The Second Cat Megapack. George Zebrowski

was deaf and blind.

      Something moved in the grass. Hrurr stiffened. A small, gray cat was watching him. For an instant, he thought that his musings about Mewleen had caused the creature to ap­pear. In the next instant, he leaped at the cat, snarling as he raised his hair.

      “Ha!” the smaller cat cried, nipping his ear. Hrurr swatted him, narrowly missing his eyes. They rolled on the ground, claws digging into each other’s fur. Hrurr meowed, longing for a fight.

      The other cat suddenly released him, rolling out of reach, then hissing as he nursed his scratches. Hrurr licked his paw, hissing back. “You’re no match for me, Kitten,” He waited for a gesture of submission.

      “You think not? I may be smaller, but you’re older.”

      “True enough. You’re only a kitten.”

      “Don’t call me a kitten. My name is Ylawl. Kindly address me properly.”

      “You’re a kitten.”

      The other cat raised his head haughtily. “What are you doing here?”

      “I might ask the same question of you.”

      “I go where I please.”

      “So do I.”

      The younger cat sidled toward him, but kept his distance. “Did a two-legs bring you here?” he asked at last.

      “No,” Hrurr replied. “I came alone.”

      Ylawl tilted his head; Hrurr thought he saw a gleam of respect in his eyes. “Then you are one like me.”

      Ylawl was still. Hrurr, eyes unmoving for a moment, was trapped in timelessness; the world became a gray field, as it always did when he did not pay attention to it directly. Mewleen had said such visions came to all cats. He flicked his eyes from side to side, and the world returned.

      “There is something of importance here,” he said to Ylawl. “A friend of mine has told me that this might be a place where one can cross from one world into another. He was about to tell the other cat of the vision that had come to him while he was gazing at the valley, but checked himself.

      “It is a cage,” Ylawl responded, glancing up at the chalet. “Every day, the metal beasts crawl up there and disgorge the two-legged ones from their bellies, allowing them to gather around those inside, and then they crawl away, only to return. These two-legged ones are so prized that most of this moun­tain is their enclosure.”

      Hrurr stretched. “I would not want to be so prized that I was imprisoned.”

      “It’s different for a two-legs. They live as the ants do, or the bees. Only those not prized are free to roam.”

      Hrurr thought of his two-legged creatures who had been taken from him; they might be roaming even now. He was suddenly irritated with Ylawl, who in spite of his youth was speaking as though he had acquired great wisdom. Hrurr raised his fur, trying to look fierce. “You are a foolish cat,” he said, crouching, ready to pounce. Ylawl’s tail thrust angrily from side to side.

      A short, sharp sound broke the silence. Hrurr flattened his ears; Ylawl’s tail curled against his body. The bark rang out once more.

      Ylawl scrambled up and darted toward a group of trees, concealing himself in the shadows; Hrurr followed him, crouching low when he reached the other cat’s side. “So there are dogs here,” he muttered. “And you must hide, along with me.”

      “These dogs don’t scare me,” Ylawl said, but his fur was stiff and his ears were flat against his head.

      A female two-legs was walking down the path, trailed by two others of her kind. A black terrier was connected to her by a leash; a second terrier was leashed to one of her compan­ions. Hrurr’s whiskers twitched with contempt at those badges of slavery.

      As the group came nearer, one of the dogs yipped, “I smell a cat, I smell a cat.” He tugged at his leash as the female two-legs held on, crooning softly.

      “So do I,” the second dog said as his female struggled to restrain him.

      “Negus!” the two-legs in the lead cried out as she knelt, drawing the dog to her. She began to murmur to him, moving her lips in the manner such creatures used for speaking. “Is that dog loose again?”

      “I am sure she isn’t,” one female replied.

      “How she hates my darlings. I wish Bormann had never given her to Adolf.” The two-legged one’s mouth twisted.

      “There’s a cat nearby,” the dog said. The two-legs, unable to hear his words, stood up again; she was taller than her com­panions, with fair head fur and a smiling face.

      “He must listen to the generals today, Eva,” one of the other females said. Hrurr narrowed his eyes. He had never been able to grasp their talk entirely, mastering only the sounds his two-legged ones had used to address him or to call him inside for food.

      “Why talk of that here?” the fair-furred one replied. “I have nothing to say about it. I have no influence, as you well know.”

      Her terrier had wandered to the limit of his leash, farther down the path toward the hidden cats. Lifting a leg, he uri­nated on one of the wooden fence posts lining the walkway. “I know you’re there,” the dog said, sniffing.

      “Ah, Negus,” Ylawl answered. “I see you and Stasi are still imprisoned. Don’t you ever want to be free?”

      “Free to starve? Free to wander without a master’s gentle hand? I think not.” He sniffed again. “There is another with you, Ylawl.”

      “Another free soul.”

      Negus barked, straining at his leash, but his two-legs was already urging him back toward the chalet. Ylawl stretched out on his side. “Slavish beast.” The gray cat closed his eyes. “He has even forgotten his true name, and knows only the one that the two-legs calls him.” He yawned. “And the other one is even worse.”

      “His companion there?”

      “No, a much larger dog who also lives in that enclosure.” Ylawl rolled onto his stomach, looking up at the chalet. “That one is so besotted by her two-legs that she has begun to lose her ability to hear our speech.”

      “Is such a thing possible?”

      “The two-legged ones have lost it, or never had it to begin with,” Ylawl said. “They cannot even hear our true names, much as we shout them, and in their ignorance must call us by other sounds. Those who draw too close to such beings may lose such a skill as well.”

      Hrurr dug his claws into the ground. He had never cared for dogs, clumsy creatures who would suffer almost any indig­nity, but the thought that a dog might lose powers of speech and hearing drew his pity. Mewleen was right, he thought. He had crossed into a world where such evil things could happen. A growl rose in his throat as he curled his tail.

      “What’s the matter with you?” Ylawl asked.

      “I cannot believe it. A dog who cannot speak.”

      ‘You can’t have seen much of the world, then. You’re lucky you didn’t run into a guard dog. Try to talk to one of them, and he’ll go for your throat without so much as a how-de-do. All you’ll hear are barks and grunts.”

      The worldly young cat was beginning to annoy him. Hrurr swatted him with a paw, Ylawl struck back, and they were soon tussling under the trees, meowing fiercely. He tried to sink his teeth into Ylawl’s fur, only to be repulsed by a claw.

      Hrurr withdrew. Ylawl glared at him with gleaming eyes. “Now I understand,” Hrurr said softly. “I know why I was drawn here.”

      “And why is that?” the young cat said, flicking his tail.

      “I must speak to this dog you mentioned. If she realizes what is happening to her, she’ll want to escape. Not that I care for dogs, you understand,