Empire of the Space Cats (Amy Armstrong Book 2)

by Stephen Colegrove

  Excited whispers came from behind her back.

  “She’s so young.”

  “I’ve never seen a Centauran in real life. You?”

  “Me? Never!”

  “I thought they’d be taller!”

  Amy spun and the crowd of cats immediately behind her scrambled backwards with shrieks of astonishment. A few scrambled away and down the sidewalk as if they were running for their lives.

  A black kitten wearing a blue backpack pushed through the crowd and tottered up to Amy on all fours.

  “Momma! She’s so pretty,” said the kitten, his eyes wide and yellow. “Not like the movies.”

  Amy knelt in front of the kitten. “Hello, cutie. What’s your name?”

  A tubby calico cat rushed forward and scooped up the kitten in her front paws. Amy could hear the whining of the kitten and the angry yells of his mother as the pair disappeared into the crowd.

  “Angela Dawn Snookums! Talking to a human. Do you know what kinds of diseases you could get from those disgusting things?”

  “But I’ve never seen one. She was nice, momma!”

  Amy sighed and stood up. The ring of curious cats on the sidewalk stared up at her, their eyes following her every movement.

  “Looking for a song and dance?” Amy jerked her arms and legs robotically. “Greetings, catlings,” she droned. “Take me to your leader.”

  Philip jogged down the sidewalk.

  “There she is! Shoo! Shoo!”

  The crowd of cats scattered from his waving arms and the barking Betsy nearby, although it was probably just Philip doing most of the frightening.

  “Where did you two go?” asked Amy. “I stopped to look at something and the next thing I know I’m surrounded by a herd of cats.”

  “Did they ask for your autograph?” asked Betsy.

  “No.”

  “Weird. I would have asked for your autograph.”

  “Sorry for leaving you, dear,” said Philip. “Betsy tried to cross the street and if I hadn’t chased after him, he’d be doggie pudding right now.”

  “Where’s Furball?”

  Philip pointed down the sidewalk. The white Persian waited patiently on a bench at the end of the block. He stopped cleaning his tail and bowed as the human teenagers approached.

  “All finished, honored guests? May I purchase items for you? Sweets? A delicate morsel of Cheezburger’s finest live octopus? Limited-edition human collectible figurines? The price is very high in this area, but the selection is very good.”

  “Thanks but no thanks,” said Amy. “I was just window shopping.”

  Furball blinked at her for a moment. “I’m sorry. Does your village not have windows? Perhaps they are broken?”

  “I don’t want to buy a window. It’s just a saying.”

  The cat nodded. “I see. ‘Window shopping’ means you don’t want windows. So, if you actually wanted to buy windows, what would you say?”

  “I’d say, ‘I’m going to shop for windows.’”

  Furball sighed. “That sounds exactly the same to me. Very confusing.”

  Philip held up a hand. “Please––let’s table the discussion on idiomatic phrases. To be honest, I’m a bit parched from the walk. Perhaps we could find a cup of tea?”

  “Of course,” said Furball, and bowed deeply again. “I didn’t realize humans drank tea. It’s a very cat-like behavior.”

  Philip shrugged. “I’m English.”

  The teenagers followed Furball into a narrow alley packed on both sides with long lines of neon-colored vending machines. Faded advertisements and marketing slogans covered the front of the tall metal boxes, which hummed and rattled like dying air conditioners on a hot summer day. The white cat stopped at the second machine and studied a dozen cans viewable through a scratched window.

  “Tea, you say?”

  “Whatever is most popular,” said Philip. “I’m not picky.”

  “And you, Miss Armstrong?”

  “I guess I’ll have a can. When in Rome, right?”

  Furball blinked at her. “This is Cheezburger. I’m not familiar with the place you call ‘Rome.’”

  “Don’t start that again! Get on with the tea machine thing.”

  “I hate tea,” said Betsy, and pretended to spit in a puddle of water draining from one of the machines. Instead of spitting, his gesture unfortunately turned into a long strand of drool.

  Furball pressed a few buttons and held his paw over a glass diamond on the front of the machine. A red beam flashed over his paw and a pair of narrow green cylinders thunked into the bottom tray.

  Philip grabbed the first can. “Amazing! It’s still cold. I’ve never seen the like, even in London.”

  The teenager pulled open the top of the green cylinder and tipped it toward the sky. He gulped down the contents while Amy studied the description on her can.

  “What’s ‘somon’ flavor?”

  Philip sprayed green liquid across the alley and dropped the can. He bent over with his hands on his knees and coughed.

  “Fish … tea? Are you trying to kill me?”

  “I wasn’t! I’m sorry!” stammered Furball. “You said you liked tea. Of course I thought that was strange, but you said you liked it!”

  Philip wiped his mouth. “It tastes like pond scum.”

  “Of course,” said Furball. “That’s the special ingredient.”

  “Who could drink this revolting poison?”

  “I do. It’s a very popular flavor!”

  Amy handed her can to Furball. “I’ll pass. Don’t say you’re going to quit blah, blah, blah. It was an honest mistake.”

  The white Persian bowed low. “I am deeply sorry.”

  Amy patted Philip on the back. “No need to apologize—our dear English boy will survive. How far to the university? I have a sneaking suspicion that we probably should have hired a cab.”

  “Whatever the honored guests desire, I will provide,” said Furball. “The destination is only a short walk from here.”

  “Whatever I desire?” asked Amy. “I’d like a Diet Coke, but now I’m afraid I’d get Salmon Snapple.”

  “I’m not familiar with this beverage,” said Furball. “We have international food stores in Cheezburger with products from Alpha Centauri. Would you like to take a taxi there? It is too far to walk.”

  “Nah,” said Amy, and nudged Philip. “Ready to go, Phil? Don’t you go dying on me.”

  “I’m fine,” said the teenager, and straightened up. “Forward, forward. Always moving forward. Unless you see a toilet, of course.”

  “Gotta be more careful what you put in your mouth next time.”

  Philip nodded. “Of that, there is no doubt.”

  “Back to the crowds of cat-fans, then.”

  Amy turned and strode toward the sidewalk. A crowd dozens of cats deep packed the opening of the alley, all staring at the humans.

  Furball scrambled in front of Amy and blocked her path.

  “Please––I can take you another way. It will avoid attention.”

  “But I love attention,” said Betsy, and wagged his tail.

  Furball glanced at the crowd and the busy street. “Will all of these cats watching us, it is far too dangerous.”

  “Whatever works,” said Amy. “Lead on!”

  The two humans and Betsy followed the cat down the alley, across several side streets with little traffic, and into another narrow street packed on each side with open garbage cans.

  Amy covered her mouth from the stench of rotting fish. “Ugh! This is the worst!”

  Furball ran ahead of the group. “Walk faster. Faster!”

  Amy followed him around a corner of the narrow lane and almost stumbled over the white cat, who had frozen in his tracks.

  “Hey! Watch out!”

  A few meters in front of Furball, three cats leaned against a wall of the dark, moldy alleyway. Two of the cats were completely black and the largest was a gray tabby with large white patches in his fur. All
three wore black leather collars decorated with dangerous-looking silver spikes.

  The gray tabby pushed off the wall and sauntered lazily up the alley toward Amy.

  “My, my, my,” he said in a lazy drawl, extending the vowels. “What we got here?”

  “Stay back!” screeched Furball. “I’m in charge of the humans.”

  The tabby smiled and stood on his hind legs. He flicked his wrist and pointed a small silver pistol at Furball.

  “Not anymore.”

  Amy giggled. “Look––the kitty found a gun. So cute! Are you going to shoot some mice?”

  “I daresay it’s more dangerous than it looks,” said Philip.

  The pair of black cats walked up to stand behind the gray tabby.

  “Two humans is a huge wad of cash, boss!” said one. “We can finally buy a real gun!”

  The gray tabby hurled the pistol at the cat who spoke. “You idiot! They can hear you.”

  Betsy barked at the cats. “What? It looked real to me.”

  Philip pulled back on Amy’s arm. “An opportune moment to leave, my dear. Shall we go back the way we came?”

  They turned and saw the way behind them blocked by another three cats in spiky collars.

  “You’re still outnumbered,” said the gray tabby. “Hand over the two human boys and nobody gets hurt.” He lowered his voice. “Also, if you have any tips on what to feed them, I’m all ears. The last one hated fish.”

  Amy stamped her foot. “I’m a girl, not a boy! The skirt didn’t give you a clue?”

  “I don’t believe it,” said the tabby. “You don’t have two big things on the front like a human female. You’re skinny like a boy, so I say you’re a boy.”

  “I’m not a boy!”

  One of the black cats giggled. “They sound so funny when they talk!”

  “Real humans aren’t like the ones you see in the movies,” said Amy. “Real women don’t look like action figures!”

  The gray tabby shook his head. “I can’t understand half of what this human is saying.”

  “It’s not like the movies,” said one of the black cats. “I like the movie Centaurans better.”

  Furball stood on his back feet and held up the official bronze insignia around his neck.

  “These humans are guests of the Emperor, and you scalawags are upsetting them. Begone!”

  At the sight of the imperial symbol, five of the six vagabond cats bowed, touching chin to front paws. The gray tabby dipped his head slightly.

  “I recognize the imperial seal, and I will give you the honor of a cat-to-cat duel. If you defeat me in single combat, I will let you pass and give all the money in my wallet.”

  Furball rose on his back feet and held his front paws out like a boxer.

  “Really?” he asked.

  The gray tabby shook his head. “Nah. Get him!”

  The alley exploded into a whirl of hisses, shrieks, and flying fur as all six hoodlums jumped at Furball with their fangs bared and claws out. The white Persian stayed on his hind legs with a posture like a tiny Victorian boxer, deftly side-stepping swipes from the thugs and punching each squarely in the nose with his curled-up paws. Bloodied and beaten, all six of the hoodlums scrambled away as if someone had thrown a bucket of scalding water at them. The alley became quiet again, apart from the buzzing of flies.

  “Good gravy,” said Amy. “What did I just see?”

  “Bunch of cats jumping around, I think,” said Betsy.

  Philip clapped loudly. “Bravo! That was as good as any match of fisticuffs in Yorkshire.”

  Furball bowed. “Thank you.”

  “Why didn’t you fight like the other cats?” asked Amy. “With claws and teeth.”

  “All servants of the emperor are trained in the secret art of ‘man-style,’” said Furball quietly. “It is deadly, and only to be used when necessary. Please––let us continue to the university before those gangsters return.”

  The teenagers, Betsy, and Furball left the alley and pushed through the pedestrian mob of cats packing the sidewalk in both directions. Several blocks later, the crowds thinned as they left the metal and glass skyscrapers of the financial district and entered a more residential area of high-rise apartment buildings constructed from yellow and orange bricks. A group of squarish white towers shone in the distance as they crossed an intersection.

  “Is that the university?” asked Amy.

  “Yes,” said Furball. “That tower is the administration building.”

  Philip cleared his throat. “Many apologies, but I’m absolutely parched and need something to drink.” He pointed at a nearby shop. “I’ll just pop inside here and ask for something that isn’t green.”

  The teenager put his hand on a wooden door with a large sign: “Happy Happy Joy Joy Human Café.”

  Furball scrambled to stand in front of Philip and spread his furry arms wide.

  “Please don’t! It’s too dangerous!”

  Amy peered at a wide display of photos below the sign. “Look at this … I guarantee they have something we can drink.”

  Photos of human faces had been pasted on the door––each one with a jovial, ecstatic grin on his or her face––along with hand-drawn caricatures of people hugging cats. The collage was amateurish in design, but full of so much honest joy that Amy couldn’t help but smile.

  “Perfect place for a drink,” said Philip.

  Furball tugged at a leg of the teenager’s trousers. “It’s not what you think. These places are run by bad people. Gangsters like the cats in the alley!”

  “I like gangsters,” said Betsy, wagging his tail. “They talk funny.”

  Amy patted the dog’s head. “Aww, Betsy––you mean they tell jokes.”

  “No! They say things like ‘Beebedee bedeebee boobop bam! Like in the movies!”

  “Amazing.” She turned to Furball. “We’re a block away from the best university on Tau Ceti. Could it really be that dangerous?”

  Furball nodded vigorously. “Yes!”

  “Really? You just beat up six cats and you’re scared of this place?”

  “Yes, yes, yes!”

  Philip shrugged. “No worries. We’ll have a nice, un-fishy glass of water and be off.”

  Amy stepped over Furball and pushed the door. “Good plan.”

  Inside was a tiny alcove as wide as Amy’s shoulders. To the left of a locked door stood a sheet of thick safety glass with a slot at the bottom like Amy had seen at Bank of America. Taped on the inside of the safety glass were photos of four men and two women, with names scrawled below each in a cartoonish script.

  Amy shook her head. “Cuddles? Sniffy? Princess? What’s going on?”

  Philip squeezed in beside Amy, his elbow pressing hard against her ribs.

  “Hey! Watch it!”

  “Sorry,” said the dark-haired teen. “Barely enough room for a mouse in this cubicle.”

  “Your point is?”

  Philip grinned. “Perhaps my point is … you could sit on my lap?”

  “One of us could leave. That’s a better point.”

  “But I vowed to always be by your side, my love.”

  “By my side doesn’t mean squashing me to death!”

  Philip pouted. “Are you suggesting I take back my promise?”

  Amy flipped her blonde hair and sighed. “No, don’t do that. Come on, get in here.”

  Philip sat on the floor of the tiny closet and Amy settled on his lap. He squeezed his arms around her waist and looked over her shoulder as she read a list of instructions on the window.

  “Happy Happy Joy Joy Human Café. Please respect the humans and they will respect you. Do not touch a human unless it touches you first. Do not approach a human from behind. Do not bring food from outside; human snacks are available for purchase. Do not bite or scratch the humans. Do not smell the tails of the humans––it upsets them. Do not ask the humans questions about religion, politics, the existential crisis of not being a cat, and don’t make fun of t
heir hairless monkey bodies. When your assigned time has finished, leave the cafe promptly.”

  “Crickey,” said Philip. “Sounds like a zoo.”

  Betsy climbed on top of Amy. Furball followed the terrier inside and closed the door to the street.

  “Now I know what a sardine feels like,” gasped Amy. “Betsy, get your butt out of my face.”

  “Sorry!”

  A calico cat wearing tiny spectacles above her whiskers walked behind the safety glass. She frowned and tapped on the window with the chewed-up end of a pencil.

  “Is this a college prank?” she asked in a grandmotherly voice. “Can I help you with something?”

  “Yes, please,” gasped Philip. “A glass of water and some breathing room.”

  “The cover charge is five hundred mao plus one drink per person.”

  Furball gurgled and smacked the window with his paw. “Five hundred? But I’m a member of the imperial staff!”

  The cat covered her mouth and yawned. “Ten percent discount.”

  “What?!!”

  Amy patted Furball on the head. At least she thought it was Furball. Even breathing was a challenge considering she was tangled up on Philip’s lap and Betsy’s tail kept swiping back and forth across her face like a windshield wiper.

  “Don’t worry! We’ll pay you back,” she said.

  Furball shook his head. “It’s not that, Miss Armstrong. It’s simply the principle.”

  “Whatever you do, please hurry up. Betsy and his sharp principles are about to tear a hole in my tights.”

  Furball sighed. “Four tickets and four drinks, if you please.”

  He touched the payment diamond below the window, and it flashed blue.

  “Thank you,” said the grandmotherly cat. “Enter to the right and ask your pets to please remove their shoes.”

  Philip chuckled. “We’re not pets.”

  The elderly cat smiled. “I’m sorry––‘companion animals.’”

  The interior door clicked and slid aside. The jumble of humans, Betsy, and Furball fell sideways onto the soft carpet.