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Martin Harry Greenberg, Janet Deaver-Pack, Esther M. Friesner, Richard Lee Byers, Edward Carmien, Lee Martindale, Paul Genesse, Jana Paniccia, Donald J. Bingle, Bruce A. Heard, Christopher Welch, Jean Rabe, Marc Tassin, Elaine Cu

Catopolis

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

“The Persian, The Coon, and Bullets,” by Matthew Woodring Stover

INTRODUCTION, OR “PROPAW”

As most of you know, I’ve lived with cats for much of my life. A gorgeous, elegant long-haired gray and white lady I christened Star because of the markings across her face adopted me when I was four. Apparently, life in the house three doors south of my home wasn’t to her taste. With very little encouragement, and ignoring the strenuous protests of my mother as only a cat can, Star became “my” pet. (My oldest sister fed her, encouraged her to stay, and blamed it on me.) Star and her numerous offspring became close friends, homework helpers, and play-mates as I grew up.

I began to suspect that there was more to “domestic” feline society many years ago. I couldn’t get any of my furry associates to tell me more than snippets of things going on in that hidden level of existence. They didn’t want me to get in trouble with either the humans I had to live with, or with other cats. And especially not with the Goddess Bast, who might have taken offense and squashed my earliest investigations. She seemed amused instead. I persisted, trying to discover more of the unique society I knew must be brimming just beneath the human stratum. The longer I lived with cats, the more sure I was that they had communication and rich lives beyond what I saw.

Prince, son of Star, was not the most talkative of cats. An almost-feral, I persuaded him from the garage to the back porch with treats. He liked his comforts too much to imperil them by whispering to me the secrets of his kind. But he loved curling up in my lap, sighing, and making vague references to things I, a grade-schooler, couldn’t quite put together.

After Prince died of old age, Ari Mithral Sha

After all this time, I began to understand.

I’ve gleaned much more through close living with my current trio. Tabirika Onyx has extensive conversations with crows when the windows are screened during the summer months. She also tells the deer when they’re too close to the house and monitors the crazed hollering of the chipmunks. Her information network is extensive, and she keeps a paw on everything going on in the neighborhood from our windowsills. Syra

All of this information slammed together in a headache not too long ago. That’s when the idea for Catopolis was born. Cat society, as thick and varied as that of humans, exists in a stratum below ours. We see only a fraction of it. It is there, our feline companions allowing us to know bits and pieces of its tapestry, while they watch us with knowing eyes.

I started keeping notes about a Catopolis society. My cats, after they became accustomed to my knowledge about their secrets, contributed a goodly proportion of the details. We believe this has Bast’s approbation, because our notes haven’t disappeared in flames, been shredded by ghostly claws, fluttered away without the agent of wind, or destroyed by soggy organic means. The authors telling the tales within these pages offered to flesh out the rest, building on our initial descriptions.

And we all had a lot of fun.

So welcome to Catopolis, the city of felines that exists on the same plane with humans, yet is hidden. Here you’ll find Guardians, mentors, detectives, Robin Hood-second story types, demon-fighters, guides, kings, strays, oracles, true love, incredible friendships, and those hoping to win elected positions via mouse ballots. (Those may have to be rethought before next time: there were too many missing for an accurate count).

Enjoy!

Janet Deaver-Pack

Tabirika Onyx

Syra

Baron Figaro de Sha

Williams Bay, Wisconsin

Autumn 2007

GUT FEELING by Esther M. Friesner

The small, plump tabby female sat before the massive black and white tom and did her best not to let him see her shiver. Courage, Lulu! she told herself. He can’t kill you. He wouldn’t dare. But even as she did her best to hold onto her last few shreds of valor, an insidious afterthought whispered: He can’t kill you… yet.

Unaware of the female’s fear, the big tom gave her a long, cool stare from beneath half-lowered eyelids. “Well, kit? Have you reconsidered my… request?” he drawled.

“I have,” Lulu replied, keeping her voice steady. “My answer’s unchanged. I won’t betray my gift by making a false prediction.”

“Ah, but would it be false?” The black and white tom licked one paw lazily, then opened his mouth so that one of his minions could pop in a KrunchiYum cat treat. “I will be the sole, undisputed ruler of Catopolis. It is fated. Your prediction will simply hasten the happy day.”

Despite her fear, Lulu scowled. “If you’re so certain it’s predestined, you don’t need my services.”