CHAPTER 02 - MITTENS VISITS A FRIEND
Mittens sauntered down the middle of the gravel road, tail held high. To his left and right, a handful of rough stone-and-wood buildings with colorful markings catered to the Rifters and, occasionally, mundane travelers. The cat preferred to avoid these buildings, since they were where the Rifters preferred to visit. The strange otherworlders tended to be rather cat-unfriendly, so Mittens tended to be rather Rifter-unfriendly.
Turning down a dirt path between a noisy building filled with banging noises, and a noisy building filled with yelling and laughter, a tiny black shadow darted across the way. Mittens froze, then crouched, tail held still. It was a rat! He loved rats! Well, he loved to hunt them, and that counted.
Holding himself low to the ground, the hunter crept forward in rapid bursts of silent movement. The rat was gnawing on some piece of discarded foodstuff from the tavern, distracted as much by the noise from within the building as by the tasty morsel within its mouth. Reaching two Mittens of distance from the rat, the cat further lowered his front, raising his rear and adjusting his tail calibration for maximum pouncing accuracy. He stilled.
Suddenly, a furry gray missile launched with pinpoint precision. The rat gave a startled squeak, tried to scramble away, then went limp as the mighty hunter’s powerful jaws closed on its neck and sharp claws pulled the rest of the body away. Spine severed, the rat died near instantly. Like every time he caught a rat, Mittens ignored the cheerful “ding” sound and flash of squiggly lines that appeared in the corner of his vision.
The cat proudly carried his prey to the back of the yelling-noises building, and hopped onto the raised floor. A measured “hawm!” drew the attention of a human who, after making the appropriately respectful human sounds, traded a small piece of meat for the rat. Mittens wasn’t entirely sure what the humans did with all the rats he brought, but as long as they were willing to trade fresh, clean, delicious meat for the dirty, smelly, mediocre-tasting rats, he didn’t care.
After devouring the tasty morsel, Mittens ambled away from the building. Further from the gravel road, dirt paths lead to smaller wooden dwellings for the village’s humans and their animals. Some of the dwellings had patches of evenly-spaced plants, like a small version of the cultivated fields outside the village. Mittens knew that some of the patches would soon be filled with his favorite plant, a short vine that grew sweet, red berries covered in black seeds. Much later in the year, those plants would change, with a hard green shell protecting the sweet, red flesh and black seeds within.
Other patches would have less-sweet plants, some with round, red, tart berries, others with long, yellow fruits that weren’t sweet at all. Over the two years of his life in the village, Mittens had sampled most of the plants that the villagers grew for him. That the villagers would yell at him and play chase was somewhat confusing, but he chalked it up to humans being humans.
Beyond the last row of small huts, fields of soft, recently-plowed dark earth would eventually grow into rows of tall grasses that the villagers spent an inordinate amount of time tending. Why the villagers spent so much time on inedible grasses was truly a mystery that the cats of the village couldn’t care less about. Past the fields, an enormous forest surrounded the village on three sides, providing the wood for building and cooking.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Mittens turned from gazing over the turned rows of earth, and meandered towards the busiest are of town, the shore. Along the way, another cat called out a friendly “mert!” Looking up, he saw Merelshirra, a beautiful white-furred lady with vibrant blue eyes who protected a young human couple and their child.
“Good afternoon, Hawmvililyn! Enjoying the warm Spring weather?” asked Merelshirra.
“Good afternoon, Merelshirra. Indeed, after that cold Winter, what better way to warm my fur is there than patrolling our village? And you, how are your charges?” Mittens, or Hawmvililyn as he was known to other cats, responded.
“They are well! Dahlia finally had her litter last week, so they are in high spirits. Only one kitten survived to birth, but she seems happy enough. Rosco is out in the tall-grass field with their cow-beast, digging row after row of straight lines again. I’ll never understand the humans’ fascination with digging into and poking at the dirt like that. How about your servants? How is Milly and her family?” Merelshirra was fiercely protective of her “charges” as she called them. Mittens thought it slightly undignified for a cat, but acknowledged that each cat knew best how to be a cat.
“Milly’s parents are out on the great salty water flying their tree with the other humans, and most likely one of your brothers. I expect that they’ll return in a few days with fish, as they usually do. Perhaps you could bring your charges and visit upon their arrival? Fresh fish is the best way for a new mother to regain her strength and care for her kittens, after all.” Mittens was not particularly interested in most humans, but he was not so boorish as to disregard another cat’s chosen. He cared about Merelshirra, and if Merelshirra cared about her humans, then he would, too.
“That sounds delightful, thank you! I will pray to Selene that they bring a bountiful harvest. It would do Dahlia some good to get out of the house and have a proper meal. Why, I believe she hasn’t been out since she had her kitten, and that’s just not healthy.” As much as Merelshirra cared, the cats didn’t really understand human pregnancy or post-natal care. The humans made patently baffling decisions sometimes.
“Excellent, I’ll look forward to seeing you there. They always bring back far too much, anyway. Even after treating the fish in their fire huts, so must much go to waste.” Mittens flicked his ear at the thought of wasted fish. “I’ll let them know that you and your humans are coming, but for now I should finish patrolling our village before the sun sets. Take care, Merelshirra!”
“You as well, Hawmvililyn! The warmer weather seems to have drawn the rats out of hiding, and I know how much you love hunting them. Roscoe was talking about an infestation in a building down by the water last night, perhaps you could find some there? Have a good time!” With that, Merelshirra returned to pondering, eyes closed and tail gently swaying.
Mittens watched her for a moment - she was a beautiful example of a cat, with an exemplary personality. They’d known each other since they were kittens, their litters whelped just a few months apart. Mittens was the only kitten from his litter to survive, but Merelshirra had two brothers left, and those brothers were fiercely protective of her. The only way they’d acquiesce to somecat courting her would be if he had some accomplishments to his name, the strength to back them up, and was a solid, upstanding part of the cat community.
Her brothers lived by the water, and regularly went with the humans on their water-flyer trees. They had a solid taste for fish, no love for rats, and enjoyed scrapping as much as any tom. A bit rough around the edges, but Mittens respected them. Selene above, any cat willing to ride across the water with the humans had more courage than sense, and that was worth respect by itself.
Had any humans been present to witness the conversation, they would have seen a fluffy white cat, sitting on the low roof of a villager’s hut, staring at a sleek gray cat on the street for a few tense seconds before going back to its nap. Cat communication was truly a mystery.