniffing, though he felt better when he saw Danith hide a smile as the petted the cat three times, then straightened.

  “I need to return now and dress. We’ll be back soon.” She hugged Antenn’s Dam who hugged her and held on a little bit. Those two acted like litter mates though no common blood ran through their veins. Danith left.

  As soon as the door closed behind her, Drina presented Pinky with her butt and sashayed down the entry hall, tail moving a sinuous, disdainful way.

  Pinky teleported to land right behind her, swiped at her and missed her butt but got a glancing blow on her tail.

  She hop-turned, arched her back and hissed.

  Pinky didn’t back down. I am Fam, too, snotty cat. I can use my Flair to move around, too! He showed his fangs. If you hit me in the rump again you WILL regret it.

  Common Cat! She spit at him but he sent it back to her face and she squealed and vanished.

  He swaggered back to a bent over and laughing Antenn, and a tear-running laughing Mitchella. The House creaked like it laughed, too.

  Mitchella swung him up and kissed him on the nose, stepped close to Antenn and they both held him. Pinky purred.

  He had a FamBoy, Antenn, and a FamWoman, Mitchella.

  And they had him, Pinky the FamCat.

  = The End =

  Zanth Claims Treasure

  This is the oldest of my stories, and the shortest. You can find it in a couple of versions all over the internet, including my blog. I put it in my first newsletter. The story came to me while writing Heart Journey. I kept wondering how Del Elecampane, a map maker always on the road, managed to get T’Ash to sell her Landscape Globes in his jewelry store in Druida City. Answer: Fams were involved. Del’s fox, and the FamCat Zanth, of course.

  Celta, 407 Years After Colonization, Summer

  Zanth's whiskers twitched. The smell was incredible. Incredible and wonderful and with the scent of great Flair magic.

  He padded warily through the night and the bushes that rose high above his head. He'd never been out of the city of Druida before. Here on his FamMan's overgrown southern estate there were creatures that might try and make a mouthful of him. But he was a canny and clever cat, the pre-eminent cat of Druida, and therefore, of course, the whole world of Celta.

  The bushes loomed and rustled with animals and midnight noises. He placed each paw carefully, flexed his claws.

  Treasure pulsed up ahead and he meant to have it.

  Slithering under the rusted greeniron gate, he wallowed for a few instants in the dirt and dust, spreading his own scent. Notifying all in the area that the mighty Zanth was on the prowl, that this estate, once abandoned, belonged to him.

  He sniffed luxuriously. No celtaroons. He'd cleaned out two nasty nests in the few days they'd been here. Wolf scent drifted from far away, but the pack consisted of low, unintelligent creatures and no match for Zanth.

  He was a FamCat of the highest order, of the greatest nobility. Now he was pampered, and that was absolutely his due. He'd found the boy child, Rand T'Ash, in the slum of Downwind and cared for him, let Rand love him and be a Familiar companion.

  Then they grew big enough to walk the Vengeance Stalk. They'd killed those men who'd murdered Rand's Family. Zanth had gotten his Residence and his room and his bed and his velvet pillow.

  And his chef.

  Rumor lied that Zanth was soft and fat. He could still take any feral tom in Druida City.

  The tantalizing scent came from beyond the ragged gliderway...it came from the road. Not a big road, but one with lots of odors of stridebeasts, llamas, a horse or two. And predator and prey animals and carrion eaters.

  The lake to the south ladened the air with rich smells of fish and small prey and his favorite, sewer rat.

  But even wet rat didn't smell as good as this human-Flair-made-thing.

  He sauntered out, nose lifted, reveling in all the excellent new smells, the slight breeze sliding against his fur, the beingness in a new place just waiting for him to put his paw prints all over it.

  In a few bounds he found the sphere. Glass with interesting-unique-special stuff floating inside. It smelled of woman and strange places beyond any Zanth had experienced. He recognized a little tang of the Great Platte Ocean, and of Gael City where he'd been, and even an icy wind from the far north that caused him to shiver and his fur to rise. More recently was the gaminess of the Hard Rock Mountains.

  The orb was slightly buried in dirt. He pawed it out, grinning as his claws dug deep in the rich earth of this new place that would know him.

  He rolled the sphere a little way, watching something sparkle inside it. Tasting it, his tongue absorbed some of the Flair that created it and emanated from it and he purred. It made him feel better. A treasure indeed.

  That is MINE. The snarling shout, mental and physical, stopped Zanth in his tracks. He rolled the globe behind his front paws. It felt good against his heart.

  A scrawny and scruffy fox slipped onto the road. Not much like those aristocratic foxes in Druida City. Zanth stood as tall as this one and carried more muscle and mass.

  But the last time he fought a fox his emerald stud had been ripped from his left ear and lost. He'd also teleported home with a broken hind leg.

  FamMan Rand T'Ash had sworn and had
taken a long time to make the new stud.

  FamWoman Danith had cried.

  Mine! the fox yelled again.

  Zanth didn't run from fights. He could win against this dog fox. The fox lifted his lip, showing teeth, and Zanth growled back, packing it with power. The fox set his paws and hunkered, ready to fight.

  Go away! Zanth commanded. This is my place and all here belongs to ME. All prey, all leaves to chase, and essspesssially this TREASURE THING.

  The fox barked challenge. Zanth hissed and growled until he could only hear himself. Then he grinned because the fox hopped backward. Still, something showed in the animal's eyes that told Zanth the fox might pounce if he turned his back, or took his gaze off the fox to enjoy his new treasure.

  Leave the sphere, said the fox.

  The orb sent warmth into Zanth's middle. He wanted it. He would have it. This Treasure Thing is Mine, Mine, Mine, Mine, Mine, Mine! Zanth switched his tail. That was that. Six "mines" and that pointy-nosed creature should know it was his. Cats never backed down after six "mines."

  The fox snapped out a bark. That landscape globe belongs to my FamWoman. She made it.

  Zanth sniffed. Then why doesn't she have it?

  She makes them and lost some. I have retrieved two.

  Zanth saw in the fox's mind that there had been three. He reverted to the slum speech of his kittenhood. ME HAS THIS ONE!

  Again the fox showed a lift of upper lip and muzzle, growled. This time the toughness of battle reflected in his eyes. Del made it with sweat and blood and Flair. A shifting of balance of the paws and tail. The stringy fox would fight.

  With one strong kick of a hind leg and a demonstration of his own fabulous Flair, Zanth sent the "landscape globe" soaring back into the estate, between the rails of the greeniron gate.

  The fox narrowed his eyes, flexed his dark, dirty claws.

  Zanth matched glares. I am Zanth, and the bauble is Mine. I will win. He swaggered forward and his very presence made the fox step back.

  Zanth. I have heard of Zanth, the fox said.

  Of course. Zanth smiled with all his fangs. I have killed many sewer rats, many celtaroons, sired many litters.

  With a long stare, the fox looked Zanth from tooth to tail tip. You are uglier than I thought.

  Zanth curled his lip. You are so ugly the twinmoons hide. They'd gone behind a cloud.

  You are FamCat to T'Ash, the fox stated.

  It was a rare fox who could match insult with insult and this one obviously wasn't so smart, though annoying all the same. T'Ash is MY FamMan.

  The fox darted in and swung a paw. Zanth hopped aside, then hissed and surged forward, back arched, all his hair out. Yes, he was more muscular, thicker than this stupid, scrawny fox.

  It hunched it's back and screeched so Zanth had to flatten his ears.

  I WILL fight you! Even as he rumbled a growl deep in his throat, Zanth's thoughts sped.

  In a fight he might lose his emerald ear studs and his collar. FamMan refused to fix them again or make him more. FamWoman would be sad. Tears might drip down her face and onto Zanth's fur like the last time he came back bloodied. That made him feel almost worse than losing his gems.

  But he extended his claws. He let battle anticipation sit on his tongue before saying, I am Zanth and I will win this battle, as I win ALL My battles.

  He paused. He was so clever. Then he said, But...

  The fox snapped up Zanth's bait. What?

  I could pay you for the landscape globe with rabbit. In Zanth's experience foxes loved rabbit.

  His adversary's tongue rolled out and a string of drool hung to the ground. Real Earthan rabbit or the Celtan mocyn? the fox asked.

  Snorting, Zanth said, Rabbits. Two. Freshly killed and put in a cold spot where I can get in with my Flair. A neighboring farmer had done the killing, but Zanth didn't care. If it was available to him and no one guarded it from him, it was his.

  Done! cried the fox, and he was equally irritating as he kept up with Zanth on the run to the neighbor's cold shed.

  Feeling magnanimous, Zanth showed the creature how to manipulate the latch with Flair. The fox took both rabbits while Zanth sat and groomed his paws. The treasure was his and it would last a lot longer than a couple of rabbit meals. Besides, he didn't like rabbit.

  Once they were away from the shed and the road, they eyed each other, then the fox nodded and said, I am Shunuk.

  I haven't heard of you, Zanth said.

  The fox's tail bristled and flicked, then he was gone in the night, nearly as quiet and stealthy as Zanth himself.

  Zanth hurried back to his estate to claim his treasure. He stared at it and for an instant in the twinmoons' light an image solidified inside the sphere. Zanth's Residence and room and his velvet pillow. He lipped up his treasure and grinned around the globe.

  He was the strongest and cleverest and best FamCat…FamAnimal…on all of Celta. Naturally.

  Life was good.

  =The End =

  Baccat Chooses His Person

  There were three reasons I wanted to tell this story:

  1) I wanted to show how Baccat (who appeared in Heart Secret as a nameless gray tabby) transitioned from being one of Garrett Primross’ feral informers to FirstFamily GrandLady Loridana D’Yew’s Fam in Heart Legacy;

  2) I had trouble with Heart Legacy’s opening, and before I settled on the current opening I wrote a new piece that was, again, more backstory than I needed (sometimes writers need to know backstory that doesn’t appear in a book), but I liked the scene and thought it could become part of Baccat’s story;

  3) And, finally, I wanted to have a Yule ritual I could post on my blog and Facebook.

  That last didn’t happen in this story because it’s difficult writing a Yule ceremony from the point of view of a cat who has little interest in it, and a detailed ritual doesn’t belong in a short story unless the story is all about how that particular ritual transforms characters.

  Baccat’s story is about how he found his true FamWoman.

  Perhaps that’s too much information. Ignore it and, I hope, enjoy Baccat’s story.

  Also note Baccat has a larger vocabulary and more formal expression than the other cats in this collection.

  424 years after colonization, Druida City, Early Winter

  Not the time for a civilized, respectable, intelligent cat to be out. A proper cat like himself, Baccat, who embodied great enough attributes to become a Familiar Companion to a human. He needed to find a person who would put him first.

  The sun had disappeared behind a bank of thick clouds before it should have set, darkening the world. Autumn had faded away with spitting sleet and winter threatened frost, and worse, snow.

  His only slightly hardened pads shriveled with cold as he trotted light-footed along the cold sidewalks in the overcast night.

  Currently he slept in a dirt hollow under thick bushes behind the Turquoise House, another intelligent being, though quite immobile. The House already contained two resident cats — one the small Pinky and the other the dangerous Ratkiller, and Baccat would not ask to live inside on sufferance.

  Baccat sniffed in disdain, and his nose twitched. Yes, snow ladened those low clouds, ready to drift down on him at any moment and make the world around him white and cold and bleak. A big whisker-tall snow threatened.

  He was cold and hungry but did not really like the taste of raw mouse, of newly killed anything. And he disliked the effort and energy and magic psi-mind power, Flair, he had to use to hunt.

  Yes, he needed a FamMan or, better, a FamWoman. One to care for him, one who would like him best. One who would comb and brush his thickening gray-white fur, keep the darker gray stripes even and pretty. A human who would rub ointment into his cold-reddening-raw ears.

  He’d been on the prowl for a Fam companion. Perhaps he held too high standards.

  Was there such a thing as too high a standard for a human? Probably.

  But none of the lower nobles near
the Turquoise House seemed appropriate. None of their minds free from stupid human busymindedness to even notice him and his potential.

  The first test of a good companion. To recognize him as a superior FamCat.

  No one in the busy Yuletide street fairs — lower class browsers, middle-class vendors, or noble class casual buyers — had given him a second glance. It pricked his amour propre. Not one of them would shop for a necklace that would match his light green eyes.

  No one had given him a New Year’s, Samhain’s, gift last month. Not even a crumpled ball of papyrus to play with like his third and least-liked professor FamMan had given him.

  When the first of his three professors died more than a year ago, Baccat tried living on the streets. He’d joined the gang of Fams that the private investigator, Garrett Primross, fed.

  He’d helped solve a murder before he finally returned to the other two professors who shared the small apartment provided by the college. The last one had passed on at the end of the summer, and Baccat’s home had been assigned to a Person With A Dog!

  Who disliked him. Impossible to stay.

  He needed to find shelter before the winter. Someone to put him first.

  Time to expand his search for a proper human companion.

  In the dim light he saw humans gathered in the park ahead. They stood away from the temple near a large firepit with one big log and a lot of smaller branches and wood. The people moved around briskly, voices raised in cheer that didn’t touch Baccat’s sour mood.

  He’d wait and study the people before he joined their Yule ritual and spent much of the evening with them. Only three other Fams showed up with their human companions. Baccat didn’t know whether that meant his prospects were good because someone would want a Fam, or if his choices were, once more, of lower quality humans.

  Minutes passed as he hunkered in the bushes, in a dirt wallow that didn’t smell too offensively of dog.

  A movement caught his eye, unnoticed by everyone else--animal, Fam, human, inside and outside of the circle. Next to the deep shadow of a tree, nearly blended into it, stood a woman. Baccat blinked, sharpened his focus on her aura. Not a mature woman. One barely adult.