“So you’re asking me to believe that the servants have created an entire workforce dedicated to catching food and shipping it hundreds of miles to other servants, who magically unseal it and feed it to us.”
“That’s about it.”
This was just too much. Willie had told him earlier that the food was inside the strange cylindrical objects, but he hadn’t told him this whole fantastic story about hordes of servants conspiring to make it appear. He could no longer control his disbelief of the entire story. Shamus spat out his words: “But it makes no sense, Willie. Food doesn’t keep long enough to travel hundreds of miles. And besides, why would they do that? What’s the purring sound? I just can’t stake my professional reputation on an explanation so outlandish! I’ll be labeled a heretic, for cat’s sake.”
“But it’s true!”
“Sure, sure, Willie. I suppose next you’re going to explain the mysterious red lights that have been reported lately, moving erratically at incredible speeds with no sound or source of power.”
“Well, a cat in Seattle named MicroSoftie was telling me about something called ‘laser pointers’…”
That did it. Shamus arched his back and hissed. Willie leaped from the top of the park bench and skittered away through a hole in the fence. “Laser pointer, my tail!” he fumed. “Next thing you know, he’ll be trying to convince me that the servants are the chosen ones…”
MENTOR OF THE POTALA by Bruce A. Heard
The elegant Birman Tai Pan licks one of his pristine white forepaws, a sign that his work is over.
“Well, Mugs,” he sighs, “you’ve truly outdone yourself this time. It took a bit of doing to get them to give you up, especially since this is the second time you’ve irritated them. Please try not to do that again. If you do, next time they won’t listen to me at all.”
He sits on the low branch of a tree with broad, thick leaves, looking down on the Astral emanation of the grizzled, muzzle-scarred gray alley cat regarding him from among the roots. Behind Mugs, a forest of giant rhododendrons slowly bristles into bloom under the soft light of a celestial crescent. A wall of majestic snowy mountains curtains the horizon, their snow-capped peaks contrasting bright against the nocturnal sky.
With shrewd turquoise eyes, Tai Pan examines for a moment the faint aura around his paw, looking at its throbbing, pulsing hues. He then glances at the translucent silver cord extending from Mugs’ upper abdomen to the Astral horizon. His own cord disappears in the opposite direction.
“You do understand, of course, that my intervention on your behalf during this little disagreement will cost you a major favor, Mugs Grayshadow?”
The alley cat winces, then nods. Sighing, Mugs levitates until he is opposite Tai Pan’s branch. In midair, he rolls over on his back and offers his belly to seal their bargain.
“Aye, I understand. Though I wonder what you have on them, mate, that they’d let me go just on your say-so.”
Pleased with its appearance, Tai Pan sets his paw against the other three on the branch. He shrugs his long sable and cream fur to make certain every hair is in perfect alignment. “Oh, just a small debt of honor in the right place,” he answers with satisfaction.
Mugs rights himself, stepping to the branch near Tai Pan and sitting down. His thick ghostly tail coils around his paws. “Oy, that kind of thing’s easy for you, the mighty Tai Pan. You’ve always got the goods. We’re settled then: I’m in your debt, mate.” He closes his golden eyes and sniffs the crisp, nocturnal air for an moment before rising.
“Gotta be off,” Mugs says, and vanishes.
“Farewell, old friend,” Tai Pan mutters. “Be safe, at least for now. Let me know when you’re in trouble again.” He allows himself a satisfied smile. “Business has been very good this month, very good indeed!”
“It’s excellent news to hear you are doing so well, Sir Titus de Pannikin!” purrs a soft voice behind him.
Tai Pan leaps to his paws and whirls, ready to pounce. “Who’s there?” he calls, seeing no one.
On the Astral Plane, seeing no one can be dangerous.
The silvery outline of an old white cat levitates from behind the broad leaf of a rhododendron. “I am Tara Moondreamer, from the Order of Lamasery Cats,” she answers, gracefully landing on Tai Pan’s branch. “Surely you remember me from long ago.”
Tai Pan admires the composure and control of his visitor.
This is someone who has traveled the Astral Plane for a long time.
He searches his prodigious memory and comes up with a remembrance of a tall emerald-eyed white cat fuzzed by just-focusing kitten eyes. Tara Moondreamer had been old even then, a teacher and companion to one of the lamasery’s leaders. A wriggle of unease prods his nerves, but he hides it.
What can she want from me? And what will it cost?
As if hearing his thoughts, an amused expression curls her mouth and makes her whiskers twitch. “Ah, Titus Pannikin, have you already forgotten who you are?”
“I am a businesscat,” he returns a bit stiffly, the tip of his tail twitching. “And a good one, too. From where do I know you?”
“You were still learning to extend and retract your kitten claws the last time I saw you,” laughs Tara. “Little Titus de Pannikin, lordly even as a kit, you always preferred to lap water from that rare silver cup. Do you still?”
Annoyed at being caught off guard by such a personal detail, Tai Pan settles his paws beneath him, trying to look more at ease. If only he could stop the last third of his Astral tail from flipping back and forth.
“Yes, I still do. But you seem to know much more about me than I do about you, Honored Tara. I am at a disadvantage here.”
“Pardon my intrusion, Titus. And I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” she purrs. “I am sent to give you a message. There is something urgent that you need to do.”
“That
I need to do?” His unease grows, as if something from his past has returned to haunt him. “What business does the Order have with me? Someone needs a favor, perhaps?”
“Come now, Titus. You were always meant to be a mentor, not a mere broker of services and favors,” Tara chides. “Your Birman lineage ties you and your kind to the Order. Your ancestral duty is one that cannot be traded away. You realize this, don’t you?”
“Ah. Tied to the Order,” Tai Pan snaps back, now truly annoyed. “I haven’t heard of them since I was a kitten.” He recalled the group as an obscure brood, mostly concerned with the development of supernatural talents among catfolk and a few carefully chosen humans. “So, what do the ancient lamas and their wise cats want with me now, after forgetting me for all these years?” he asks.
“You were never forgotten,” Tara states, staring at the moon-fed shimmers of the snow fields. “We have watched your growth. We’ve allowed you to ply your chosen trade for many years. And we have bided our time until the right moment. That moment is now.” She takes in a deep breath, but says nothing further.
Tai Pan again tries to control his tail, with little success. It now flips in a full half arc. “All right, Honored Tara,” he grumbles. “What do you want me to do?” Too late he realizes that she might take his question for acceptance rather than a request for information.
She does. “It is now time you took up your true calling, Sir Titus de Pannikin. The Order needs you to help a human acolyte master the ability to travel the Astral Plane. A simple task for you, really, considering your extensive experience there.”