Cat put the kits down at the narrow end of the stairs and sat, with them between his front paws. Most of the time the castle cats are kind to each other, even to him. I was unkind to speak of his short tail. I will bring him a mouse one day soon.
Now, we are almost there. I am taking you to the White Cat. She is very wise and will know what to do with you.
The two kits sat obediently, seeming overwhelmed by the castle and the activity in it. From the stairs they could watch people and animals passing below. Is it always like this? Shado whispered.
Most of the time, Cat said. Come, let's finish our journey.
White Cat said, My, my. Then repeated it for the seventh or eighth time, My, my. Where did you find them, Cat?
Cat told her the entire tale including the flight through the air which made her laugh. He told her everything that was known about the kit's mother and other sister, about the hounds, and the fox who had helped them escape.
Through all the discourse the kits sat silent, backed up against Cat, watching White Cat with dark luminous eyes. They had never seen a cat of such size or beauty. When she leaned down to sniff them, they shrank closer to Cat, trying to hide behind his front legs.
Ho, now. I have just finished telling what brave kits you are, and you are making a liar of me. Sit up straight. White Cat is the best friend you will ever have.
The kittens straightened and tried to endure White Cat's scrutiny without trembling.
Do the younglings have names? she asked Cat.
Not when I found them. I think Shado is a good name for the gray. I have not thought of anything for the little sister.
Appropriate for him, she sniffed. The little sister reminds me of the lace Milady wears on her gowns at the edge of the sleeves and hems. Would you answer to Lace, little sister?
If it pleases you, the smaller kitten answered.
I see your poor mother taught you some manners. How long has it been since you had a bath?
Cat nearly washed my fur off, Shado said, and the fox washed her.
The fox! she murmured in surprise as she flattened Lace with one white paw and began at her ears to wash away all traces of the forest and of strangeness. Hours ago, I am sure.
Although he needed a wash himself, Cat began to wash Shado to hide his expression of amused satisfaction. White Cat was purring. She had not sighed once since he walked in the door with two kits swinging from his tired jaws.
The journey had been arduous. Even the hair on the tip of his tail ached, but it was worth every step if it made White Cat happy.
Baths over, White Cat pushed the kittens toward her dish of fresh cream and showed them how to lap from the bowl. While they drank, she curled herself around Cat and began to wash his ears. How do you know, Cat? How do you always know what will make me happy?
Cat did not answer. He put his weary head down on White Cat's flank and allowed himself to drift off to sleep. The kits were safe and White Cat was happy. What more could any cat want?
In Bastet's Service by P. M. Griffin
He met Bastet's eyes. His mien was respectful, certainly, for she was revered in heart and mind by all his kind, but his gaze was steady and calm, set. He would not yield.
The goddess' platinum-furred body was perfectly still, her tail coiled daintily around her forepaws. She read her companion's determination but felt no anger that his will was set against her command. Pride and courage, independence of thought and strength of will, dignity of being were integral to a feline soul and honored her; abject submission could never do so. It was a glory to all catkind that he had not been broken by the awesome adversity he had endured.
Sadness softened the serene majesty of her exquisitely formed features. He was without choice in this all the same, as was she. The Great One who ruled above all the creatures' gods had set her charges on the Ninefold Path, and every cat must walk it the full distance before rest and reward could at last be claimed.
You have been hard-used, little traveler, she said with infinite gentleness, but eight more incarnations lie before you, eight more lives in which you must seek to follow and fulfill the Plan as it has been given to us.
No more Plans and no more Partners, he declared firmly. All I need to know of those, I have learned already to my great hurt. I cannot refuse to live again, for that is the nature and the fate of a cat, but never, O Divinity, shall I voluntarily approach one of those blood-tainted renegades or open myself at all to their treachery.
Not all humans use those sharing place with them so, she corrected gently.
The goddess fell silent. She understood his stand and sympathized with it, but by holding to it, this high and worthy soul was dooming himself to eight more barren lives. He would never know the greatest joy and fulfillment a cat could have before gaining entry into the Wide Realms. He would never experience the Plan as it should be lived, never walk in true partnership with a human in a relationship where each loved and supported the other in accordance with his or her own nature and abilities. Even if the opportunity for such an association should present itself, he would not and could not permit so much as the initial approach to take place. Most assuredly, he would never seek a Partner of his own accord. As a result, his remaining lives would be dim shadows of what they could have been and even the eternity to follow would be less full, less complete, and less satisfying.
Her head raised. That was the fate of all too many of her charges, but this little one had suffered so intensely and had come through so strong. He deserved better than he would permit himself, and she determined to take a hand in his affairs herself.
You need rest and peace before resuming your work. Go now and taste a little of the happiness of my realm. It may be that I shall assign you a place and specific duties within it rather than merely send you forth with my blessing and good wishes to seek your fortune as it falls.
Francie eagerly lifted the statue out of its box and studied it closely. It was thirteen inches high and surprisingly heavy for its size, though she should have anticipated that weight. It was bronze, after all, not something cast in plastic, however cunningly.
The little cat was indeed a lovely thing. It was an exact reproduction, albeit on a smaller scale, of the Egyptian original which always drew and held her when she made one of her frequent visits to the museum. Here was the same realism in the lithe, muscular body, the same serenity. Even the gold, intricately worked collar looked to be identical to that worn by the original. She had paid a hefty price for the piece, but it was money she did not grudge. To her mind, it was more than well spent.
The woman stroked the figurine as she set it on the table near the closet in her bedroom that she had allotted to receive it. She was pleased to see that it looked as well there as she had hoped.
Her eyes instinctively went to the empty place below the pillow on her bed, and she sighed. Poor little Turtle. If only she were here to appreciate this new acquisition with her…
Francie's home had been catless for three weeks now, ever since the eighteen-year-old had died peacefully in her arms. It was still too soon, but she would not wait too very long before opening her heart and life to another four-footed friend, or maybe to a pair. There were many little creatures in this world in need of the love, care, and respect she wanted to give, beings who would return any offering of hers a thousandfold.
The need were great but the apparent response were slight?