Look What the Cat Dragged In
Kira Bacal
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 Kira Bacal
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When I heard the whimper at my back door, I first thought I was imagining it. It had only been a few months since my beloved Ajax had finally crossed the rainbow bridge to the land of bountiful chew toys and dog biscuits, and I frequently mistook the odd scraping of a tree branch as a much-missed scratching at the door. But after a few minutes it became clear that my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me – there really was something out there, in the blinding blizzard.
As soon as I realized it, I rushed to the door. The wind chill factor was enough to freeze your marrow, and it was the kind of day that made even the arctic fox and mountain goat seek shelter from the storm. I had been out once, early that morning, to refill my woodbox, and I had had no intention of opening the door again. I’ve lived up here in the frozen north for a number of years, and I’m well able to cope with bitter winters. My cabin is snug, I have more than adequate supplies, and if my environs are lacking in my fellow humans, well, that was fine with me too. Don’t get me wrong – I’m not a hermit, but I love the wilderness and need my solitude in order to write. That said, I would no sooner leave man or beast outside in this sort of weather than I would set my hair on fire or play the accordion.
I opened the back door, bracing against the force of the wind. The instant the door opened, a small furry form fell into the room. It had been huddled against the doorframe and had not the strength to remain upright when robbed of its support. I pulled it inside and hastily shut the door again, though not before a sizable drift had accumulated and the temperature in my kitchen dropped by several degrees. It was then that I could turn my attention to the wretched creature lying limp on the floor.
I snatched up a towel and gently gathered the poor thing into my arms. It was ice cold, with snow caked over its fur. Only the barest whisper of breath let me know my intervention hadn’t come too late. Cursing my stupidity and delay, I hurried over to the wood-burning stove and opened its door, allowing heat to wash over the animal. It was a little scrap of a thing – with tawny fur and no tail to speak of. At first I was too busy drying and warming the creature to examine it closely, but after I had gotten it settled in a deep box lined with warm towels, I took a second look. At first I’d wondered if it weren’t some kind of large ground squirrel, then revised my opinion to a kind of fox. But when it opened its eyes, it let out a plaintive mew, and I realized it must be a kitten.
But a kitten? So far from civilization? I’m miles from my nearest neighbor and even further from the nearest paved road. How could a domestic cat have made it this far out into the wilderness? A sudden terror that it was not alone – that there were other littermates freezing to death in the cold – made me hurry into my boots and coat and venture outside. But the wind had already eradicated all signs of the kitten’s approach, and I couldn’t find anything else in the vicinity.
I returned to the cabin and sighed. It looked like I had acquired a cat. I named her Amber, for her beautiful fur, and resigned myself to several weeks of nighttime bottle feedings. To my surprise, Amber recovered quickly – so quickly it was almost miraculous. By the next morning, she was out of her box and investigating the cabin. I soon realized she could not have been domesticated, because everything was clearly new to her. She immediately realized the value of the refrigerator and the can opener, but oddly, she was equally enthralled by the computer and bookshelves. It was endearing the way she curled up in my lap while I read or worked on my book – and she regarded me with such a quizzical expression on her funny little face that I found myself testing out new passages on her!
She was an odd-looking creature, unlike any cat I had ever owned. Her forelegs were deformed, giving her a creeping gait and causing her to frequently walk on her hind legs. I wondered if these defects had caused her mother to reject her – perhaps that was why she was wandering in the snowstorm. She was undoubtedly smart. She learned her name and numerous phrases within a few days. I had never before had a cat who would follow commands, but Amber was so responsive that I began talking to her as if she were human
That first night, she had of course started sleeping in my bed, but after a few weeks, I began to regret my initial generosity. Amber was growing at an incredible pace, and I once again revised my opinion of her parentage. Before long, she had outstripped even a Maine coon -- she had to be part lynx, if not cougar. And yet, she had none of the unpredictability or wariness that the wild cats display. She craved human attention and carried on dreadfully if I shut her away. She soon became my constant companion, and I found myself more devoted to her than I would have thought possible.
It became a game to see how much I could teach her. Her intelligence was formidable, as if her brain were compensating for her physical limitations. In truth, though, it was easy to forget her handicap. She was surprisingly graceful and moved about the cabin effortlessly. The only problem came with her incredibly long and sharp claws, which snicked out of their sheaths with alarming frequency. Happily, her intelligence allowed her to quickly link her unsheathing the claws with my cries of pain – and her immediate banishment to the bathroom – and so even that hurdle was rapidly overcome. I determined to take her into the vet as soon as the worst of the snows were over. I was curious to see what Darr would make of her – and as eager to show off her tricks as a stage mother.
That was the plan anyway. But all that changed one moonless night.
Amber and I were asleep in bed when a noise awoke me. The kitchen window had shown a recent tendency to sag just enough to allow a treacherous draft to whistle in and that had blown things off the countertop before. With a stifled oath, I left my nice warm bed and padded into the kitchen, determined to fix it once and for all. As I paused in the doorway and groped for the light switch, my wrist was seized in a grip of iron and an arm encircled my throat.
I gasped in pure terror, but before I could scream, a blade was pressed against my throat and a deep, breathy voice spoke in my ear. “Where is she?”
I was too frightened to reply immediately. My eyes could just barely discern two shadowy figures in the gloom. One had me in his sharp embrace – the other was at the far end of the room, peering into my workshop. “Where is she?” my captor repeated, digging the knife in more deeply.
I could feel hot, sticky blood run down my neck. “Wh—who?” I managed to stammer, my tongue thickened by terror. “There’s no one here but me.”
“What did you do with her?” the other demanded. Like the first, his voice was low and whispery, almost a growl.
“I don’t know who you mean,” I protested, growing frantic as the knife pressed harder. “Please – please don’t hurt me. Take what you want, but don’t hurt me.”
“Pah!” The far one spat out an oath of frustration. “It’s lying! Kill it now!”
“We need the information it can provide,” the other snapped. “Tell me,” he demanded, turning back to me. “Where is she now?”
“Who?” I asked, nearly sobbing in fear and bewilderment. “I don’t know who you’re talking about!”
“Can you find anything in there?”
“No sign,” replied the other angrily. “But in these outfits we are deaf and blind!”
“Use the equipment, then!”
I managed to calm down a bit during their momentary inattention and focused on learning more about my attackers. I was sure I had never seen them before – they were wearing clothing that entirely covered them – motorcycle helmets covered their heads and faces, and they were in some kind of leather pants and jacket – even their hands were gloved. They must belong to a motorcycle gang, though we’d never before seen any this far north. What could they possibly want here? Did they think that I, a middle aged woman, had some kind of drug stash or arms cache? I was an author, not a doctor or a survivalist nut.
“This piece of shplud is worthless!” the first one snarled, shaking something in his hand. “What do you expect of denebian work? I can’t get anything from it.”
“All right.” The one holding me seemed to be the leader. “Then we’ll have to take it back with us and interrogate it there. It’s still the only lead we have.”
My blood ran cold. I knew the statistics: once abducted, your likelihood of surviving a violent assault was dismal. Every self-defense course I had ever taken was adamant on that point. Never, ever let yourself be kidnapped. Well, at least I could die in my own home.
“Come with us.” Lulled by my passivity, the one holding the knife to my throat lowered the blade in order to get a better grip on my shoulder. The instant the steel was away from my throat, I struck. I shoved at his chest with all my might, knocking him off balance. He stumbled back, letting out a curse in some foreign language, and slashed at me with the knife. I wasn’t there any longer – no sooner had I pushed him than I had dropped to the ground, and his blow passed harmlessly over my head. I dove for the kitchen table – at least here, I was in familiar territory. I scrambled beneath it, narrowly avoiding getting tangled in my long nightgown, and fetched up against the far wall.
“Get out!” I screamed, snatching my hiking staff from its stand by the door. “Get out of here!”
The one I had shoved had regained his footing and was coming around the table towards me. The other one left the workshop and moved to flank me, passing in front of the door to the bedroom as he did so.
“Go away!” I shouted, swinging the staff from side to side. “I mean it!”
Just as they were about to close in, a tawny thunderbolt shot from the bedroom with a shriek of unadulterated fury. Amber launched herself at the closer of the two and using those poor deformed forelegs, slashed at my assailant’s leg and back. He fell to the side, screaming in pain and surprise, while the other one sprang backwards, away from me.
Amber took advantage of the gap this opened and rushed to my side. She placed herself before me, hissing and spitting furiously. “Good girl, Amber!” I cried, gaining courage from her. I stepped in front of her protectively. She was brave enough for both of us, but she was, after all, only a little cat. Now it was my turn. “Get out of here while you still can!” I brandished my staff threateningly. Amber voiced another defiant scream and tried to shoulder past me.
“Get away from her!” One of the bikers shouted. “Come here!”
“Are you insane?” I snapped back.
The one Amber had wounded climbed painfully to his feet. I shook my stick at him. “Get out!”
“Step away from her! I need a clear shot!”
“Don’t you dare hurt my cat!” I gasped, falling back to stand in front of Amber. She was struggling madly to get in front of me, and I had to take one hand off my staff to ensure that my body was protecting hers.
“She’s protecting it,” one of the bikers said incredulously.
“Well, of course I am!” I snarled at him.
“Streth m’lo nyep!” The other one swore. “Who could have anticipated that?”
“Anyone with half a brain!” I retorted. “Now that you’ve seen there’s no one here, you two just move on! There’s nothing here for you!”
“What do we do now?” One biker asked the other blankly. “This changes everything.”
The other shook his head. “I don’t know. Her welfare is paramount – if she won’t leave it…”
“I’m not going anywhere!” I cried, my fear returning.
“Can’t we just take her?”
“Don’t even try it!” I stepped forward and brought my stick up to my shoulder. Behind me, Amber shrieked a new challenge.
“We’ve got to get her calmed down.”
“It’s a little late for that!” It had been a while since I had played softball, but I remembered my old batting stance.
“What are you doing?” Oblivious to my imminent swing, the biker’s voice was full of shock and alarm. I followed the direction of his gaze and saw his colleague about to doff his helmet. I took a step backwards, reorienting – I should aim for the one whose head was unprotected.
The biker took off his helmet, and I was surprised to see how hairy he was. I knew bikers generally didn’t shave or go to the barber, but I was still surprised to see how completely his hair covered his head and spilled down over his collar. Then he turned to face me, and I saw that he had a full beard and moustache too. His hair fell down over his forehead, giving him the appearance of a furry animal. There was so much hair, his nose was nearly invisible – in fact, as he looked at me, I realized that all I could see were his eyes, but they were an unusual, almond shape. And there was something about the pupils, too, they seemed to glow in the dim light. And then his colleague flipped the light switch and I got my first good look.
“Oh.” That was not just a full beard. The bones were all wrong. The mouth, lipless, with pointed fangs barely visible… He looked like one of those creatures on TV – half man, half cat. And yet, I could tell this was no makeup job. “Oh,” I said again, feeling my knees weaken.
Amber, perhaps reacting to the lessening of tension, let out a quizzical chirrup and looked up at me. Automatically, I glanced down to reassure her and that’s when I realized why the creature before me looked so familiar. He had Amber’s face.
I sat down rather abruptly on the kitchen floor. Amber squeaked in concern and jumped in my lap, raising one gentle paw to touch my lips. I tasted something odd, metallic, and I realized that she still had blood from the other “biker” on her.
“Oh, oh – dear.” I fumbled in the pocket of my robe for a hankie and started cleaning her paws. It was such a normal, domestic task that I felt my mind start to function again.
“I’m sorry to have startled you,” the first creature said to me. He had squatted down on the floor, a respectful distance away. Next to him, his colleague removed his helmet. “But I realized that we needed to talk.”
“Yes.” I cleared my throat and tried again. “Yes, I can see that.”
“We seem to have gotten off to a bad start.”
“Breaking into someone’s house and threatening her with a knife will do that!” I retorted tartly.
He showed his fangs in what I hoped was a smile and raised one hand. A soft flick and suddenly knives – or rather claws – appeared at every fingertip.
“Oh,” I said again softly, feeling reality once more threaten to slip away.
Amber was now sitting in my lap, regarding the other two with unblinking eyes.
“We came here
for the princess,” the other one explained.
“Princess? You
mean Amber?” I looked down in surprise.
“Amber? She is – “ he snarled on a rising note “ – the youngest daughter of the Rrubato clan, and the seventh in line to the – “ another snarl “— throne. She was traveling with her parents when their ship developed engine trouble and crashed on this world.”
“Then her parents –“
“They perished in the crash. We were able to trace their craft to a remote canyon not far from here where we found the bodies. The vessel appears undisturbed.”
“If it crashed the night I found Amber, I can understand why. No one would have been outside to see it come down. She must have walked here from the crash site.” I hugged her close. Poor little thing! Now that I could compare her to the others, I found it hard to believe I had been so stupid. Those “deformed” legs were actually hands – her “crippled” gait was normal for a young biped just learning to walk…
“When we traced the princess to your dwelling, we were naturally concerned.”
I bristled. How dare they imagine I would harm Amber! “Why?”
“Your species’ attitude towards extra-terrestrials is well-known. The documentaries which you broadcast go well beyond your own atmosphere, you know.”
“Documentaries? Oh!” Yes, I could name several movies where extra-terrestrials weren’t treated nicely. If they had come in expecting something like –
“We feared you had relinquished the princess to some form of government testing facility,” he explained apologetically. “We did not realize you had adopted her. Is ‘cat’ a term of endearment among your people? A form of foster child?”
“Yes, that’s exactly right,” I agreed without missing a beat. Even if it wouldn’t have proven disastrous for our newly amicable relationships, I was not about to admit I was stupid enough to mistake an extra-terrestrial for a house cat.
“Well, that does create a new issue. The child is very young, you know. She has clearly bonded to you.”
“And I to her,” I replied, hugging Amber anew.
“What do you propose to do?”
“Me?”
“Clearly the princess cannot remain here. Eventually others of your kind will come, and when they see her – “ He had a point. As she grew larger, Amber’s origins would become more clear. “Besides, she is a member of the royal family and must be educated properly in order to assume her duties when she comes of age.”
My eyes filled with tears. I knew that Amber would have to leave with them, but it still rent my heart to say goodbye. Amber caught my distress and started to whimper.
“So will you come?” the other – person – burst out impatiently.
I sniffled. “Where?”
“Home to Grrrneal. With us.”
“With you? You mean, back – up there?” Incredulous, I pointed out the window towards the stars.
He nodded, his expression almost pleading. “The child has already lost one set of parents. She should not be distressed further. Will you come? It will not be forever – just until she is old enough to bear the separation.”
“Clearly you have made the child an important part of your life. Can you not set aside your other responsibilities – for a time?” the other one coaxed.
“You will be well treated,” the first one hastened to reassure me. “Not only are you a foster mother to one of the Rrubato clan, but our empire is vast and well respected within the galaxy. You will be able to travel – our people have dealings with numerous other species – you might find it most interesting.”
They were offering me an all-expense paid tour of the galaxy? “I suppose I could manage it,” I allowed, trying not to let my delight show.
I couldn’t fool Amber though, she squeaked happily and began warbling to herself. The other two showed their fangs in what I firmly decided I was going to assume were glad smiles. I got to my feet and gestured to the others to do the same. “Good thing I know how to pack light.”
So, after writing a quick note to my nearest neighbor and closing up the cabin, I was off! Don’t tell me there are no angels in this universe – why else would Amber’s ship have crashed so close to the home of a travel writer?
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About the author:
Kira Bacal is a physician and scientist who has worked at NASA and the US Senate, among other odd and wonderful places. She currently lives among towering trees in New Zealand with her two children and a vandalism-prone Leonberger.