Catopolis

Tufts of fur floated in the air and blood stained the stone. Big-Paws and Stefan were locked in a ball of fury atop the precipice.

“Stop!” Cassie sprinted forward.

Big-Paws didn’t react to her appeal. His head shot forward as the Russian hesitated, and he locked his jaws around Stefan’s throat. Howling, the gangster threw his weight to one side. Both toppled over the edge in front of Cassie’s horror-filled eyes.

The sudden quiet was a shock. Cassie stood there, quivering in every muscle. When she could move again, she slowly approached the ledge. Jumping up, she peered down into the darkness.

They were both gone. She was alone. Their deaths were on her paws. A wail ripped from her throat.

“Don’t jump, whatever you do.”

Cassie stopped yowling. She looked closer. Bloody and tattered, Mr. Big-Paws stood on the balcony one floor below the roof. There was no sign of Stefan. She knew that from this height, landing on one’s feet wouldn’t help much.

Cassie met Big-Paws by the stairs a few moments later. They limped into the garden together in silence.

“I came back for you, Kitty.” He nuzzled her. Cassie inhaled his musky scent and felt herself getting warm all over.

“I’m so glad you did. I missed you a lot.” Cassie buried her nose in his bloody, matted chest fur.

“You’re the only queen for me.” He licked her face, and she knew he loved her. They would have kittens together, and life in the city would be purrfect.

She was sure. He was the one. Their eyes met and Cassie said, “I think it’s time.”

“Time for what?” he asked.

Cassie purred, felt the primal heat building into a fire. She licked her lips provocatively and smiled. “It’s time to find out if it’s true what they say about cats with big paws.”

FOR THE BIRDS by Jana Paniccia

Around noontime on Election Day, it was as if a dozen still-living mice began to squirm in my stomach. To try to settle the feeling, I left my aides behind at the E-Day headquarters and pattered down to the bluffs behind City Hall. After raining all morning, the sun was peeking through the clouds, casting a rainbow over the forested river bank opposite. Awe tingled through me, spreading down my back all the way to my toes as I watched the rays of color illuminate the sky.

A sign of destiny?

By the time darkness leached the light from the sky, all the votes would be counted. One way or another, my path would be marked.

“Mr. Churchill. Mr. Churchill!” I twitched my nose, catching the scent of Diefenbaker, my campaign manager, as he barreled around the bend leading from the front entrance of the municipal complex, his white and brown coat all ashambles.

Something official, then. If he’d been coming from the victory-I hoped-party set-up, he’d have come up the path toward me and not approached from behind.

“What’s happened?” I demanded. I kept my tail steady, not willing to show any sign of uncertainty. The first thing I had learned early in my career was that good carriage was important even when your nerves felt as if they’d rake your fur into prickly points. I dug my claws into the stonework of the wall protecting unwary visitors from the sheer drop to the river below.

Someone’s seen through my façade. They’re going to cede the election to Whittington. My life is ruined.

There was no way to keep such fears from tumbling through my thoughts. After all, everyone trusted Whittington. His namesake had had a cat after all-one with posture and poise-a true noble. It didn’t matter that Whittington was only a name chosen to give my competitor credibility. Thanks to that blasted story, his moniker was legend.

Certainly, my namesake was revered also. Yet, try as I might, Whittington had the upper paw with voters. Maybe if we were in a time of war, it would be different.

The truth was, the real Whittington’s cat had been of noble background, and my competition was as well. He could trace his lineage back to the old country; his ancestors had come over among the first settlers. No wonder the masses were drawn to him. The populace always voted for those with a pedigree.

If they’ve learned the truth, I won’t even have a chance…

“Protestors, sir!” Diefenbaker panted. “Down where the vote’s being counted!”

“Thank goodness for rats.” I said, casting aside my doubts in favor of dealing with Diefenbaker’s dilemma.

“No sir. Birds.”

Birds?

Crinkling paper caught my attention as an old tabby curled up in a nest of rags and newspaper perked his ears. With his patchy fur set against the muddled shade of the municipal buildings, I hadn’t noticed him before.

Wish we could get more of these alley cats off the streets and into good homes. If I get elected…

I couldn’t think about that yet. I had to get the office first, which meant dealing with the birds right now, whatever they were up to.

“They’ve surrounded the Chief Elections Officer and are holding up the vote,” Diefenbaker continued, his gold eyes wide.

I sighed. It wasn’t easy to plan an E-Day. Picking a time when few humans would notice the absence of their “pets,” or the rise in the numbers of felines crossing the city as they hitched rides to their polling locations, was a struggle at the best of times. If protesters were up in paws, or claws, we’d never be able to keep our activity from the other communities at large. Someone would notice. Someone would start asking hard questions.

“What’s Whittington doing?” I asked, knowing my fellow candidate would be taking advantage of the situation in any way possible.

“He’s already speaking to them, telling the leader that when he gets reelected, he’ll be sure to bring their concerns to the City Council. That if they let the voters through to the polls, he’ll make certain they get a chance to plead their case.”

“And do the protesters believe him?”

“No, sir,” Diefenbaker gri

Good. At least they won’t be using him as leverage.

This protest could not have come at a worse time. If the votes didn’t get through and counted, the election would be discounted and postponed until next year. It would take that long to set up another ballot and get the word around.

Maybe I shouldn’t have put all my catnip in the same place. I’ll never keep my secret another year…

I swept my tongue over my chest, thinking. A hollow ache tugged at my stomach, reminding me of lunch. I hadn’t eaten all day, what with making last minute cat-calls to influential voters.

Birds. Most cats considered them fair game, especially the ferals, who had no steady food source. I’d even chased them a time or two, all in good fun. But I’d never hurt one intentionally.

Now Whittington… I could easily imagine him pulling a bird out of the sky. I glanced up at the rainbow, still a shimmering arc against the blue. Soon flowers would bring a similar spread of colors to the forest, and the pedigreed and wealthy upper class would make for their country vacation homes. Whittington’s ilk liked to hunt. When the summer came, they’d all be out chasing birds with vigor.

That’s it! Ba

It’s a sport of the wealthy anyway. Most cats disliked the hunts almost as much as I did. There was a huge difference between chasing for fun and killing for sport, after all.

If I promised to ban them, there were sure to be rumors. Je

No wonder the news has gone to the dogs. No cat in his right mind would lose his sense of objectivity like that.

But it wasn’t the first day of the election contest. It was E-Day, the final day. Surely, I could hold the hounds off long enough for the vote to be counted.