by Ruthven Todd
Flyball flicked his head. He never got into trouble. It was only human beings who got into trouble.
Leaving Fred chipping away at the tubes, he set off once more in the direction of the canal. He only stopped once on the way and that was to give one of the hard, heavy mice a friendly knocking about. This time the mouse would have gone on with the game for a longer time, but Flyball remembered his errand. He bustled on toward the canal.
He worked his way through the elephant-eared rhubarb plants and the elephant trunks of the vines, and took up his position near where he had sat the day before.
Soon there were no less than seven of the adoring golden fish, gazing up at him with light green eyes, blowing bubbles to attract his attention. They seemed to expect something from him, but he had no idea of what it could be.
However, Flyball did not pay much attention to the fish. He was watching the other bank of the canal.
“No,” he said to himself, “you won’t see anything. You were just imagining things last night. It was the fading light and the oxygen going down.”
One of the fish blew a bubble which burst with an especially loud plop! Flyball looked down, and when he looked up again—there it stood on the far side!
A really red, a really fire-engine red, cat! It stood there, gazing across at him.
This cat was about his own size, but where his stripes ran down his body, the few stripes the red cat had, of a slightly darker red, ran from its head toward its narrowly ringed tail.
“Miaow,” said Flyball, softly. He did not want to frighten it away. As he spoke, he was suddenly aware that although he might sometimes be awfully snooty about cats who were not space cats, it really was a long time since he had had a good long talk with one of his own kind.
“Meeowee!” answered the Martian cat, rather louder, with its pink whiskers shivering.
Flyball nearly fell into the canal in surprise. He knew what the Martian cat was saying! Its accent was different from that of the cats he had known on Earth, but it still was speaking perfectly good Cat. It wanted to know where he came from and who he was.
“How do you do?” Flyball was polite. “My name is Flyball and I come from Earth.” He waved a paw grandly at the sky as he was not sure in which direction Earth lay.
“My name is Moofa,” the other replied. “Why don’t you come over for a chat?”
“Come over?” Flyball asked, looking at all that wet water. “How?”
“Swim, silly.” Moofa was not too polite. Flyball looked at the water again and shuddered, right down to the ends of his whiskers. He was not at all fond of getting wet. “Oh, well, if you can’t,” Moofa went on, “I must.”
Without hesitation she plunged into the water. Although Flyball had heard that cats could swim, he had never seen one actually do so. With pop-eyes he watched Moofa as, with easy strokes, she swam toward him. It certainly did not look very difficult, but at the same time he was glad he was not in the water with Moofa. It was not only wet, but also cold.
Moofa scrambled up on the bank beside him. Giving herself a shake which sent drops of water flying from the pink tips of her whiskers, she cast a long look at Flyball.
“My, what a beautiful color you are,” she said at last.
Flyball, who knew he was a most handsome gray cat, was not to be outdone.
“I was just about to say the same of you,” he replied. They stood for a moment, admiring one another.
“How would you like a fish?” asked Moofa, changing the subject. She was looking down at the golden fish which, seeing two cats, were now blowing bubbles more merrily than ever.
“Very much indeed,” said Flyball politely. “How do you catch them though?”
“You’ll see,” answered Moofa, with just a touch of superiority in her tone. It suggested that a cat who did not know how to fish was no cat at all.
She pushed her way through the thick plants and reappeared a moment later carrying a slab of spongy fungus in her mouth. She laid this down and broke it up into fragments with her fore paws.
The fish leaped in the water with excitement.
Moofa shovelled the crumbled fungus off the bank and the fish crowded round it eagerly.
She examined the bustling fish with an experienced eye and then, leaning over the water, hooked out the fattest one with an expert paw and killed it with a quick thump behind the head.
“How’s that?” she asked, with just a suggestion of pride in her voice.
Flyball, being a clever cat himself and admiring cleverness in others, was most enthusiastic.
“I don’t know how you do it,” he said, and he really meant it.
He could never have caught a fish in an open canal, himself. The nearest he had ever got to fishing was trying to flip a goldfish out of a bowl, and then his paws had got too wet and that had discouraged him.
“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” replied Moofa, looking modest, as she neatly divided the fish between them. “I was brought up to do it as a kitten. And if you learn young enough, anything is easy!”
“Are there many cats on Mars?” Flyball wanted to know. This was a superior cat. A cat in his own class. Though he really liked his fish cooked, he made a start on the portion that Moofa pushed toward him and had to admit that it was good.
“So far as I know,” Moofa replied, curling her tongue to pick a piece of fish from her whiskers, “I’m the last. When I’m gone there will be no cats on Mars!”
“I never expected to meet an ordinary—oh, I’m sorry—I mean a cat the same as myself here,” Flyball said. He thought he detected a note of sorrow in Moofa’s voice and did not want to press the subject.
“Oh, cats are everywhere.” Moofa was positive. Flyball thought for a moment and realized that what she said was nearly true. Cats, he had heard from Fred during their long voyages, were holy animals in ancient Egypt and were made into mummies just like human kings and queens. Now that he thought of it, there was no reason why there should not be cats on Mars, for there certainly were mice, even if they were odd mice. Moofa, on the other hand, seemed to be odd only in her coloring and—in her fishing and swimming habits.
She looked up at the sky, at the scurrying clouds. She twitched her red ears as if listening to something that Flyball could not hear.
“Storm coming up fast,” she announced at last. “We’d better get under cover.”
“Wow!” said Flyball. “I must get back to the ship. Fred’s there and he’ll be worried. These humans.” Moofa looked puzzled, not knowing what a human was. “These humans do worry so!” added Flyball.
“Where’s your ship?” asked Moofa, wiping the last of the fish off her whiskers.
Flyball led the way through the thick plants and they both jumped up on top of a pale lavender mushroom.
“There.” Flyball waved a paw toward it.
Moofa glanced up at the sky again and at the distant Halley. She scratched her nose thoughtfully.
“I don’t think you can make it,” she said. “I know a place near here. We’d better go there.”
“No!” Flyball was firm. “I’ve got to go to Fred. He won’t know what to do without me.”
He jumped off the mushroom and started loping along as fast as he could. Suddenly he was aware that Moofa was running beside him.
“You don’t need to come,” he edged out between his thinned mouth.
“Of course, I do.” Moofa answered, “You wouldn’t know what to do if you were caught in the storm.”
Already the sky was darkening and the wind was pushing hard behind them, whipping them with brick-colored grains of sand. They ran as fast as they could, but Flyball had a sneaking feeling that if he had not been with her, Moofa could have run even faster.
It grew darker and darker and the wind blew harder and harder. The specks of red dust stung like thousands of bees, and still the Halley was a long way off.
Then, in front of them in the murk, they saw a strange figure coming toward them, bent almost double as it fo
ught against the wind.
Flyball jumped up on it. It was Fred, his calls for Flyball being carried away behind him.
Fred did not speak. He could not, for he was covered from head to foot with the thick red dust. He turned, Flyball in his arms, and started to struggle back toward the Halley, which they could not see in the thick dust.
Then Flyball became aware that Moofa was calling loudly. “You won’t make it,” she cried. “You’d better follow me.”
Flyball squirmed out of Fred’s arms and landed on the ground. He was immediately blown over by the howling wind. He stood up and started to follow Moofa, who went ahead as slowly as she could with the wind blasting behind her. Fred, looking through dust-filled eyes, followed them.
Suddenly Moofa rounded a bluff and there, sheltered from the wind, was a great hole in a bank. She dived into this and Flyball followed her. Fred, not seeing what else he could do, came behind. It was so dark in the cave that only cats could see clearly.
Fred slumped to the ground, and in the dark did his best to remove the grit and grime from around his mouth, nostrils and eyes. Flyball and Moofa also cleaned themselves.
When his eyes had become accustomed to the dark, Flyball was surprised to find that, in addition to Moofa, Fred and himself, the cave was also giving shelter to an enormous number of different insects and several dozen mice. He looked at the mice in astonishment, and then at Moofa, who was washing her ears with her paws.
“Oh, these,” she exclaimed, giving a mouse a friendly cuff that sent it bowling across the cave. “They do like to play, don’t they?” And the mouse ran toward her again.
The cave, dark as it had been, was growing darker. Down the funnel of the mouth there came the weird whistling of the tremendous wind. Flyball was glad he was inside, but he wondered how Fred felt, as he knew that he could not see in the dark.
He jumped up on Fred’s lap and lay there. Fred put a hand on his ears and pulled them back and Flyball gave a friendly purr.
The wind whistled and screamed. Even inside the cave the air became thick with choking red dust. Flyball and Fred, unused to it, kept on sneezing, but neither Moofa nor the others seemed the least affected by it.
Calling Moofa nearer to him, Flyball started to ask her about her life.
She was the youngest of a large family of Martian cats, the last family of cats alive on the planet. She had been left at home on the day that the rest of them had gone on an excursion into the desert. A terrible storm had sprung up suddenly and none of them had ever been seen again. Moofa had hunted and hunted for them, but with no success.
Fortunately, before her family had disappeared, they had started teaching her the art of fishing, for all Martian cats had lived by fishing as far back as their remembered history went. So she had been able to live very well, even if she often felt horribly lonely. She had cheered herself up with the thought that, perhaps, her family had been wrong, and that somewhere on Mars there might be another family of cats.
Only recently, however, having done her best to explore the whole planet, she had sadly decided that she was, indeed, the last of the Martian cats. When she had gone, there would be no more beautiful bright red cats to feed the fish and catch them.
Flyball felt terribly sorry for her. Even the armored mice could not make up for the lack of her own kind.
He changed the subject. He wanted to know how the animals managed to live through the nights.
Moofa explained that when the plants stopped giving out oxygen and during dust storms, all the Martian animals lived in the caves, which gathered oxygen enough to keep them over night, even if they could not keep out all the dust.
As she spoke, Flyball looked at her gravely in the deep gloom. Except for her beautiful bright red color, she might very well have been an Earth cat. He tried to explain to her about human beings, and how they existed only to do things for cats, even though they might think they were doing them for themselves. But Moofa could not understand, and Flyball saw that she would have to meet Fred properly once they got out of the cave. Then, perhaps, he could explain things to her.
As he thought of getting out of the cave, he jumped off Fred’s lap. Fred seemed to be dozing in the dark, and so he did not feel him go. Flyball strolled toward the entrance, accompanied by Moofa.
Outside, the sky seemed to be just a little lighter, though the wind still howled as loudly. He looked inquiringly at her.
“We’ll be able to go out again in a little while,” she said comfortingly, “and then you’ll be able to introduce me to your poor friend. It must be terrible not to be able to see in the dark. I’m not surprised that he needs you to look after him.”
Flyball was getting impatient. He wanted to get out again and to show off his new friend to Fred.
“These storms die down as quickly as they spring up,” said Moofa, curling her paws comfortably under her chin. “There’s nothing to do but wait them out.”
It seemed as though it was a long time before Moofa uncurled herself and strolled toward the entrance.
“We can go now,” she announced. “There’s still a lot of dust in the air, but it shouldn’t worry you too much. It doesn’t worry me”
Flyball went over and gnawed gently on Fred’s hand. He woke with a start and then seemed to realize that it was all right and that it was only his friend waking him. The opening of the cave was a bright light against the dark inside and, very cautiously, he stumbled toward it.
Outside, he stood straight and sneezed and then wiped his eyes. He looked down at Flyball, then stepped back in surprise. For, instead of the one cat he had expected, there were two of them, and the new one was so beautiful that he could hardly believe his eyes.
Moofa advanced and following Flyball’s example, rubbed herself against Fred’s leg, sending clouds of dust into the air. She allowed him to bend down and scratch her under the chin and then pull her ears back and run his gritty hand along her back. Finally, she gave a contented purr.
She turned to Flyball. “I like your human being,” she announced.
After a minute they turned toward the Halley. Already a cool fresh breeze, very different from the wind of the dust storm, was blowing the lichens and fungi clean. Fred went into the Halley and picked up a change of clothes.
“Before long,” he told Flyball, “I’m going down to your canal and I’m going to take a swim. I’ll have to do something to get this dust out of my pores.”
Flyball purred approvingly. When he told Moofa what Fred had said, for, though she spoke cat language, she had never heard a human before, she also purred, and started off toward the canal.
Fred followed them, and on the bank of the canal, stripped and dived in. When he came up, he was astonished to see Moofa swimming around beside him. Flyball sat on the bank looking most disapproving. It really was tiresome of Moofa to show off like that.
“Hi, Flyball,” Fred called, pushing his wet hair back. “If your friend here can swim, why can’t you? Afraid of the water?”
Flyball squinted down his nose. He was not afraid of the water. It was only that he did not like the stuff. It was mean of Fred to jeer at him.
Then Moofa joined in. “Why don’t you try it?” she called. “It’s not difficult, and it’s great fun.”
Flyball glowered at both of them. Then he decided that, as a space cat, he had dared everything else, so why not even horrible, cold water?
He rose and jumped into the water with a tremendous splash, terribly different from the neat dives made by Moofa and Fred. It was, he found, as he came up spluttering, even worse than he had expected. Not only was it cold and wet, but it got in his nose and eyes. However, he was astonished to discover that although his swimming was not as neat as Moofa’s, he could keep afloat. He paddled over to the far bank and back again. Then he decided that he had shown them that he too could swim—and scrambled out.
While Moofa and Fred swam about, dodging one another and diving under, Flyball devoted his time to the job of gett
ing all the horrible natural water out of his fur. Now that he had shown them that he, too, could swim if he wanted to do so, he was determined that he would never swim again unless he had to!
At last, however, both Fred and Moofa seemed to have had enough. They came to the bank and clambered out. While Fred was drying himself and dressing, Moofa came over to Flyball.
“I’m sorry,” she said humbly. “I didn’t mean to make you swim if you didn’t want to.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” Flyball replied, his anger disappearing. “I just wanted to show you that I could swim if I wanted to.” It was, he thought, impossible to be angry with the only other cat he had encountered in space.
When Fred was dressed, they all went back toward the ship. Moofa and Flyball, the red and the grey, walked in front, with their tails stuck proudly in the air.
Moofa entered the Halley with them, and looked around her approvingly.
“You’ve got a nice place here,” she said to Flyball. She was thinking of the hard life she had led on Mars, sleeping in caves which only held just enough oxygen to last the night, and fishing for food. She was delighted when Fred opened a can of sardines for her.
She ate them daintily, and licked the last luscious drop of oil from her pink whiskers. She told Flyball that she had never had a more delightful meal in all her life, and that, as a matter of cold fact, she was really getting more than a little tired of the eternal sameness of the Martian fish. They always tasted the same, day in and day out. Even when Flyball told her about it, she could not imagine the varied richness of Earth food—shrimps, cod-head, kippers, oysters and so on, and even cans of food which were specially packed for cats.
She could not quite believe in a world where cats did not have to go out to fish for their own fish, but kept people to do the job for them.
Until the storm had blown up so suddenly, Fred had been making good progress with his job of clearing the rocket-tubes. He had found out that rather than chip away the blue glass with a cold chisel, he could flake it off in larger pieces by banging the outsides of the tubes.
