tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71531015050719154322024-02-21T06:31:32.740+00:00Guy T MartlandScience Fiction WriterGuy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.comBlogger79125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7153101505071915432.post-58411311623880688142020-05-23T11:10:00.000+01:002020-05-23T11:25:04.928+01:00The Reason Cats Hate Water<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXNeDi5qRKWjkjOz9_y7eXzYf4DUl8VEjM4kjqjG5BvZK7-YyClxYvlGJExxxmBVksp8DIxbOSBkpZvg4YiWyzTM8zXTKyRTXeW8mCF203WDSHhZH0OKt6wwui9YSCZiNkvEKtbaAJKEqh/s1600/bridge+ct+medim.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXNeDi5qRKWjkjOz9_y7eXzYf4DUl8VEjM4kjqjG5BvZK7-YyClxYvlGJExxxmBVksp8DIxbOSBkpZvg4YiWyzTM8zXTKyRTXeW8mCF203WDSHhZH0OKt6wwui9YSCZiNkvEKtbaAJKEqh/s400/bridge+ct+medim.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Artwork by jtm21</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘One more adventure, old chap?’ asked the Architect one night in early May.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">As usual he’d surprised me, appearing from behind the bamboo and causing me to jump. Or rather, twist uncomfortably, as jumping seems to be something that has vanished from my repertoire as I’ve become more decrepit. I’d been happily meowing at the night, a habit I’ve got into for reasons I can’t quite fathom, when he interrupted me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘I’m not sure my old bones could take it,’ I replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">It was a beautiful summer night. The stars were spread out across the heavens in a brilliant tapestry of light. Occasional beaded strings of light would also pass across the heavens, a phenomenon I hadn’t seen before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘What is that? Are they satellites?’ I asked, confused.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘Yes. Damn, humans, always meddling with things. Do you remember meeting Schrödinger?’ asked The Architect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘Yeah. Poor creature, with a name like that. I hope she doesn’t like to climb into boxes,’ I said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘Well anyway, her owner… He’s some mad scientist. He wants to have a network of them all over the world.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘He based the company logo on Schrödinger’s nose didn’t he?’ I asked, recalling something I’d read.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘It’s rumoured so…’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">We sat looking at the heavens for a time before The Architect sparked up again: ‘So, one more adventure?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">I paused for a moments before replying. ‘It has been a long day, you know,’ I said sighing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">I’d spent the day going through my papers with Mimi and we’d finally got to the end of it all. I find one of the problems with being a writer is that it feels as if nothing is every finished. But we felt like we’d done as much as we could, with my personal archive at least. There were notes, sheets of story ideas, things I would never get around to now. In any case, it felt timely. My old bones had been aching more and more and I’d begun to find it hard to climb the stairs to my Slave’s office, where I conducted most of my literary work. Mimi would often have to help me with the last few steps, nudging me up. Or at least encouraging me when I’d taken a break halfway. And then getting down, I’d started to lose my balance occasionally which had resulted in a few painful tumbles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘Your bones won’t hurt where we’re going, I promise. Come on, old boy…’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘You’ve twisted my leg,’ I said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘That won’t be painful either,’ he replied wittily.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘But what about Mimi?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘Perhaps she deserves a break?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">As we set off, I noticed it was true. My bones didn’t seem to hurt. For the first time in ages, I felt like a proper cat again. And while the reasons for this were not clear, something began to nag at me. There was a deep hollow inside me, as if something terrible had happened. Still reluctant to jump, I squeezed under the garden gate and into the lane beyond. The lane was filled with alkanet, the little purple flowers closed up for the night. Despite the overgrowth, a path was clearly visible, where my tall Slave had left a track with his contraption - the big wheeled thing with spokes, and flashing lights attached, which narrowly missed running over my tail once. I scuttled after The Architect, revelling in the sensation, my limbs free again, as if the arthritis had gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘I feel so much better,’ I said aloud, wondering if perhaps my Slaves had given me a higher than usual dose of my medication that evening. But with this thought came more anxieties - perhaps the effects would wear off and I wouldn’t be able to return from whatever crazy situation The Architect had in store for us both? I stopped to gnaw on some mint which was growing in the lane as I considered this. After a few moments, The Architect turned back and sat beside me, waiting patiently. The taste of the plant was stronger than I remembered, the sensation somehow more colourful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘I’m not sure about this. I’m not sure I’ll be able to return,’ I said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘You have nothing to worry about. Trust me,’ The Architect said, reassuringly. Being one of my oldest friends, the idea not trusting him was of course, ridiculous. I gave up on the mint and followed him out of the lane and into the road. As ever, the great outside impressed me with its vastness. The road stretched like an eternity to either end. Behind each of the houses along this road were gardens, rife with nooks and crannies, each place a little adventure of its own. And yet, I had only managed to visit a handful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘No Fox tonight?’ I asked, hoping for a lift. Although my legs were no longer painful, I was still worried how long I would last.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘No Fox. We can take our time. Enjoy the night.’ I was certain I detected some emotion in his tone, as if he was upset about something.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">The road was empty, with only very occasional cars passing. The night was so quiet you could heat the rustling of every nocturnal creature. ‘No Humans about tonight,’ I remarked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘Haven’t you heard? About the lockdown? There is this virus going down. Apparently can affect cats too.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘Lockdown? Is it a syndrome, like tetanus can cause lockjaw?’ I asked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">My old friend issued a muted chuckle in response. Perhaps it hadn’t been that funny, I mused to myself. The world was becoming a strange, paranoid and anxiety provoking place, with Fungus and his fascist chums taking over vast tracts of the portal system. And now this strange virus, the consequences of which were as yet unknown. But if humans had anything to do with it, it probably wouldn’t be good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘They’re talking about putting checks on the portal systems - those that Fungus hasn’t commandeered at any rate.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘I wish we could do something about him.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">We skirted around the chine along the cliff top road, but keeping to the undergrowth. The smell of wild garlic filled the air. Soon, bats appeared, flitting above us as they dined on the numerous insects which had congregated around the trees. I used to be able to hear the high-pitched sounds they made during echolocation, but now all I could hear was the occasional rustle of their wings. Not that I’d ever been interested in catching one. Fledermaus or normal maus, I preferred my books. In my books and stories, bats were the souls of creatures who slept, or even those waiting to pass into the next realm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘Perhaps we can,’ said The Architect, turning right sharply, down a slope leading to a suspension bridge, dangling high above the chine below. As I’ve mentioned before, The Architect is a big cat, and one who obviously enjoys his food, but at the same time is able to move with the grace of a well-trained athlete. I blinked and he’d leapt up to tightrope on the edge of the bridge metalwork, balancing on one hind leg.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘Come and join me!’ The Architect said, before effecting a rather impressing pirouette.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘No. I’m not clambering up there. I’m frightened enough as it is,’ I said, realising I’d flattened my body to the wooden slats of the bridge’s floor. Although I couldn’t see the drop below because of the night, I knew it was there. Moments later, the Architect disappeared. I felt my stomach plunge with fear until I heard a rustle and saw him dangling from the trunk of a nearby tree.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘What the heck are you doing?’ I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘Speaking with some friends. You’ll meet them momentarily.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">I sat on the bridge, staring through the grille of its sides and into the night. We were closer to the sea now - I could smell a salty tang on the breeze. Then the air became alive in a blur of greyish black, a musty smell filling my nostrils. When this subsided, I was amazed to see that the metalwork of the bridge was covered with the bats, all perching around me on the bridge. I’d never seen so many of the creatures, nor so many up close. But the bats were heralding the arrival of something else. A shimmer of light appeared on the centre of the bridge, expanding to form a cut in the fabric of space. At the same time, as if scripted, a mist began to settle on the chine around us, wrapping us in its feathery cloak, the ethereal light dancing across its surface.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">The Architect then appeared again on the bridge, landing softly as he always did. ‘Well, aren’t you going to go in then?’ he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘I was waiting for something to come out.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘You’ll be waiting all night. Shall I lead the way? This is meant to be your adventure, not mine, so don’t accuse me of stealing your thunder,’ he replied, edging closer to the portal<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘Fine,’ I said, cuffing my friend out of the way and plunging through the strange defect in space. I felt a sensation of falling, and immediately began to worry about my legs, how badly I was going to land. But then the ground met my four paws instantaneously, landing softly on a hard surface. This was wrong - even with medication, I should have felt a twinge. The Architect landed beside me a few seconds later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">We seemed to be in the porch of a building, the stone floor cold on my paws. Ahead of me was a heavy wooden door, into which had been carved cats in various kinds of revelry. I turned to see where we’d come from, but behind there was only nothingness, as if someone had removed all matter from the space surrounding the building. I wondered if this was a fever dream - such dislocation I’d only ever experienced when I’d caught a cold of one of the local cats.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">I reached up and pushed at the door. It didn’t budge until The Architect contrived to help, muttering under his breath. Then it began to open slowly, a sliver of light becoming a crack, a crack becoming a muzzle’s width, and then finally big enough to fit my whiskers in. The place was low lit by candlelight, a heavy scent of patchouli and sandalwood incense hanging in the air. I surmised this was a church of some kind, but there were no seats left in the nave of the building. However a platform at one end resembled an altar, and standing on the altar was a cat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">She was dressed in a long leather cape, facing away from us. As we approached, I noticed that there was a design sewn into the structure - a lion’s head which seemed to somehow notice us, its expression changing subtly. A sudden rattling, percussive sound began to reverberate throughout the church’s arcades. The cat on the altar turned and I saw she was wearing sunglasses despite the night. And rather than wearing a collar, she wore a sash of purple, to which an ornate jewel was attached. Closer still, the jewel seemed to turn into an another eye which was watching us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ she said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘And who are you?’ I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘Some call me Bastet.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘Really?’ I asked, trying to conceal a smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘But I don’t mind what you call me. As long as it isn’t rude,’ she replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘How did you know we were coming?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">The rattling sound rose in volume and then stopped suddenly. ‘I’ve always known.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">I felt the strange sensation of loss I’d felt before rise up again, but more acutely. There was something happening here I couldn’t quite understand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘You are going to help us with Fungus?’ I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘Your friend here indicated you petition me. But let’s skip to the chase, we haven’t much time left. What do you suggest?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘He’s haunted us enough over the past few years. How about we throw something his direction that’ll haunt him.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘You want to send him a ghost?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘That’s a literal take on it. But I suppose so.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">Bastet unclipped the jewel from her neck, placing it on the floor. Then, with a shrug, she slipped the cape off, but managed at the same time execute a deft tail flick. The cape shot up into the air, before folded itself as it descended, landing neatly next to the jewel. It was an interesting party trick – I wondered if she’d show us how to do it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">Then the walls of the church then seemed to fall away, the sepulchral gloom changing, the arcades bending upwards and away. Large block like shapes grew upwards from the floor, spreading in every direction. As I looked closer at these, I could see they were boxes, within which were entrapped spirits. I felt my hackles rise just by looking at them. These were some of the worse kinds of beings from the spirit world, some of which I’d dealt with during my time. But there was little chance of me fighting them now, let alone pushing them back into their native ‘verse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘Take your pick,’ said Bastet. There was something new in her tone - a kind of unrepressed anger, biting into her words. ‘And then we’ll weaponise your ghost.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘Weaponise? I’m not sure I like the sound of that,’ I said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘Well, as far as you are concerned, the pen is mightier than the sword, so we’ll see what we can do with that…’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">It was a ghost unlike any I’d seen before. It swirled around, forming letters and words from its plasma. As I read them, I understood that the words and the sentences they formed were mine. I noticed also a sibilant whisper, before realising that the ghost was also speaking the words across the gap between realms. At the same time I both read and heard passages from stories about the Caterati, about the antics I got up to with The Architect himself. It seemed fitting that these words would now drive Fungus and his cronies to distraction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">We set the ghost free in the chine, where the colony of bats followed it up to the old entrance to the portal system. It glimmered for a minute and then disappeared, as it made its way through the secret door we’d used once or twice - the unofficial entrance to the complicated maze of paths that stretched between the humanverse and feliverse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘I know what this means,’ I said. ‘Meeting Bastet.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">The Architect nodded in response. ‘We have to head to the beach now,’ he said after a time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘The beach?’ I asked. In fact, the weariness I’d been expecting wasn’t there, instead I felt young again, revitalised. The sadness I’d been feeling had also gone, replaced by a feeling of recklessness. ‘Well how about we go the quick way,’ I said, and without further ado, jumped onto the railings of the suspension bridge and down into the mist. I felt myself twisting as I fell, but then things slowed and I turned to land perfectly on the floor of the chine below. Up above I heard The Architect huffing and puffing as he clambered down a nearby tree.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘I used to do this a lot, before…,’ he said, when he finally caught up with me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘Do what?’ I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘Work for Bastet directly, between realms. Before she sent me to work the time machine.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘Brings back memories, does it?’ I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘No, I asked for this. To be here for you.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">I wasn’t sure whether it clicked then or later. But soon we were approaching the beach, cresting the shallow lip which led down to the sands, in between the adventure playground and beach huts. When we passed the Victorian drinking fountain, I saw something flickering on the beach. As I watched, the flames of the fire grew higher and higher. Around the flames danced the form of cats. I recognised them all. It was then that I truly understood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">Mimi came running up to me first, nuzzling me with her pointy nose, before cuffing me around the head and then darting away. Then there was Ziggy, who clutched something in his left paw - when I looked closer, I realised it was a pipe; he pulled the stem from his maw and raised his hand, blowing a thick plume of smoke up into the air. Ziggy was in conversation with an aproned Smith, who was intermittently tending the fire, clutching a glowing poker from his forge. Athena was of course dancing around the flames, titillating some of the surrounding males, her robot bird skittering over their heads. Smilodon was also throwing shapes around the flames with Bobinski, Twig and Pudding, his idiosyncratic German dancing style causing me to clap my paws together in delight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">Monty stood away from the conflagration, by a trestle table laden with barrels of the white stuff. His two henchmen, Benson and Hedges, were on bar duty, doling out pints to the assembled throng. The crowd parted to let me through and I was presented with a glass of the strong stuff. Amongst the crowd at the bar, I recognised many of the Caterati. Gaiman’s cat was there his lugubrious tall form standing apart form the rest - he raised his glass in deference. Ian McEwan’s cat Daydreamer was deep in conversation with Murakami’s Peter Cat, presumably discussing their owner’s respective oeuvres, but they both nodded at me. And then there was Mylo, ghost-like, but dancing around the guests as large as life, stopping occasionally to chat - he came up to me and gave me a big exuberant hug, before darting away again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">Even more strange was that my two Slaves were also there, sitting on a bench, watching the cats circulate the conflagration. I noticed that the smaller of my Slaves cuddled a bundle in her arms - their female human who had been born a few months previously. The taller Slave waved at me, but at the same time he looked sad. Tears were pouring down the face of my smaller Slave. I went up to them and rubbed myself around their ankles. Then a dark figure appeared to my side - I turned and couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw Beast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘You’re back!’ I said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">‘Wouldn’t have missed this for the world, old chap.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">The evening passed in a blur of friendships past and present. Beast told many stories about his adventures, which Mimi took great interest in. I think she fancied she might document them at some point. There were recitals from other members of the Caterati. A few Caterwauls also began and someone began to play folk tunes notes on a fiddle. I felt overwhelmed by all the attention. But time passes as it always does. I knew what awaited me, when The Architect called me away again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">They say it is the reason cats hate water: it reminds them of their own mortality. The boat sat in the shallows, an easy leap from the sandy shore. As I jumped aboard, I turned to see all my friends on the beach - everyone I had loved and lost, all there to see me go. ‘Goodbye Gordon! Farewell Gordi,’ they shouted. Some raised their paws, others waved flags. I could see some were crying, clinging to each other for support.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">Then the craft began to move, slipping across the flat surface of the sea like silk. One by one, my lovely Slaves and friends were lost behind the mist. And then, finally, the flame of the fire winked out forever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">THE END<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/p/the-cats-page.html"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNvgSkoKykg53cP4OsEm_k9GABbjDQ0YbgukFQO4vP6FggcROkd6vcEv1dumOkTUavZG5xT3KCImR9wLYbuJgscILB5H0krPSSXor3hx7XPmKYSl2tMZVYcACTxBbH7Xryvc57zuTs5U0h/s320/Gordon.jpeg" width="240" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/p/the-cats-page.html">RIP Gordon (2007-2020)</a></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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div.Section1
{page:Section1;}</span></style>Guy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7153101505071915432.post-86174398749477052952019-08-24T08:10:00.000+01:002019-08-24T08:10:45.310+01:00Tapetum<br />
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZpj0p67QAId-WFsw7kPg2b2AJ2BeDbYJA-XRbXBuOiu8ICgJ_br7UwcTf2kqz2ygBqdtTJNDCo6-e5gAmd3kcJ9ES1fYccU457EuBiRuujl-tX0RTSuVy57rIaP_iQ2jxF_zLU82l-aIL/s1600/Tapetum.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="750" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZpj0p67QAId-WFsw7kPg2b2AJ2BeDbYJA-XRbXBuOiu8ICgJ_br7UwcTf2kqz2ygBqdtTJNDCo6-e5gAmd3kcJ9ES1fYccU457EuBiRuujl-tX0RTSuVy57rIaP_iQ2jxF_zLU82l-aIL/s400/Tapetum.jpeg" width="223" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Where is the red dot - I need to find it!'</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"> </span></b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"></span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"></span></i>
</div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;">It was another day of interruptions. I was trying my best to concentrate
but the moment I’d get stuck into my editor Bobinski’s efforts with his red
pen, something else would happen. As usual one thing led to another – one story
crashing headlong into the next. Not for the first time, I wondered if stories
have a life of their own.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;">Distraction number one: Mimi ’s hyperactivity switch seemed to have been
flicked, so she was charging around the house relentlessly. I blamed my tall Human
Slave who had been teasing her with the laser pointer that morning, making her
crazy with excitement. I suspected she was still looking for that dot of red
light. She’d learn, just as I had.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;">Distraction number two took the form of a surprise visit from my agent,
Smilodon. The first I knew of this was when Mimi careened into my office,
before breathlessly announcing: ‘He’s here! He’s here.’ Needless to say, this
wasn’t particularly useful. Once she’d managed to get her breath back, she
managed a few more words. ‘You know. Old Sabre Tooth. Burmese agent fellow.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;">‘You mean, Smilodon? He who was involved in arranging your sinecure?’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;">‘Harsh. I do some work. But right now I have to find something.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;">And with that, she was gone. I stood up and stretched my old bones, my
back legs increasingly wobbly as the days pass. The medication my human slaves
give me does help, but I find basking in the sun, preferably in the flower bed,
is the best remedy. Moving down the stairs these days involves what you might
call more of a bunny hop: not particularly graceful.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;">Smilodon was standing in the hallway, some kind of umbrella under his
arm, watching my ungainly descent with a mixture of amusement and concern.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;">‘How delightful to see you,’ I said through the remaining teeth I could
grit.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;">‘<i>Wunderschön</i>… Wonderful to see you. Now I hope you don’t mind me
barging in like this…’</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;">Given the time it was taking me to finish my latest work, he’d made the
decision to leave his cosy Cambridge garret and make the trip down south to
Bournemouth. As we spoke he arranged himself on the sofa in what can only be
described as a sprawling fashion. The conversation guttered - I was still lost in
a literal world of my own making, my thoughts in the brain of a character I’d
created. There was a rather twisty plot point which I was considering
rewriting. Smilodon eyed me curiously, furnished with the bowl of snacks my
Slaves had prepared for me earlier in the day, into which he dipped his paw
intermittently.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;">‘So… <i>Fristenbestimmung für die Veröffentlichung…</i> <span style="mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">about this publication deadline,’ he said, when
we’d run out of small talk and the silence was beginning to get uncomfortable.
As usual when we meet, I wondered at the way he lapses into German at the
beginning of sentences. My theory is that his brain works so fast that it takes
his mouth a while to catch up. But perhaps it is pure affectation, a way of
showing off his cultural heritage.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Well…,’ I began, moments before Mimi bowled
across the room, sending a flowerpot into a precarious spin. The bamboo within
rustled as it turned, bowing to and fro, before the terracotta settled once
more on its pedestal. I watched, hackles raised.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘<i>Mein Gott… </i>My god, she’ll have that over
before long,’ remarked Smilodon.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘It’s already happened twice. But my Slaves keep
repotting it and leaving it in the same place,’ I explained.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘So I see you’ve had certain distractions,’
Smilodon said dryly as Mimi disappeared again in a flurry of paws and fur.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘You mean chasing ghosts and escaping the
clutches of evil right-wing fascists? You could consider it grist to the mill.
Even at my age,’ I replied, blithely.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘But nevertheless, Mimi appears to have been more
of a hindrance than a help.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">I lowered my voice as I replied: ‘Having her here
was your idea, Smilodon! She has been helping me get things together. But… You
know how it is…’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘<i>Vielleicht… </i>maybe she will yet prove her
worth?</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘I’ve got a few stories out of her already. Although
sadly they still need to be written,’ I said forlornly.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘<i>Also… About your writing. </i>We have set a
date for Black Smoke to be published. You’ve seen the cover artwork. There are
posters <i>uber alles…</i> all over the place. We can’t pull out now - the ball
is rolling on this one. I’m just here to give you a friendly nudge.’ Smilodon
gestured a nudge with his paw, before plunging it back into the bowel of
treats.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘It’ll be done. It’s just the next one which will
be delayed. You can’t force these things,’ I replied, haughtily .</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Ah, there it is: the capricious artist’s
temperament,’ Smilodon said. ‘I was beginning to think you had lost it.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘I’d hardly call it caprice. I just don’t want to
put something out there I’m not entirely happy with. And ultimately, neither do
you.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘<i>Ja, ich verstehe… </i>I understand,’ said
Smilodon.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Did you hear about that American Human author?’
I asked.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘The one who got all her facts wrong and then had
to get books pulped?’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Indeed. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Death
recorded.</i> Well, there you go… Need I say more?’</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">Eventually Smilodon, having felt he’d exhausted
enough time on this particular client, made his excuses and left. Apparently he
was on his way through the Feliverse to Bath for a glitzy literary dinner in
the Roman Pump Rooms. The old spa was stocked with a population of carp, which
seemed inured to the higher water temperatures. Apparently they’d tried to
introduce trout first, but they’d ended up with a thick cloying chowder an hour
or so later. I’d been to a literary dinner there long ago, once they’d sorted
out the fish population, and the repast itself was usually preceeded by a half
hour of sport, the clear waters of the spring stained with blood. The
flagstones surrounding the pools proved useful to kill your catch, which would
then be proferred to a nearby chef for cooking. I hasten to add, I merely
observed this carnal activity, not being one for surrendering to our natural
feline instincts. Smildon left in a show of embraces and kisses, waving his
umbrella at us both as he danced through the portal and away into the
feliverse. I politely ignored the fact he’d made a fuss about going out of his
way to see me, when in fact the portal system to Bath led straight past us.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">Which brings me to the biggest distraction of the
day, distraction number three. A veritable Trinity of distractions, or as a
human once put it in a dead language: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">omne
trium perfectum.</i> I’d barely sat down for half an hour when Mimi crashed
through the door once again - a furry ball bouncing from armchair to record
deck to speaker to table, her head then appearing from behind the computer
screen I was attempting to use. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Twig!’ she said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘A thin woody shoot growing from a tree branch or
trunk - what about it?’ I asked, adding a few more words to a hanging sentence.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Twig is here!’ she exclaimed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Have you been bringing things into the house
again?’ I asked, my attention finally being pulled away from the scene I’d been
writing. ‘What with all the leaves you’ve managed to capture and leave in the
kitchen, it is a wonder there is any of the tree left.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘You know who Twig is. Stop being so silly,’ said
Mimi, looking somewhat crestfallen.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Ah, we have another visitor!’ I exclaimed, in sudden
realisation. ‘Remind me who this Twig is again?’’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘She’s owned by a work colleague of our tall
Human Slave. Anyway, she’s here about a poltergeist.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘No such thing,’ I scoffed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Just come and listen to what she has to say,’
said Mimi, gently pawing at the computer screen. I sighed and began the now
familiar slow bunny hop descent, resigned to the fact today was just one of
those days.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">Twig was a black cat, but one without the black
smoke coat of Mimi: she was a pure black. Her ears were slightly moth-eaten, as
if she had been accustomed with pugilistic tendencies at one time. But her
manner was timid and gentle, belying any previous aggression. I recognised the
type - one who had suffered during their early ears, before being rescued by a
decent loving family who homes them. It was an all too common occurrence in the
feline world.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Twig!’ I exclaimed, feigning previous
acquaintance.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">She responded with apologies and thanks and other
platitudes, which I pawed away.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘A drink?’ I asked, to which Twig nodded an
acceptance. ‘I’m afraid we’ve only got semi-skimmed left. But it is organic.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘That’d be fine,’ Twig replied.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Mimi?’ I asked, but from the clattering sounds
in the kitchen, she was already on the case. This was followed by some small
talk about our receptive Slaves, which continued until Mimi tottered in on her
back legs, clutching two tumblers of the aforementioned. She managed to place
the glasses on the coffee table without spilling a drop. I reminded myself to
tell her that if this editorial large didn’t work out for her, that she’d be
safe in the circus, or at least one of the decent restaurants in Belgravia
which Smilodon frequented. She made herself scarce immediately afterwards,
dashing off in a hurry - still looking for the laser, I surmised.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Now, what’s this about a poltergeist?’ I asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Well… it all started on Tuesday, last week,’ Twig
began, her accent bearing a slight Dorset inflection.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘And what exactly happened?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘I was sat on the sofa and then, our of nowhere -
bang - the picture above the fireplace flew across the room and smashed on the
floor.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘I see,’ I replied. ‘And when your Slaves came
home?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Well, they were already there. They saw it too.
They cleaned up the glass and put the picture back on the wall, the frame
slightly dented.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Right.’ </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘And then, moments later, it happened again. This
time, the frame splintered, so they left it standing on the wall. But even then
it wasn’t safe, the thing kept toppling over, as if pushed. I felt something
near me, pushing. There were two spots of light, which vanished. But, I’m used
to seeing ghosts - this wasn’t like one of them - so I made the assumption that
it was a poltergeist. And you being such an expert in these things, or so I’ve
heard…’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Well, you do flatter me. But really…,’ I said,
running out of steam. It is my opinion that poltergeists are rubbish, but I
decided it was best to be kind. ‘Tell me about the picture.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘It is picture of a human. An old one,’ Twig
replied.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Interesting. An old member of your Slave’s
family?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘I think so. A grandparent I think.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Interesting. And you said you saw two points of
light?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Only briefly.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Well, perhaps we need to take a visit,’ I said,
as Twig timidly finished her milk. I noted down the address, and the shortcut
she explained was easiest through the feliverse and showed her out. I returned
to the sitting room, where Mimi was already sweeping away the tumblers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘I thought you’d gone out?’ I asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘I was under the table, listening.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘I told you, poltergeists don’t exist. I’ll
humour her with a visit. But only because of our Human connection.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘I never said I thought it was a poltergeist,’ Mimi
said, defiantly.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Well, what do you think then?’ I asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘I think it is an invisible cat.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">I paused for a minute, letting this sink in.
‘Because of the two points of light?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Yes. Definitely an invisible cat.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘That is just a story, a fiction. Like something
I’ve written.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘A lot of what you’ve written is based on real
events.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Well, blame that on my lack on imagination.
Trust me, there are no invisible cats.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘But the story…’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">Despite the effort, I leapt onto the bookshelves
and selected a volume, pulling it out with a few claws. It crashed to the
floor, pages spilling out of its spine – the book was an old paperback, which
smelt musty, its pages etiolated and foxed. I leapt down next to it, flipping
back the cover so Mimi could see it. ‘This is where the fiction came from. It is
a story called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Invisible Man</i>,
written by a Human called H. G. Wells. In it, a scientist creates a formula to
make people invisible. But he tries it out first on a neighbour’s cat,’ I
explained.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘How very unpleasant.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘He is quite a cross character, in general. I
won’t explain exactly how he treats this poor cat. But anyway, the formula made
the cat disappear.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘The book is called The Invisible Man. Not the
Invisible Cat,’ Mimi said indignantly, interrupting my flow.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Yes. The cat was the scientist’s first subject,
before he turned it on himself. Anyway, the cat didn’t quite disappear
completely. The pigment in its eyes, the tapetum, was left unchanged. So all
you could see were two sparkling green points of light - the rest of its body
had completely vanished.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Tapetum,’ said Mimi, trying the word out on her
tongue. ‘What an usual word.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘It is the substance which makes our eyes shine
in the dark. And apparently immune to all kinds of invisibility potion,’ I
added.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘I don’t get how this old science fiction story
written by humans relates to the presence of invisible cats,’ Mimi said, her
tail whipping back and forth, which signalled her frustration. Perhaps my
explanation was too longwinded. She pawed at the paper book, flipping its pages
back, rubbing her nose on the cover, as if to divine meaning.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Well, firstly, my dear Mimi, because they, the
invisible cats of which you speak, are also a fiction. It’s believed that the
story of the invisible cats derived from that human story. You see, in this
story written by the human writer H. G. Wells, the cat disappears, is presumed
dead. There is another later story written by one of the late caterati. The
writer, a cat called Scarfic, was owned by a woman called Maura Budberg, one of
Wells’ lovers and a former spy. One assumes Scarfic overhead something of the
story and then went on to write his own fiction, wherein the cat lived and went
on to propagate a population of invisible cats.’ I paused, stretching my
forelimbs in a self-satisfied manner, before continuing. ‘But that second story
is presuming the veracity of a previous fiction. So, invisible cats aren’t
real. It is a fiction told to explain things that can’t be explained by
transgressions across dimensions, and a device often used in feline speculative
literature,’ I said, somewhat dismissively.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Humph,’ said Mimi, clearly put out. ‘But if the
tapetum is truly resistant to invisibility potions, then maybe, just maybe it
can be seen in other dimensions.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘That isn’t something I’ve had experience of,’ I
replied.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Well, maybe you weren’t looking hard enough,’
Mimi replied. At that moment, there was a noise above. We both darted under the
table as a few more books slid off the shelves, presumably released by my
fiddling. They hit the ground with a series of thuds. This was then followed by
a couple of hefty hardbacks, which hit the ground harder.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Let me guess what you are thinking,’ I said,
once the minor book avalanche had ceased.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Invisible cats. Polterkatzen, if you and your
posh friend prefer,’ Mimi said, flouncing out before I had a chance to say any
more.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">The day rolled on. I managed to attack the edits
from Bobinski and finally made some headway. Mimi spent all day out in the
garden, despite the intermittent drizzle; I think she was making a point,
rather than being truly curious about the neighbourhood. Thankfully she
returned when our Human Slaves came back from wherever they go during the day,
the acoustic signature of their cars pulling up a sign for us to gather in the
hallway and wait for their arrival. Or more to the point, wait for them to feed
us.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Nice day,’ I asked, as we heard the sound of a
car door, the jangle of some keys.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Fine thanks,’ Mimi replied.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘We’re off out later,’ I offered. ‘To try and
find the Invisible Cats.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘I thought you said they didn’t exist?’ Mimi
replied sarcastically.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Well, perhaps you need to find that out for
yourself.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">Presently, the small human slave came through the
door, clutching bags of shopping, some of which I could sense contained a few
of my favourite dinners. But before we could feast, we were questioned about
the mess in the sitting room. Not that we were expected to reply of course, or
even acknowledge that we had caused the books to fall. And as it happened,
because of the bamboo which Mimi kept knocking over, the blame was directed at
her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">I do wonder why humans expect us to be able to
understand them. We obviously can, but they don’t know that, yet they persist
in this odd anthropomorphic behaviour. Still, I suspect I wouldn’t even notice
my felithropic behaviour unless someone pointed it out to me.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">The rain from earlier had passed, so after
dinner, we passed time outside on the patio chairs. Or at least I did. Mimi
soon became bored and decided to entertain herself by chasing a seagull around,
which was a slight cause of alarm. I wasn’t sure which one would come off
better. I had visions of the seagull picking her up in its claws and dragging
her away across the rooftops. In the end, the seagull got a bit too close and
was viciously cuffed around the head, which prompted its quick departure. ‘I
almost had him,’ said Mimi from the fence rail above. We remained outside in
what had become a balmy summer evening, watching the light fade from the sky,
stars slowly winking into existence in the heavens above. And then, as the
house lights slowly turned off, one by one, we crept out into the night.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">Twig’s house was pretty easy to get to, at least
when compared with our travels to the antique shops in Boscombe. So I won’t
bore you with all the details: it was a simple trip through a few corridors in
the feliverse, and then two quiet streets in the humanverse. Being cats, we
went around the back first, slipping into the garden through a hole in the
fence, scaring off a fox which had come to drink from the garden’s large
central pond. The lawn smelt of camomile and I could see and smell a variety of
blooms in the neatly arranged flowerbeds, although the night had sucked their
colours away, rendering them all in grayscale. Twig emerged from a cluster of
sword lillies, where she’d been waiting for us. Or perhaps hiding from the fox.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Thanks for coming,’ she whispered and we
followed her in through the cat flap, passing by a kitchen which smelt of
cinnamon and baking, and then into the sitting room. The picture was there
leaning up against the wall, its frame cracked exactly as Twig had explained.
We turned it around together to inspect more carefully. The picture was indeed
of an old woman, the family matriarch perhaps, but there was nothing unusual
about it. I couldn’t detect any ghost aligned with this particular object. I
wandered around the room, sniffing the fireplace, examining the nooks and
crannies - the magazine rack, behind the glass cabinet, the bookshelves. But
there was nothing, not a flicker of spectral activity. This wasn’t to say it
didn’t exist - sometimes ghosts only intermittently make themselves present. I
explained this to Twig and told her I’d create a binding formula, which firms
up the dimensionality of a particular area, in case there is any spillage. It
was one of the first things I learned when I was finding out about this stuff.
A simple enough thing to do: just a few choice movements combined with a single
sentence. It often did the trick when there was fitful spectral activity. Mimi
watched me, rolling her eyes, completely unconvinced.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘I hope that will solve your problems,’ I told
Twig in the kitchen afterwards. ‘It could be the presence of the Matriarch
making herself felt. Perhaps she wants more influence over family affairs?’ I
suggested. Here I was bordering on the supernatural. I believe the quantum
stuff, for sure, but the emotional aspect of such entities doesn’t usually
figure. I didn’t have any other explanation, however.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘She has been mentioned a few times recently, by
my Slaves,’ said Twig.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Well, who knows. In any case, she won’t be
getting through any more,’ I said confidently. ‘But if you ever need us again,
you know where we are.’ I looked around for Mimi, but she had already slunk
away into the gloom of the garden. I could see her outside the bifold glass
doors - two green shimmering eyespots which occasionally appeared, hovering
above the camomile lawn. I said my goodbyes and wished Twig all the best,
heading out to join Mimi and head home.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">Outside though, I couldn’t see Mimi anywhere. I
circled the pond a few times, then felt an odd sensation of something brushing
past me. I turned quickly, claws out, swiping blindly, briefly making contact
with whatever it was. There was another movement and the thing caught me on the
side of my head, sending me spinning. Angry now, I turned again and leapt into
the darkness, my paws both striking an object in the gloom. For a while I hung
on, but then the sensation in my paws vanished. Then came the sound of a cat in
pain. I ran over to where the sound had come from, but there was nothing there.
Moments later, I saw Mimi padding over the lawn towards me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Why did you leave without me?’ she asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘I… I thought you were out here!’ I said,
surprised.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">I felt something on my paw and licked it, tasting
the salty taste of blood. I felt confused - none of this made sense. Perhaps it
was the fox that had come back?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Nope,’ replied Mimi, bring me back to reality. ‘While
you were muttering that mumbo jumbo, I went for a walk around the house.
There’s a broken window in the downstairs toilet window. Creates quite a breeze
when the door is open. Enough to knock a picture of the wall, I reckon,’ she
said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Really? So, no invisible cats, then,’ I said,
unsure of myself.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘No. None whatsoever. Let’s go home,’ Mimi
replied.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">We were almost at the gap in the fence when I
turned, looking across the garden. There were two eyes gleaming in the dark
staring back at me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Mimi, can you see that?’ I asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘See what?’ she asked. But the two points of
light had now vanished.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Just thought I saw something,’ I replied. ‘It’s
nothing, though.’ </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">Except the more I think of it, the more I wonder
whether it was just nothing. Was I just imagining things? My mind is prone to
flights of fancy. But perhaps there was something in all those stories; perhaps
Scarfic wasn’t just making it up. I haven’t seen any such thing since. And
thankfully, Twig’s slaves have remained untroubled.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">Was this because I managed to scare away whatever
was causing the problems, or that my messing with the quantum field worked? Or
perhaps, the more prosaic mending of the shattered downstairs toilet window solved
the issue? Sometimes being so close to a story creates a subjective bias. In
any case, I can’t decide. So this time, dear reader, I think I’ll leave the
decision up to you. But should you see the incorporeal tapetum, the invisible
cats frolicking in your back garden, do let me know.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">END</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">The Cat will no doubt return. In the meantime,
you can check out all the other stories of the feliverse here:</span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;"></span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; line-height: 200%;"><a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/p/the-cats-page.html">The Cat’s Page</a></span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "garamond"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Cochin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;"></span></i></div>
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</style>Guy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7153101505071915432.post-55133357363824174292019-06-29T19:32:00.002+01:002019-08-17T22:51:38.960+01:00Ghost Sister (Part Two)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbIJkX4UgQswm4-dskKHkMqMA8AUmC3I5EPWgug7dfzaPCWVSE_-L1LUTxRBFjHu0IWrWcieFnQfew9AE4OsJFWMQig55SbOjIpashLBRzfbMO_KjY1ZbxTCxKMmfBXw0fITw4IfN1yJ5X/s1600/Mugs.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbIJkX4UgQswm4-dskKHkMqMA8AUmC3I5EPWgug7dfzaPCWVSE_-L1LUTxRBFjHu0IWrWcieFnQfew9AE4OsJFWMQig55SbOjIpashLBRzfbMO_KjY1ZbxTCxKMmfBXw0fITw4IfN1yJ5X/s400/Mugs.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cats in another plane of existence. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">If you missed the
first part of this story, you can catch up here:</span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/2019/06/ghost-sister-part-one.html"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Ghost Sister (PartOne)</span></i></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The woman lay on the sofa, dreaming troubled dreams in the flickering
artificial light of the television screen. A shimmering spectral form above her
was the ghost, pulling energy across the threads of the universe into its substance.
Much of that energy came from the human herself. Occasionally, what looked like
faces without eyes passed across its nebulous form. I glared at it and whispered
threats, occasionally baring my remaining teeth and hissing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Right,
I think it’s time to go,’ said Pudding, the famous exorcist cat. She’d been out
in the garden giving Mimi a pep talk, stressing the importance of not running
away. Where we were going - a place called Boscombe - could be dangerous if you
stepped out of line. And, as we know from experience, Mimi isn’t really one for
being told what to do. I heard the cat flap go as Mimi returned, carrying with
her the scent of the night.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
we were all assembled, Pudding once again ran through the plan: firstly, how to
get there. There was no access from my usual point of entry, that being the
portal which overlaps with the real door of our house. We discussed trying to
double back on ourselves through a tortuous branching course. But even that
wouldn’t work.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘There’s
an old portal in the Chine,’ I said, recalling a place The Architect had once
shown me. The Architect knew all the short cuts around this town - they made
his nights shorter. ‘It's poorly maintained, but I’m assured it does work.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘What’s
a Chine?’ asked Pudding. I explained the local vernacular for the valley that
led down to the beach. I could see Mimi’s eyes light up with excitement. It was
going to be a long night.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mimi
scaled the back fence, pushing open the bolt to the gate with her back paws.
The bolt jerked backwards and the door swung free.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Not
such a big fan of those athletic jumps either, these days,’ said Pudding, as we
walked through, Mimi dancing along the rail topping the fence with the
daintiness of a ballerina.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Show
off,’ I muttered, as we waded through the exuberant green alkanet which had
sprung up in the lane over the past few weeks. During the day the numerous blue
flowers of this plant were a haven for bees; Mimi chased these despite my
warnings, but had so far avoided being stung. We passed a rusting bike,
assorted pots and paving slabs before eventually finding our way out onto the
tarmac of a side street. Thereafter, we kept to the back gardens running behind
the road, keeping out of the way of cars and so on. We passed Rock Star’s
house, but there was no sign of his cat Athena tonight. Once, we encountered a
fox who looked at us uninterested, before spraying its scent and disappearing
into a hedge.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Disgusting,’
said Mimi, wrinkling her nose at the strong aroma which wafted over to us.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘No
worse than a cat,’ Pudding replied.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘I
have never done such a thing,’ I replied. ‘Well, perhaps once, before… you
know… there was this rather fetching bath mat.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Enough,’
said Pudding, leading the way further towards the chine, the gardens of the
neighbourhood houses passing like familiar faces. The greenery gave way to the
road suddenly, a blaze of light passing around the corner as a car passed. We
paused for a few moments, waiting and listening for any further incursions upon
the night, before hastily making our way across. Pudding and Mimi followed me
as I reached the opposite pavement and turned right, heading into the ruined
house of the old human writer. The place was now a small park for reflection
and had been furnished with a plaque stating its provenance. I crept around
carefully, as this was a place where humans often exercise their dogs. But it
was quiet, so we walked through the remaining stone walls of the old rooms with
no problem, passing a small memorial lighthouse statue in the grounds behind.
The end of the garden ended in an iron fence, which I thought was easy enough
to get through; however, Pudding found it a bit of a squeeze, which both Mimi
and I ignored politely.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
land behind fell away in a steep bramble strewn slope to the chine itself. We
began our descent, and as we plunged deeper into the gloom, I tried to block
out the stories The Architect had told me about the beings in the Chine: the
myriad strange creatures that resided there, most of which were dangerous to
felines. Although I’m sure much of this was myth told to keep cats away from
the old portals cached down there, as well as some of the machinery The
Architect used to temper time. The scent in the place was heavy with flowers
and plants, but there was also the sharp smell of foxes and other smaller
animals. Every once in a while a shrew or mouse would dart into the
undergrowth, causing Mimi to leap excitedly in the air. This display of
athleticism would be followed by furious scrabbling in the leaf mulch, which
only seemed to scare the prey away even further. I caught Pudding watching her
attempts, amused.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We’d
been walking for a while when the night suddenly became stiller and quieter. A
sliver of moon hung in the sky overhead, lending everything a monochrome glow
and at the same time making the darkness seem darker. (For those nit pickers
out there, us cats can see in colour - our eyes just aren’t as developed in that
respect as humans.) I stopped, sniffed at a patch of ground and let the others
catch up.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Spooky,
huh?’ I asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Spookiness
isn’t something that generally concerns an exorcist,’ Pudding replied, drolly.
Mimi on the other hand looked petrified, her eyes wide, her body shivering with
cold or fear.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘We’re
almost there,’ I said reassuringly. However, just as I’d spoken a fallen branch
cracked to our left, followed by the rustling of bushes. It sounded as if
something large was creeping through the undergrowth toward us. We paused for a
few moments, but the noise moved away from us; I sniffed the air again - there
was the smell of alcohol and unwashed human.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘It’s
okay,’ I said to the others, as the drunk moved away from us, stumbling further
into the undergrowth.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
continued to move downwards, before the path flattened out and seemed to wind
back on itself. We were deep in the chine now, trees above forming a canopy
which completely concealed the night sky. Every once in a while we heard the
swish of a car’s tyres from the nearby road and splashes of light breached the
tree cover.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
found the old portal where The Architect had hidden it behind two fallen tree
trunks, in the centre of a bush. A small ceramic drain gully extruded from the
ground, issuing a sad trickle of water - some remnant of Victorian engineering
built years ago. A stale, stagnant odour issued from the pipe, which was rimmed
by some slimy black fungus. Thick cobwebs cloaked the upper half of the drain
like a veil. It was clear that this portal hadn’t been used for some time.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘We
have to go in that?’ asked Mimi.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘It’s
just like your play tunnel back home,’ I replied.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Except
my play tunnel isn’t full of gunk and rubbish. And it smells nicer,’ Mimi
retorted.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘You
can always go back home. On your own,’ suggested Pudding. Tempting fate, I
thought, but Mimi was too curious about where the portal led to give it up.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘I’ll
go first,’ I said, as I placed my paws into the muck and felt the cobwebs brush
my whiskers in a rather unpleasant fashion. I swiped with my right paw and the
pipe vanished, the damp trickle replaced by wooden floorboards. But the room in
which I found myself was filled with even more cobwebs, which stretched like
blankets between walls and fluttered with the disruption my arrival had caused.
There was a scuttling, scratching sound as well, which I could only imagine was
the legs of spiders scarpering, as I couldn’t smell mice or rats. Spiders show
little concern with regards to the weaves of reality and are as happy to proliferate
in the cat iteration of the universe, in which I found myself, as they do in
the human verse. Some even suspect that they can cross the metaverse without
access to portals, that their webs are anchored across time and space.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Moments
later Mimi appeared, hissing the moment she saw me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘What’s
the matter?’ I asked, somewhat taken aback.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘For
a moment… I didn’t recognise you. You’re completely covered in cobwebs,’ she
replied, as a blanket of the stuff separated itself from the wall and draped
itself over her form.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Hey,
let’s scare Pudding,’ I said. And when Pudding materialised we leapt around
like crazed animals, our muzzles hidden behind the mask of spider silk.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Pudding
didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘Stop messing around. We’ve got work to do,’ she said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
portal had broken at some point in time, and while it had been designed to
transport travellers to the Royal Arcade itself, it now stopped short, instead
leaving them in the bell tower. This was in fact more convenient for us, as in
recent years, the arcade has become barricaded at night by impenetrable gates,
to prevent any human incursion, but at the same time also preventing any feline
exit during these times.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
stepped out of the window and onto the glass roof which covered the arcade. In
this iteration of space, large swathes of it had fallen in, so the going was
treacherous. Beneath, the shops were mostly deserted, although the shop fronts
from humanverse bled in a bit, like an afterimage on the retina. However, we
weren’t interested in the arcade - the antique shops were situated a brief walk
the other side of Boscombe. So we started in that direction, scrambling over
the domed roof of the old opera house, where the rich and famous of the feline
world used to come before the place sank into disrepute. I sensed a deep
vibration in its structure, and wondered if there was anything happening there
tonight in the humanverse. Perhaps it was one of those gigs my Human Slave
liked to go to so much. I imagined him down there somewhere, his shadowy form mixed
in with the hundred or other souls, pressed together to see some band on stage
bang out their songs, the smell of sweat and lager and excitement permeating
the air.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
continued over a number of rooftops, following the high street towards the
antiques quarter. At one point, we saw a Mice Police patrol sauntering along
far below; they were heavily armoured and carrying all manner of bristling
spiky looking weapons. Pudding had been right - this wasn’t the safest of
expeditions. We paused, keeping silent as the patrol passed under us. They’d
almost vanished when we heard a scuffle - a Nepeta victim staggering out of a
dive bar, gesturing at the patrol with his paws.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Mimi,
look at that,’ I said, pointing at an open window frame, where a bird was
nesting in the human verse, its ghost like shape visible. She turned just in
time, missing the moment the Mice Police took aim and fired, her attention
flitting back when the report of gunfire reached her ears.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘What
was that?’ she asked, looking down at the patrol below. The felled cat was now
concealed behind the patrol unit.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘I’m
not sure what they’re up to,’ I replied. ‘But we’d best carry on, eh?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
we’d reached a safe distance, the Mice Police patrol far behind, we clambered
down from the rooftops, ending up around the back of an empty shop, its ghost
shop also empty in the human world. Following the deserted road down, the
occasional spectral shape of a car or bus passed by us, leaching into our
world. Mimi hadn’t seen this phenomenon before and the first time this
happened, scarpered, disappearing behind the crumbled facade of another shop. I
thought we’d lost her again, and it was a relief when her head poked up above
the ruined brickwork, watching the phenomenon as the double decker bus number
1, bound for Christchurch blurred by.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘You’ll
get used to it,’ I explained.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘How?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Your
brain adjusts. And it is almost as if you can choose to see the bleeding
through or not.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Why
can’t humans see it?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Some
can. But for the most part, they aren’t as attuned to the spaces between worlds
as felines are…’ </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Hence
why we can see the phenomena they call ghosts,’ Pudding added.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Not
long after this, we approached the antiques quarter - the part of town where
each side of the road is bedecked by antique shops selling all kinds of ware.
Of course, we weren’t able to see them in this reality - just their ghost-like
outline. But I was able to point out their various analogues to Pudding in this
reality.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
pointed to an old Victorian sweetshop, its windows now mostly staved in, the
shelves behind plundered for their wares. ‘That’s Serendipity,’ I proclaimed.
If you squinted, let the light in, you could just about make out its analogue -
where the windows were broken there was a grey sheen in the human world, where
they were intact. We could make out the shop’s ghostly frontispiece hung in the
air above us, its circus style lettering puncturing the space between worlds.
What’s more, I could sense the presence of creatures who moved between the
verses, the ghosts which moved across. We continued to walk down the street,
towards Pokesdown station, passing an horologist and some tea rooms.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘And
this one here,’ I said, pointing at an old alchemist’s, still surprisingly well
preserved, ‘is Joan’s World. One of the human’s receipts came from this place.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘I
think this merits a bit more exploration,’ Pudding said, looking up and down
the street. There was no sign of the Mice Police patrol we had seen earlier.
She leapt up and pushed at the door, but it was locked. Mimi called out, having
found a broken grille at the side of the building, which afforded her access.
There were some noises inside, the toppling and crashing of a bottle. I looked
at Pudding, concerned, but then there was some scratching at the door, followed
by the sound of a bolt being slid across. Moments later we were inside, the
place dusty but well-preserved. The overlying Joan’s World was clearly visible
to me, as were the plentiful spectres associated with all the gewgaws on
display.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
turned to see Pudding pawing at the air, as she tried to coax something out of
space. But then she stopped, moved around a bit, sniffing, her eyes deep pools
of dark, her ears swept back. ‘It’s here,’ she said eventually.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘So
what do we do now?’ asked Mimi.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘The
spectre here is linked across time and space to the human female in your house.
It is linked by an object called a telescope, which humans use to bring far
things close to their eyes.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘I
thought that was a television,’ said Mimi.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘It
was used for looking at stars, or navigating on ships and so on,’ I explained.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘So
I simply need to break the connection. By reaching into the world between
worlds and scratching it out,’ Pudding explained.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘It
isn’t dangerous… to the human?’ I asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Everything
is dangerous when it comes to this type of ghosts,’ said Pudding. ‘Right, here
goes.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Pudding
began the swiping action I’d seen before, only this time with a greater
intensity. I wasn’t sure I’d imagined it, but something began to glow at the
tips of her paws, as if her claws were having an affect on the light. Then
something wispy began to appear, and within it were the strange faces I’d seen
in the ghost before, back in our living room. Pudding continued to swipe,
faster and faster, until her front legs were a blur. Then she jumped up and
came down on the thing with all four legs.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There
was a sudden crash and something seemed to shift. I looked around and the
bottles were gone, replaced by the real contents of Joan’s World. Somehow we’d
been transported back into the human iteration of the universe. Mimi was also
here, attending to Pudding who lay on the floor, not moving. Around us were a
number of glass bottles, mostly intact, but a few had shattered onto the floor,
presumably the cause of the crash I’d heard.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘She’s
still breathing,’ Mimi said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
walked over and shook Pudding who stood up sleepily. ‘Well, that seemed to work
then,’ she said. ‘Where the heck are we?’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
didn’t have time to answer this question. The lights flicked on and the
eponymous Joan, woken up by the disturbance, marched into her shop, brandishing
a broom. ‘I’ll get you,’ she was shouting. ‘Damn rats! I’ll get you.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
scarpered in different directions. I found myself cowering beneath a wooden
drinks’ cabinet, fashioned as a globe. Pudding jumped into a shelving unit and
managed to dislodge a box of horse brasses which cascaded onto the floor in a
clatter of bronze. Mimi seemed less panicked than the rest of us and sat there
sweetly, looking up at Joan, who instantly softened when she saw her. ‘Cats,
not rats!’ she said to herself. ‘How did you get in here, puss? And what’s all
this mess?’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mimi
was doing her best human whispering, rubbing herself on Joan’s ankles, purring
like a helicopter. Soon she had Joan muttering that she was off to get some
cream and she disappeared out the back again.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Quick,
let’s go,’ said Pudding, pointing towards the street.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
front door of the shop had been punctured by the glass, leaving a hole big
enough for a cat, even one of Pudding’s size. We gingerly stepped through and
onto the street, just before Joan returned. I looked back and saw her carrying
a bottle of milk, a slightly disappointed look on her face. She began to move
towards the door, but we were heading up the pavement, keeping close to the
wall.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
did a double take when we passed the horologists. The place looked exactly the
same as in the feliverse, and what’s more despite the late hour, seemed to be
occupied. A man, who could easily have been from Victorian times was looking up
the street, presumably also disturbed by all the ruckus. He had an eyepiece in
his right eye and clutched a small screwdriver in the other. He watched us as
we sauntered past, an intrigued look on his face.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘The
cars are real,’ I said, reminding Mimi, as one sped past in a wash of noise,
light and a gust of wind. ‘It’s easy to forget where you are sometimes,’ I
added, having had a few close calls in the past myself.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Soon
we were able to move away from the high street and onto a long wooded stretch,
entitled Woodland Walk, which led towards the sea. Or which I assumed did, by
the scent of it. Once hidden behind the shadow of a tree, we gathered ourselves
and tried to work out what to do next.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘It’ll
take us all night to walk home… It’s possible, but…,’ I said.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘And
the nearest portal?’ asked Pudding.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘The
only one I know is too far away,’ I replied.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘I
don’t mind walking down to the beach. I’d like to see the sea.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘That’s
fine for you to say. My arthritis is already playing up after the evening’s
activities.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘So
what do you suggest?’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
did the only thing I could think of. I stopped time, and let it run. Knowing
that, sooner or later, The Architect would catch up with us. And, sooner rather
than later, he did. And although he was rather grumpy about being summoned in
such a manner, he led us to another old portal which spat us out in the Chine.
And we were able to make our way home untroubled.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
we re-entered the house, my Human Slave’s sister was still asleep on the sofa.
The space above her head, her span of long hair, was empty. The ghost had
vanished. Pudding had lived up to her reputation as one of the finer exorcists
out there, as I’d known she would. We waved goodbye to her the next day and I
promised her I wouldn’t write up the story of what happened, but being a cat,
changed my mind the next second.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There
remains little to say about this episode. Other than, if you’re a human, be wary
of buying things in antique shops: you’ve read about the consequences. I should
also mention that Joan of ‘Joan’s Antiques’ managed to fix her door up nicely.
And repair the rest of the damage we caused. In fact the bottles that
transported themselves along with us, back into this realm, were real Victorian
arcana. And worth a fair amount to boot. So, despite us trashing her shop, Joan
had a windfall and according to a local paper, managed to spend a long balmy
summer on a Greek island as a result. On holiday, she befriended a number of
the local felines, two of which returned with her to England and now guard her
residence. I’m told they keep the antiques spirit free as best they can - they
certainly know who to call if things get out of hand.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">THE END</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Links to all the other stories in the Feliverse can be found here:</span></div>
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<a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/p/the-cats-page.html"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Cat’s Page</span></a></div>
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</style>Guy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7153101505071915432.post-84668899151352684002019-06-22T14:30:00.001+01:002019-06-22T14:39:51.638+01:00Ghost Sister (Part One)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx0edELLpOepszarrQBW7Vj7hP3NtmTKDSrKbR1BAPAwKf_RanBfdT4aEQ_84VWnppDtuwy7FyE8Q2xlFxO8Xiq_6g9L_slypchN0agQuRmecqNLt39OwaAbqz6V5S-sYvCoY91rxxAYvt/s1600/CATS.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="750" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx0edELLpOepszarrQBW7Vj7hP3NtmTKDSrKbR1BAPAwKf_RanBfdT4aEQ_84VWnppDtuwy7FyE8Q2xlFxO8Xiq_6g9L_slypchN0agQuRmecqNLt39OwaAbqz6V5S-sYvCoY91rxxAYvt/s400/CATS.jpeg" width="260" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I suppose I should be used to interruptions by now. Living with Human
Slaves is fraught with such distractions. Trying to find time to one’s own is
indeed… trying.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Of course, I understand that my Human Slaves are blissfully unaware that
I have deadlines, word targets to hit. They think I just lie around all the
time, moving from the warmth of the radiator to a patch of sun-dappled carpet
and back again. Well, to be fair, we are pretty much nocturnal creatures. So
when the dawn creeps over Bournemouth, the nictitating membranes start sliding
over. And of course we sleep during the day - it is tiring being the spiritual
guardians of our Slaves’ homes, which so much of my fiction now concerns. In
any case, I often just give the impression of sleeping - when my brain is
usually half occupied with the plot of the next book.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">So, I was busy. The proofs on my latest novel <i>Black Smoke</i> had now
returned from the celebrated Tabby, Bobinski. He was the head honcho at
Felihelion, a well known American editorial agency. Being a rescue cat, he had
something of a chequered past, but he’d turned his life around and built up the
agency from scratch. Whenever I read his extensive and educated crits of my
work, I could hear that Midwest US drawl, imagine him looking up from his
computer to gaze over a beautiful Ohio sunset. As usual, reading down his line
edits, I realised there was a lot to do, in too short a time. The arrival of
another human in our household couldn’t have come at a worse time. I mean, I’d
only really just got used to having Mimi around.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>This
new human was the sister of my taller Human Slave. And she is a cat lover.
Which means unwanted attention at times. And being picked up, which I detest,
not least because of my arthritis. Thankfully, Mimi’s presence meant she was
distracted: the presence of a new cat, still really a kitten, was much more
interesting than me and my old bones. Mimi seemed more than happy to play up
for her as well, so I could crack on and work through the edits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or so I thought. But then came the
ghosts.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As
I have relayed throughout these stories, humans can gather up these creatures
from the spiritual realm. Some are more prone than others at accumulating these
spectral encumbrances. The tall slave’s sibling has a tendency to trawl through
antique shops, handling jewellery, curios and other objects, which are
effectively talismans for ghosts. Perhaps this is why she is more prone. Or
perhaps because her effective ghost removal system, her own feline protectors,
were miles away and the spirits could sense this.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In
any case, one day she returned from shopping in deepest darkest Boscombe, ghost
in trail. This of course necessitated some explaining to Mimi. Especially as I
was so absorbed in the edits that I failed to notice its arrival, for which I
felt doubly accountable.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
was up in the office when Mimi barrelled in, jumping in a flash of fur from
record player to speakers to eventually end up on the desk surface. ‘I need to
ask you something,’ she stated enthusiastically, her gaze flicking between me
and some birds which circled in the air above the rooftops outside.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Go
on,’ I said, marking up a piece of text and turning to my protegée.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘What’s
the thing that seems to follow the new Slave around?’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Are
you looking for a word to describe an article of clothing? Is this a new piece
of fiction you’re working on?’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘No.
There’s something else…,’ she replied. At this point, I should have realised
that something wasn’t quite right.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Perhaps you should get back to sorting through the stuff in the attic,’
I replied, perhaps a bit condescendingly. However, I had been disturbed in the
throes of creative output, which is like disturbing a cat when asleep and
dreaming: you just don’t do it.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Perhaps
you have to come and look,’ she retorted, somewhat crestfallen.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
turned back to the text momentarily. But where before the sentences had
clamoured in my mind, begging to be brought to life on the screen, the
interruption had spooked them, sending them to hide somewhere. Sighing, I
jumped off the chair, and gestured to Mimi.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Lead
the way,’ I said despondently.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘What
is that?’ she asked, observing the fluttery, inchoate presence that surrounded
the sister of my tall Human Slave. I stood stock still for a moment, confused.
As I’ve explained previously, I have a wealth of experience with the phantoms
that bleed into both humanverse and feliverse from other overlapping worlds.
Although this is more through accident than design. So why hadn’t I detected
this? Could it be that my senses were somehow blunted? I immediately began to
wonder whether it was the pressure of the work deadlines, but I’d never had any
such issues previously.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘That
is a ghost,’ I replied, still somewhat bewildered.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘I
thought it might be. A ghost!’ Mimi exclaimed, being familiar with such
entities from my fiction. ‘Can we kill it?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
took a look at the human, asleep on the sofa. She was lit by an eerie flicker
from the muted television as a rerun of The Twilight Zone played out. The
creature floating above her was a nebulous protean thing, which confused the
eye. Occasionally forms like faces would appear in its midst, only for these
tenebrous shapes to then fade away.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘I
think this one might be a difficult one,’ I replied. Rather than bore you with
the taxonomy of these entities - to which I have contributed, needless to say -
let’s just call this a ‘bad one.’ </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘What
does that mean? Difficult…’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>’Well,
as I’ve said before… ghosts are entities from other dimensions that bleed into
this one. Sometimes they are anchored in this reality by an object. One can
remove them from their hosts, in this case a Human Slave, by force. That is if
you have the necessary aptitude. But it is often much easier to remove them
from the object itself.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘But
where’s the object?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘That’s
the question… It could be a brooch. It could even be something she picked up in
a shop today, but replaced on the shelf…’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘And
why is the tall Slave’s sister not sleeping on her bed?’ Mimi asked, gently
pawing at the ray of spilled golden hair around her head.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘I
don’t know. Sometimes they just do this.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Humans
are strange creatures,’ offered Mimi.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘I’ve
seen the Tall Slave asleep here occasionally. Perhaps these events are alcohol
related,’ I said, sniffing a toppled wine glass.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
turned back to look at the ghost, wondering once again why this particular
phenomenon had evaded my detection. Was it my arthritis medication? Were the
drugs numbing my senses? Steeling my bones, I jumped up onto the sofa and
gingerly climbed up the cushions, where I could reach out to the thing. With an
extended claw, I scratched its surface, attacking the part of it that had torn
a hole in the weft of reality. With the other paw I swiped at it, causing a
ripple in its surface. The thing broiled as I made contact, sending out a
tongue of something that swiped me off the sofa with a loud crackle of static,
depositing me on the floor some metres away. My old bones creaked as I landed,
skidding across the polished wooden floorboards until I came to a halt.
Frightened by this sudden activity, Mimi darted away in a flash of black.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
lay there for a moment, taking stock of what had just happened. In the olden
days, I would have gone straight back up there without missing a beat. But
something didn’t seem right, as if my actions are slower than usual. I swiped
at the air, as if trying to bat away the very idea that I was somehow
physically impaired.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Wow!
What was that?’ Mimi asked, eventually poking her head out from behind the
piano. Her eyes were as wide as saucers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘The
ghost feeds on the energy of its host. And that energy can be released if it
feels threatened,’ I explained, as I tried to bear my weight, my back legs
bruised. I wondered, not for the first time, whether my ghost hunting days were
the cause of my arthritic pains.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Can I have a go?’ asked Mimi.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘I wouldn’t recommend it,’ I replied. ‘This particular spectre is one of
the more malevolent types. You need to know what you are doing,’ I replied.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Or
it could kill me?’ Mimi asked, incredulous.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘If
it wanted to, it could kill everything in the vicinity,’ I replied.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘So how do we get rid of it? You’re meant to be the great exorcist.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘That
was a myth purveyed by the Cambridge lot. You know it isn’t true.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘So
what do we do next? We can’t leave it there!’ Mimi exclaimed, from her vantage
point behind the sofa.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘I’ve
wounded it. It’ll take some time to recover. By then, I hope we’ll have
reinforcements.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Reinforcements
came in the way of Pudding. She is a cat who lives in Nursling, a village down
the road near the city of Southampton. Like Bobinski, she’d had a tough
upbringing. But where Bobinski had channeled his formative experiences into
literary work, lending it an edge of the street, Pudding had found her street
fighting skills useful elsewhere: she’d become a celebrated ghost hunter and
exorcist. She was one who could handle the more difficult, more tenacious
ghosts rather than the run of the mill, commoner garden sort that most cats can
simply scare away.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Over
the course of my career I’ve made many acquaintances with exorcists and so on.
Whilst I dabble in these arts, I’m really an amateur, as my attempts to deal
with this ephemeral thing show. My talents really aren’t much above that of the
average cat. Although the opposite is often assumed, that I am indeed one the
fictional characters I describe. In any case, my work has brought me into
contact with the likes of true exorcists like Pudding, which has been useful.
Some of her stories have provided inspiration for mine. And of course, Mimi was
excited to meet her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
arranged to pick her up from feliverse iteration of The Cricketer’s the
following evening. Mimi was still grounded after her previous misdemeanours,
and in response managed to make such a show of scratching and miaowing that I
thought she’d wake the entire neighbourhood. I was almost glad when I’d left
the house and was finally waiting for Pudding, supping a pint of something from
Cambridgeshire which I wasn’t certain had travelled particularly well. Soon she
arrived: a larger than life cat, with deep black fur to the roots. She looked
like a Bombay, perhaps mixed with something else, but I didn’t know what and I
hadn’t ever asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Pudding! Lovely to see you again. Can I get you a drink?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘No,
thank you</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;">,</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">’ she replied, looking around the pub with disdain. I
wondered if we’d have been better off in one of the up market wine bars around
the corner.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Right…
well…’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Expect
you want to purloin some more of my stories,’ she muttered. ‘I did enjoy your
last one though…’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Thanks.
But actually this time I need your help with something else,’ I replied, before
explaining my predicament.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Not long after this, Pudding was accompanying me through the portal
system and we were soon back in Bournemouth. When we arrived home, Mimi
sprinted down the stairs in such an exuberant rush that she almost bowled over
Pudding. The gangly youth was quickly put in her place by an accurately aimed
paw from the older cat, swiping her muzzle, which put her off balance. A
misplaced foot and Mimi crashed onto her back, sliding along the polished
wooden floorboards before coming to a halt as she hit the skirting board.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Some
welcome,’ Pudding muttered.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Hi,
I’m Mimi,’ she said, popping back up and attempting to regain her composure.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Remind
me to try that move when you come over to my place,’ replied Pudding, wryly.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘I’m
so pleased to meet you. I’ve heard all about you–,’ Mimi began.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Don’t
believe all you read. Got a way with the truth, this one,’ she replied, nodding
at me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘It’s
called fiction.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Whatever.
Now, I can sense a ghost around here somewhere,’ Pudding said, sniffing the
air. She paused for a moment and issued a series of odd wheezing sounds before
continuing. I’d seen this kind of thing before, but Mimi sprang back, her ears
flattened. Like some cats are able to mimic bird calls, Pudding has the ability
to create sounds similar to those of the spectral world. Once she’d done this
she trotted into the sitting room, tail bolt upright. I followed with a
cautious Mimi and a few moments later, the three of us were sat in a line,
looking at the human who was once again asleep on the sofa. Tonight however,
she was illuminated by an episode of NCIS.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Before I could stop her, Pudding was rummaging through the human’s
effects, emptying the contents of her bag onto the carpet. A variety of plastic
bags within contained rings, earrings, necklaces and numerous vintage pieces
from charm bracelets. It was these that Pudding seemed interested in, tearing
open the plastic and letting the numerous objects spill onto the carpet.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">There were tiny horses, cars, shoes, teapots, horseshoes, frogs,
lighthouses, tankards and even some cats. Pudding batted these around in a
fashion – in fact, as you may have seen cats play with objects on occasion. And
while to a human it might have seemed as if she was playing, she was in fact
sorting out each object in turn. Finally she found one she was interested in:
an exquisitely moulded windmill, with working blades. She batted it back and
forth, sending the vanes spinning with a whir. And then there was a puff of
light above it. Pudding moved quickly, grabbing at it with both paws, and then
it was gone. But despite this, the ghost above my tall slave’s sister hung like
a demonic thundercloud.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘No
it isn’t here,’ said Pudding finally.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘What was all that about with the windmill then?’ asked Mimi.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘That
was me exorcising a ghost from another of this human’s artefacts. I thought I
might as well, since I found it. Sometimes the way isn’t always clear, muddied
by other ghosts. Now, however… It looks like we’ll have to go on a trip.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Where
to?’ I asked.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In
response, Pudding rummaged through the Slave’s bag, pulled out a hand-written
receipt for a few hundred quid. The stamped address on the top was for an
antique shop the other side of town: a place called Boscombe.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘We
could start here,’ Pudding suggested.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘About
that…,’ I started, and then had to explain. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Boscombe
is a part of Bournemouth - a suburb if you like. In the feliverse, it had once
been popular with the caterati of the early 1900s as a desirable place to
summer. There are early black and white photograms of them on the beaches, the
male cats sporting top hats and their queens wielding umbrellas in their paws.
But the cliffs behind soon became overrun by Nepeta plants, with more nefarious
types moving in, taking control of its collection and distribution. The idyllic
nature of the place changed and before long, the Mice Police were called upon
to restore order; ever since there has been a constant war of attrition between
the two factions.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>To
get to Boscombe meant either travelling through the humanverse, which would
take some time as it was about six miles away - a fair distance for a cat, let
alone one with arthritis, and with the usual obstacles that humans throw in our
way: cars, taxis, buses and so on. The alternative was jumping through the
portal system, although in Boscombe it didn’t quite work. You’d end up in the feliverse
and then have to walk a fair distance before there was anywhere to jump back
into human space. And walking through that part of the feliverse, given my
previous explanation, would be hair-raising to say the least. I’m not sure why
it works out that way sometimes - I’m sure someone like Fred, or perhaps a
scholar of the portal system’s history might be able to explain. It is
something to do with being close to an anchor point between overlapping
metaspaces, which means less deviation across the worlds. But sometimes the
distribution of the portals simply seems perverse.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘I’m
not sure how safe it is…,’ I muttered.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘This
from the cat that walked into one of Fungus’ rallies without a second thought?’
asked Pudding.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Yeah,
it couldn’t possibly be as bad as that place,’ added Mimi. I gave her a stern,
hard glance, but her attention had already flitted away to a mote of dust
caught in a beam of sunlight.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Pudding
didn’t seem at all phased by the idea of Boscombe. She’d seen the worst that
cats have to offer, had multiple run-ins with the Mice Police and mostly
escaped their bullets. However, when Mimi started protesting about not being
able to come, Pudding spoke.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘To
be fair, perhaps we need safety in numbers,’ Pudding said to me quietly, after
Mimi had made a show of trying to tear up our Human Slaves’ newly laid carpet
in frustration.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘But
if she isn’t punished, she won’t learn,’ I replied.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘There’s
a human saying - there are more ways than one to skin a cat.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Oddly
enough, I’ve never liked that phrase. But I take your point.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘She
has to learn on her own four feet. That’s the cat’s way.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And
so, without further ado, the three of us set off for Boscombe. Now if you are
very nice and feed me dreams (other treats are available), I might tell you
what happened there next week. But being a cat of course, I might just change
my mind at the last minute. I guess you’ll have to wait and see.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">To be continued next week…</span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">In the meantime, read all the other feliverse stories here: <a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/p/the-cats-page.html">The Cat’sPage</a></span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"></span></i></div>
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</style>Guy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7153101505071915432.post-36937358079254146202019-04-06T12:59:00.002+01:002019-04-06T13:27:57.383+01:00Beyond Portal No. 5 (Part Two)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwVKX2gkVwoindYH77aSQo3ZdgoRwzOA4viu2HWaZrN6X-itkSn1b-EfhJa0v2-rJrpDH86XT6nRBwev2aUnpp4wa3jcY8Z-fUFT2WwHepL-8CLlnVEaDMWMVfYgp-62VnrFju61SlOJSn/s1600/Fungus2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="990" data-original-width="1396" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwVKX2gkVwoindYH77aSQo3ZdgoRwzOA4viu2HWaZrN6X-itkSn1b-EfhJa0v2-rJrpDH86XT6nRBwev2aUnpp4wa3jcY8Z-fUFT2WwHepL-8CLlnVEaDMWMVfYgp-62VnrFju61SlOJSn/s400/Fungus2.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The evil Fungus. Art by Zwutschk</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/2019/03/beyond-portal-no-5.html">
</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/2019/03/beyond-portal-no-5.html"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Click here to read the first part of the story: Beyond Portal No. 5 (Part One)</span></i></a></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">If you're all up to date, the story continues below: </span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I realised then what I had to do. I began to
slink away from the crowd, but someone noticed me and shouted. I must have
looked suspicious, or perhaps a chink of reflected light revealed my true form.
I turned and began to sprint back to the portal, my old bones aching with the
effort. Every now and then I’d cast a look behind and see the slavering jaws of
my pursuers. Halfway up, I felt the sharp claws of a feline digging into my
tail, but it failed to gain purchase, and I ran, spurred further on by this
encounter. I didn’t dare look behind me now as I pounded across the concrete
and through the pools of oily material, which splashed up my legs, my white fur
soon stained a muddy black. I knew I had to keep running, outpace the demons
behind me - it was Mimi’s only chance. With my heart pounding in my ribcage I
made it to the portal and crashed through, landing in the hub in a heap. Two of
the felines followed me and as I lay there, catching my breath, I wondered if
they were so fired up they would blatantly reach protocol. But Fred soon
squared up to them and they sank back to portal five, and vanished from sight</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;">.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Are you OK there?’ he asked, turning to me.
His hair was still on end, his lips quivering, revealing his incisors, one of
which was jagged and split.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Fred…,’ I began, trying to catch my breath.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘That’s my name. So what’s the problem…’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Fred,’ I tried again. ‘Can you get a message
to The Architect?’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Certainly can,’ he replied, looking around for
something which might grease this transaction. Unfortunately the small bag I
had been carrying had fallen off somewhere in the fracas.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘You’ll be rewarded. I assure you.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He thought about this for a while. ‘Well, a cat
like you doesn’t usually break his promises. So what is it you needs me to tell
The Architect.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Tell him. We need. To mobilise. Mobilise The
Caterati.’</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">***</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">My strength soon returned when I was propped up at the bar of The
Cricketers, The Architect shoving a half pint of caramelised milk my direction.
I stopped licking the grime off my feet and sniffed this concoction. Normally
I’d avoid this kind of strong stuff, but at the time I was shaken, my limbs aching.
I could still see the jaws of my pursuers, dripping with saliva, their blood
shot eyes crazed with hate. I took the drink in one quick gulp, licking the
drops from the glass; it tasted a lot better than my feet had.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘How’s it going?’ I asked The Architect, who
simply nodded in response.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">It looked like Ziggy was doing most of the
grunt work, organising the troops in some function room upstairs. You could
tell something was going on up there - the floorboards creaked under the weight
of the assembled Caterati, and there was the occasional thud as a cat landed
somewhere. I felt like I should be up there too, but The Architect had insisted
that I took no part in this now. He was content to sit by my side and watch
time go by - after all, watching time was what he did best.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I felt the paws of cats as they passed by, on
their way to the little wooden staircase which wound up to the first floor.
They were patting me with sympathy I suppose, or perhaps even solidarity. After
all, they were all arriving, at this place, on my behest. Although in any case,
the rabble that the cat Fungus had roused were a threat that needed to be
neutralised. Some of the Caterati I recognised, some I didn’t; there were even
a few famous names, which had been drawn to help by the call to mobilise. I was
struck by their cosmopolitan nature of the Caterati, as if I was seeing them
with new eyes - all breeds and sexes were represented, which made a stark
contrast to those in the denizens beyond Portal number 5.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Another one?’ asked The Architect.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘No thanks. I’d better keep a clear head.’ </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">My saturnine pal nodded at this and ordered
another for himself. When this was standing in front of him, he finally turned
to me. ‘Going to be a long night,’ he remarked, before taking a draft, his whiskers
turning white with the milky froth.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘We need to get moving!’ I said, not for the
first time. I couldn’t bear to think what was happening to those caged cats,
Mimi amongst them.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Architect nodded to the other side of the
bar, where Ziggy had appeared. He had a tea cup, its handle snapped off,
crudely tied to his head and he was brandishing a broken bottle in one paw.
‘We’re ready. You follow the main thrust of the attack. Let the younger folk
fight.’ We nodded at this, unwilling to argue.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">As the Caterati marched out, I was struck by
how many had assembled in the room above. There were hundreds of cats filing
out of the door of the pub, many like Ziggy clutching crude weapons: another
broken bottle here, a rolling pin there. The fat Tabby barman called Pete,
after an old friend of his Human Slave, stood watching them go by. Every now
and then he’d remove something from their grasp, despite protestations that
they would be returned: a number of pewter tankards, horse brasses and drinking
horns were accumulating behind him. The Caterati were also sporting a motley
arrangement of armour: tea cups, saucers and mugs, all appropriated from The
Cricketer’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a while, Pete
eventually gave up the attempts to retrieve his property and resumed his usual
position behind the bar, hiding his face behind a pint of the special draft.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We followed the last of them out, as
instructed. At the portal hub, Fred was in good spirits, the increased traffic
presumably having filled his pockets with filthy lucre. One day I resolved to
find out what he spent it all on. As soon as we exited the Portal number 5, we
could hear the fighting. Some cats were darting back the way we had come,
scared witless by this mad throng of cats. Others had already been beaten up
and were sporting bleeding wounds, hissing at us as we passed.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">As we entered the main space, where Fungus’
rally had been taking place, it was a blur of furry forms. I occasionally made
out a familiar cat - Gaiman’s was obvious by his long black cloak, and he
seemed to get everywhere. I spied Smith, still wearing his leather overalls;
battling alongside him were a few clockwork devices, which jerkily moved around
the battlespace. And above was Athena’s owl, which flew around in circles, with
a bucket, occasionally tipping black tar-like material over Fungus’ men,
although I couldn’t see Athena herself. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">For a moment, I wondered if Fungus’ ad hoc
troops were getting the better of us. Some of the Caterati were fallen,
sporting large wounds. I bent and helped one where it looked like a large flap
of skin had been removed, ribs visible beneath. Eventually she got up, nodded
and headed straight back into the fracas.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I looked to The Architect, wondering if he
should stop time for a while. He saw me looking at him, and discerning what I
was thinking in his usual disconcerting manner, shook his head. I imagined how
it would go for him if it had to be stopped. How the innumerable threads of
time would have to somehow be woven together.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But then thankfully, the tide turned. More of Fungus’
lot began to leave, and soon they were outnumbered. I searched the crowd for
the cat boxes, but there were only a few remaining – a number had been opened
and the cats inside thrown to the mercy of the rally. Which of course had shown
no mercy at all. With desperate tears in my eyes, I looked around for my young
charge. Then there was a black blur in front of my eyes: it was Mimi, freed and
running towards me. In a friendly manner, she biffed me around the chops,
before knocking me over and jumping onto my back. I assumed she was grateful.
She soon quietened and sat down alongside, the three of us watching as the
Caterati pawhandled Fungus into one of the cat boxes and locked it. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘What are they going to do with him?’ I asked
The Architect.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Sentencing,’ he replied. ‘Then I suspect we’ll
find somewhere to lock him up.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘There is such a place?’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Oh yes. Not somewhere you ever want to go,’ he
replied. Although his words, and his steely glance, were directed more at Mimi
than at me. She looked at the floor guiltily and didn’t meet his glance.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Time I took you back home,’ I said. And before
we knew it, we were jumping up on the sofa and cuddling up to our Human Slaves.
Or at least Mimi was, as I affected my usual cool indifference.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">***</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">There were celebrations in the Cricketers. And
funerals were held for the cats we lost. Although Mimi was instructed to remain
in the house, her misadventures grounding her. Our old portal was also fixed by
The Architect, and Mimi was prevented from roaming the innumerable paths of the
cats until she was a bit older. However, she was finding plenty to be
interested in locally. As for Fungus, he still remains in limbo, awaiting
sentencing.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">It turned out that this event caused ripples of
discontent throughout our parallel universe. Fungus’ rally hadn’t been the only
one, and by disrupting it, we exposed this group for what it was. When a seed
of fear and anger is sown, it can spread, blown by whatever metaphysical wind
exists in our worlds. Or perhaps, if you like, a fungus can spread by
dissemination of its spores. And pockets of this were popping up all over. We
could only hope that the Caterati would smother this intolerance and hate with
something of their compassion, intelligence and more encompassing world view. Would
that be enough? What would happen next is anyone’s guess.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">END</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">You can find all of
The Cat’s other adventures here: <a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/p/the-cats-page.html">The Cat’s Page.</a></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw6jSWq1QmhKJhleC9-aruL5Krkq3Y_qimQdQKi-X3mXNWk-ApOMD2IsaG_purwLX__e38AT9Aas9X9GcDVJ-a7YavWfN8Zq9qNjQznHc5dZWSj3ZcoYuaTbQTyV4dpc7s6mzOY0s-Yuwx/s1600/Mimi.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1222" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw6jSWq1QmhKJhleC9-aruL5Krkq3Y_qimQdQKi-X3mXNWk-ApOMD2IsaG_purwLX__e38AT9Aas9X9GcDVJ-a7YavWfN8Zq9qNjQznHc5dZWSj3ZcoYuaTbQTyV4dpc7s6mzOY0s-Yuwx/s400/Mimi.jpeg" width="305" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The naughty Mimi. By Zwutschk.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</style>Guy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7153101505071915432.post-7378480973964960582019-03-30T11:02:00.003+00:002019-04-06T13:25:22.637+01:00Beyond Portal No. 5 (Part One)<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPH07KeMdpqv9HR-gr1FGJ6eoHRNrhHrFe8xLCaKPiSRPQs79mB-DzHSPZAQIVTtkom_ZEh096qMwbtGQj-11yn7FkB6Kn-_kZvkItypb8Vi1W0G5_x3IsQ1HfMA0oI8QDuIhPVVsON2q/s1600/Hodor.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1174" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPH07KeMdpqv9HR-gr1FGJ6eoHRNrhHrFe8xLCaKPiSRPQs79mB-DzHSPZAQIVTtkom_ZEh096qMwbtGQj-11yn7FkB6Kn-_kZvkItypb8Vi1W0G5_x3IsQ1HfMA0oI8QDuIhPVVsON2q/s400/Hodor.jpeg" width="291" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Where is Mimi? Artwork by Zwutschk</i></td></tr>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"></span></b><br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I’d written my novel Black Smoke quickly, over
a period of months. It isn’t always so quick - sometimes the process is a bit
like pulling teeth. But other times, inspiration just runs away with you, and
as discussed, the protegées’s arrival had forced the matter this time. In any
case, I was done with the writing on the novel and found myself in the
uncomfortable limbo period afterwards: not only waiting for the copy edits to
return, but also wondering what to do next. It was like having an itch, but one
you couldn’t work out where to scratch.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Smilodon suggested that now might be a good
time to make a concerted effort with the documents in the attic, which he so
grandly referred to as ‘my legacy’. Mimi had already done much in that space
beneath the eaves, organising the various pieces into categories. I scoffed at
this when I first saw it, pompously proclaiming that my work was beyond
categorisation. My companion plainly demonstrated this was not the case, gently
bringing my bubble to the ground before popping it.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Some of the older works needed attention, their
surfaces foxed like the liver spots of an old Human Slave; others had been
scrawled in pen, which had smudged with water damage. And of course, there were
the mice, the population of which had now been decimated to such an extent that
it felt uncomfortably like ethnic cleansing. Thankfully, Mimi didn’t mention my
lack of instinct in this area - I suppose I’m more of a delicate creature, and
have no genetic imperative that makes me want to vanquish lesser beings.
Although, I hasten to point out that not having this particular trait doesn’t
make me any less of a cat.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We went through the heaps of paper, and I
selected the pieces I valued highest. Or at least which I thought were acceptable;
some stuff was just junk. I suppose my writing process is pretty much like
snapping photographs: you take as many as possible and hope that one will come
out well, but the rest are just dross, never quite hitting the spot. But, if
Smilodon was convinced people were interested in the junk, then what did I
know? When I voiced this opinion, Mimi suggested that perhaps my readers wanted
to divine some thematic sense from my work, or perhaps some poor student would
take it upon themselves to study my oeuvre. The poor blighter, I thought.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We had lengthy discussions about the usefulness
of fashioning a running order for this archival material: whether it was best
done as a curated retrospective, or better assembled in chronological order. We
seemed to be getting places and this nebulous retrospective, this book of
curios of interest only to the cognoscenti, was taking some form in my mind.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">At this point, Mimi chose, once again, to
disappear.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">***</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The first thing I noticed when I went
downstairs, brandishing a missing piece of some story or other in a paw, was
that it was raining. The second thing was a set of pawprints that led directly
to the front door, where they stopped. There were no returning pawprints
whatsoever. But this didn’t click immediately. I sniffed around the house,
wandering up and down the stairs and checking the newly laundered piles of
washing, where we cats do so enjoy curling up. Eventually I made my way into
the garden, where I soon became drenched. I returned inside, a sorry state.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Only when I noticed my own pawprints on the
floor, did I put two and two together. With a faint, sickening feeling in my
stomach, I realised Mimi could either have wandered out through the front door,
into the Human verse. Or somehow passed through the portal into the network of
tunnels, and from there… well the possibilities were endless and didn’t bear
thinking about.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I sat still for a moment and tried not to
panic. The first option seemed unlikely. The Human Slaves were out for the day.
They occasionally popped back for a few hours, but I’d have heard the door.
This could therefore only mean the second option, which simply shouldn’t have
happened.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Now, the portal at the front of the house was
meant to be accessible by me and me alone. It was an old portal, crafted years
ago, The Architect and a few other members of the Caterati had checked it out,
confirmed its authenticity. There wasn’t any chance that it was one of the new
hacked versions, which are error prone and can conduct a feline to undesirable
locations by accident, or perhaps by design of their pernicious manufacturers:
this portal was steeped in time, dating back to the late 1800s, when the house
was built and when many of the Feline thoroughfares were woven through time and
space.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The way through was by a specific paw motion,
instructions to which I’d been granted when I’d been brought here by my Slaves.
Or rather, I’d had to apply for this document at the Caterati bureau, which
then seemed to be wrapped up in red tape for ages because of a previous resident
cat’s indiscretions. In any case, how Mimi had seen this, and been able to
mimic it so perfectly as to gain access to the portal system, was beyond me.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I paused at the portal, suddenly conscious of
making the gesture with my paw. Usually, I didn’t even need to think about
this: some part of my subconscious just worked it out for me. But now, when I
stopped to think, I found myself suddenly unable to remember, my thoughts
blurring with the sudden anxiety of what could have happened to my charge. A few
seconds later and the familiar pattern was back, my muscle memory doing the job
that my brain had attempted to shut down with its extraneous activity.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Once inside, the portal branched. Usually I
went left, which took me to Brighton, and the alleyway behind The Cricketers.
However, taking the right led up to where at least ten different portals met in
a form of hub. Hesitating for a moment, I wondered if Fred would be there. Fred
was an old moggie that looked like a patchwork of different breeds sewn together:
one leg was orange tabby, another tortoiseshell, the back two a grey blue
colour, whilst his tail, or what remained of it, was black. He often donned a
cap which hid his tattered ears. This headgear was usually complemented by a
jacket with buttons and lapels, which gave him an official look. He was happy
to sit there on a stool all day, making sure no-one was up to no mischief.
Nobody knew who he worked for, but he seemed polite and content. And more than
happy to receive tips for helping a cat out of a difficult situation.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Fred!’ I exclaimed.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Ah, Mr –––––,’ he replied, in a cockney drawl.
‘What you sticking your loaf around here for then?’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘I’m looking for someone.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Aren’t we all,’ he said, wistfully. But at the
same time, eyeing my paws for a piece of silver.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Little black scottie. You see her?’ I asked,
slipping him a coin.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Her, eh? You old devil, you…’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘It really isn’t like that, Fred,’ I said,
reprimandingly.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Easy, there. I wasn’t insinuating nuffink.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘So, which way did she go?’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘About ten minutes, it were. I said she should
watch out. But she’d already gone.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘You don’t mean number 5?’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘That’s the one.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘You’re sure?’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Sure as eggs is eggs.’</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I swore under my breath at this. Of all the
places to go, Mimi had chosen the worst. Portal number five led to a difficult
part of our universe, where there had been trouble in recent times. The place
had been overrun by a bunch of purebred white cats with certain difficult
opinions, who wanted to deny free movement across the borders of the portal
system. This opinion had resonated with some unsavoury types, and the movement
had become one promulgating intolerance and xenophobia. Certain breeds had been
selected for particular discrimination, amongst them the Scottish Folds.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I simply couldn’t fathom why she had chosen to
go there. Until I recalled something we’d been working on before. In this
fiction, portal number five had led to a disused car park filled with mice. So
she had been simply looking for somewhere to hunt, and in her naïvety hadn’t
considered that things might have changed in the interim. The mice had been
cleansed from this area, many years ago; an act which had resulted in their own
subsequent militarisation. And not long afterwards, its current inhabitants had
moved in.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">With trepidation, I left Fred behind and went
through the passage, reality shifting until I found myself in a nondescript car
park staircase, all concrete, exposed metal and strange angles. The walls were
adorned with crudely drawn propaganda posters, declaiming the rights to free
movement, with slogans such as ‘Foreign Flea-Ridden Felines OUT!’ and ‘GO HOME
HOUSECATS!’ These were accompanied by the four clawed sigil, which had come to
represent a right-wing philosophy.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I tentatively walked into the multi-storey car
park itself, noticing it was empty in both our verse and the human iteration.
Graffiti which adorned the walls in the human verse bled through, but it seemed
washed of colours, reverting to greyscale. Dark pools of liquid were scattered
over the floor, rimed with scum. The place immediately made me feel
uncomfortable. Strange looking cats, adorned with battle scars, lurked around
baring their remaining teeth at one another. I kept to the shadows, hoping my
flattened ears would make me look angry rather than reveal my true nature. It
was a blessing my coat was an off white colour.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Cochin;"></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">There seemed to be a general movement of these
felines toward the lower levels of the car park, where something was occurring.
As stealthily as I could, I crept down the slope, having once or twice to pad
through the oily pools of muck to avoid any close encounters with the locals.
But those approaching weren’t the real problem, the rabble were surrounding a
fat white cat on a raised dais, standing on his two back legs like a Human
Slave. I immediately recognised him: this was a cat called Fungus, a member of
the Caterati gone bad. He was lit by a clever arrangements of mirrors that
reflected the sun from outside the confines of this gloomy, dank place, which
lent him a preternatural glow. Henchmen in the corners moved the reflectors in
concert as he pranced up and down the stage, pupils wide as if he was high on
Nepeta. The tips of his ears were scabbed and mottled - signs I recognised as
cancers, a frequent occurrence in the pure whites. But what was more malignant
was his rhetoric, the vile, obnoxious steam of hate that spewed from his mouth,
and which was greeted by his followers with caterwauls.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘We need to block off the Portals,’ he shouted.
‘We need to stop them coming into our patch, polluting our genes with their
strange characteristics. And polluting our minds with their thoughts. And I’m
talking about a reversion to our roots, without any of the created breeds,
manufactured by their so called Human Slaves! A pure cat, stripped of any fealty
to Humans!’ At this there was a cheer. I noticed that almost all of his
followers were male and amongst the crowd, there was a marked lack of variation
in breeds. The crowd was mostly white, with a few tabby cats thrown in for good
measure.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Those near me, also lurking in the shadows and
away from the main thrust of the crowd, seemed to be chatting to themselves,
and not paying much attention to proceedings. This was until something appeared
on the outskirts of the crowd: a number of baskets, each containing a petrified
cat. The baskets were of differing size and shape - some were wicker, the
structures of which creaked as they passed over the throng. Others were plastic
boxes, with metal grilles at the front, through which the frightened cats
inside were visible. I began to feel incredibly uneasy, squinting as I tried to
make out the features of each feline, hoping upon hope that I wouldn’t
recognise any of the prisoners of this vile cult. But as the last basket was
manhandled towards the stage, my heart sank. Before my eyes, entrapped in a
box, was Mimi.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><i>This story continues here: <a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/2019/04/beyond-portal-no-5-part-two.html">Beyond Portal No. 5 (Part Two)</a></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">All the all the
other Cat stories can be found here:</span></i></div>
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<a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/p/the-cats-page.html"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">THE CAT’S PAGE.</span></i></a></div>
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</style>Guy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7153101505071915432.post-58498108670397406172019-03-01T16:53:00.003+00:002019-03-02T10:36:13.139+00:00A Taste of the Great Outdoors<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBB32OO4m66rZ01IcP_3Kqu5wwL0J6XFAQqTO3-5RXxPkWtO3MFEBLia_hDmUkX3QnvgpEK7MzD-TPz_-wpk6Cp-pu3mfDBaGQxhz5T-0SsFHUHPfkqUsB3GXJ_EGqBEW93ZBotvKYYdDB/s1600/MimiShed.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBB32OO4m66rZ01IcP_3Kqu5wwL0J6XFAQqTO3-5RXxPkWtO3MFEBLia_hDmUkX3QnvgpEK7MzD-TPz_-wpk6Cp-pu3mfDBaGQxhz5T-0SsFHUHPfkqUsB3GXJ_EGqBEW93ZBotvKYYdDB/s400/MimiShed.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Just having a look at our territory.’</span></i></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">When Smilodon first suggested a protégé, I
hadn’t really thought that their education would amount to more than the
literary. How wrong I was! Having a kitten in the house meant educating her not
just in the ways of my craft, but also, more generally in the ways of The Cat.
Of course, I’m talking about nurture, rather than nature. You can’t really do
much with the latter: in particular, the curiosity and the mischievousness. And
it was these feline traits that proved a problem.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The following occurred not long after Mimi had
been to visit The Green Gowned Devil for her first check up. It turns out this
is a task she takes with much more grace than me. Shamefully, I admit that I
have a tendency to howl for hours, wailing at the pain of existence from the
moment I am placed in the car, and even before it has moved an inch. The tall
Slave usually puts the music up louder to compensate. However, this tactic
wasn’t needed with Mimi. According to what I gleaned from the Slaves’
conversation afterwards, she uttered not a peep on the way there, or the way
back: she remained completely mute. And even after being jabbed, she clambered
all over the vet’s room, as if it were an extension of her home. Now, this all
does show me up somewhat.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">In any case, she came back chipped, barcoded,
numbered: registered in the system. Which it turn meant that she now would be
able to activate the cat flap. My Slaves primed the thing, so her chip would be
recognised. Which meant pressing the requisite buttons until the light in its
casing stopped flashing. And then they pretty much left her to work it out for
herself. So of course, I had to help.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">By way of demonstration, I went through the
flap a few times first while she watched. Then, tentatively, she made her first
attempt, gently passing through the plastic doorway, with a click from its
mechanism. And then she was back again: another click. Once she got the hang of
it, she didn’t seem to want to stop repeatedly heading in and out, each time
outside expanding her sphere of influence, slowly creeping further and further
into the unknown. By this time, I was also in the garden, sitting on one of the
metal chairs, watching her progress with amusement. My amusement soon turned to
concern, when in a flash of nictitation, she was prancing along the top of the
fence. I’d hardly registered the movement, she’d been so quick.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘What are you doing up there?’ I asked.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Just having a look at our territory.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘I never climb up there,’ I replied. Although
this wasn’t strictly true. I’d been ushered up there a few times by The
Architect. And no doubt would be again. But I didn’t want to encourage this kind
of behaviour.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘I smell something. It isn’t a cat. Something
else. Another animal,’ Mimi replied, nosing the air.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Probably the local fox. A wild creature which
pops by occasionally.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘A fox. Sounds interesting. Is it friendly?’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘It has its moments.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘What the…,’ she started, suddenly distracted.
I turned to see her gaze fixed on a small sparrow which had chosen to alight on
the unruly hedge. The sparrow cocked its head and turned from Mimi’s gaze to
instead look at me with its beady black eyes. Deciding that it was probably
best not to prolong this encounter, with a flutter of wings, it launched itself
into the air again. Mimi keenly followed it across the sky, standing up on her
back legs and swiping its retreating form. Until, that was, she lost her
balance and disappeared down the other side of the fence. Moments later she
reappeared on the precipice, looking slightly rattled, with some foliage stuck
to her head.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Don’t laugh,’ she said, gazing at me sternly.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘I told you not to go up there,’ I replied.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Her response to this was to stalk off over the
fence, following it around the side of the garden, jumping onto the roof of the
shed, and then vanishing from sight. She clearly would not be told what to do.
I sighed and went back inside, hoping that my Slaves had put out some of those
new biscuits I liked.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I didn’t think much more of her wandering
around, until much later on, when I heard my Human Slaves flapping about and
calling her name urgently. Of course, they weren’t using her sobriquet Mimi,
but her real name. Which sounded ridiculous shouted up and down the terrace and
then in the street. They were clearly worried about her, though. Enough to make
fools of themselves.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘I knew we shouldn’t have let her out,’ said
the tall Slave, in anxious tones.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘She’ll come back. She’s a cat,’ said the ever
more measured smaller Slave.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘But what if she… I dunno, roams into a
neighbour’s house and gets locked up somewhere?’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘She’s not stupid.’ This was indeed true, I
considered. Impetuous. Wilful. But not stupid.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Do you think you frightened her?’ the tall
Slave asked, a slight whine creeping into his tone, as it often did when he was
a bit annoyed.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘You’re blaming me for wearing a face mask?’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Well, it was kind of scary. I didn’t recognise
you.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">And so it went on. They roamed up and down the
street, until it was late at night. I heard them speaking to neighbours, who’d
come out to see what all the fuss was about. But still she didn’t return. It
was well past one in the morning when they finally decided to call it a night,
agreed to pick up the search again the next day.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I wasn’t going to give in that easily though.
In fact, I waited in the garden, listening to the sounds of the early day: the
rustles in the undergrowth as hedgehogs and shrews began their nightly
excursions, the high pitched chirps of the bats as they danced their choleric
dance through the darkness, the sound of a distant car as it drove to an
unknown destination, its engine oddly muffled against the night as if it were
embarrassed by the hour. Eventually, The Architect appeared, as I’d known he
would; well, to be precise, because I’d asked him to.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Evening,’ he said, his bulk perched on the
fence for a moment, its structure creaking slightly. Before I’d offered up any
kind of greeting by way of response, he’d leapt off, landing silently on the
floor of the yard, his graceful movements as ever belying his size.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Anything?’ I asked, wondering if he’d picked
up any scent of her on the way over. He shook his head.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Well, if she left hours ago…,’ I suggested,
offering an explanation.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">There was another rustle, and the fox appeared,
parting the bamboo at the back end of the garden, to sit beside us on his
haunches. He looked healthy and well fed: his tail was bushy, his fur lush.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘I brought a ride along… For your old bones,’
The Architect said.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘How very thoughtful,’ I replied, watching The
Architect jump on first. And then in turn, I clambered up behind him.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We set off to first explore the gardens tucked
away behind the terrace of houses. Nosing around our neighbours properties. But
when we found no trace, we moved further afield, extending out search slowly
but thoroughly up the road, the numbers of the houses descending until they
became single figures and the road ended. We met a few hedgehogs, which
scurried away, or curled up into protective balls as we arrived. And we even
met a well-fed tabby cat, whom I had never seen before. There was a flash of
white beneath his jaw, like a bib. He looked as us guiltily, before scarpering.
</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Who was that?’ I whispered.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Garfunkel. Lives at number 14. For such a big
fella, he’s awfully shy.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Having exhausted all the possible locations
this end of the street, we turned around, following our footsteps back to the
lane behind the terrace which included our house. The Architect jumped up the
fence, just to check she hadn’t returned in our absence. When her continued
absence was confirmed, we started back towards the chine. I hoped she hadn’t
ventured that far.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We hopped over garden and skirted ponds, we
trotted past ornamental gnomes and rusting barbecues. Then, we found ourselves
in a larger garden, with a sea of grass rippling slightly in the almost
imperceptible breeze. This was of course Athena’s abode. I hadn’t spoken to her
for a while, and the place seemed dead, as was often the case when the Rock
Star was away touring. No doubt he was being forced, yet again, to bang out
that hit which had made him so famous.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I heard the soft fluttering of wings, at first
wondering if it was another bat. But it was Athena’s owl, doing circuits of the
garden, its jewel-like eyes glowing faintly in the dark. The clockwork device
appeared to be bobbing up and down occasionally, as if its wings were
faltering; I knew from experience, this meant it was winding down. But its
presence meant Athena had to be around somewhere. Then I noticed that the
studio at the back of the garden was open.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Hang on a second,’ I said, jumping of the back
of the fox. The cold grass tickled the pads of my feet.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I pawed the door open and, when I was certain
there was enough space for whiskers to pass, wandered in. A familiar scent hung
in the air. That of Nepeta. But also, that of both Athena and Mimi. I walked
deeper into the studio and found them sitting in an open velvet-lined guitar
case, screeching and miaowing at each other in mirth.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Athena, I see you met Mimi!’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Athena turned to me, raised a paw and offered
me a go on the Nepeta pipe. Mimi wouldn’t meet my eye.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘You are such a bad influence,’ I scolded,
brushing her offering away.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Fair enough. More for us,’ she replied,
brazen.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘More for you. Mimi is coming home with me.’ I
stared at my companion and pointed at the door, nails bared.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Let her do what she wants–,’ Athena started.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘She is a kitten, Athena,’ I interrupted. ‘You
should know better. I’ll have words with you tomorrow.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">In the silence that followed, Mimi meekly stood
up. She wandered through the door, her tail brushing the ground behind her. As
soon as she got outside, I heard her hissing.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I rushed to follow her, just in time to see the
fox bucking and writhing, with The Architect struggling to stay on its back
like a rodeo cowboy. Mimi was crouching down on the floor, pouncing after it at
regular intervals. Around them, the owl circled, oblivious.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Stop it!’ I shouted. And as if in response,
the owl’s spring finally wound down and it floated gently to one of the flower
borders, coming to a standing stop amongst the blooms. It folded its wings in
and bowed its head forward, looking to all intents and purposes like a garden
ornament.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Mimi didn’t seem to be interested in the owl,
her eyes remaining fixed on the fox, her torso flattened to the floor in fight
mode. The Architect had now regained control of his skittish steed, which was
looking at us askance, a petrified expression contorting its muzzle.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘What is it?’ Mimi whispered, her tail
thrashing around behind her.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘That is a fox. Please don’t scare it away:
it’s my ride home!’</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">So we headed back to the garden, following a short
cut Mimi had found: where some other foxes had gnawed through a fence. Soon we
were left alone in our garden, illuminated by the moon and the ancient glow of
stars light years away and the reflections from each other’s eyes.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘You’ve worried our Slaves sick.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Really?’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Yes. They spent hours looking for you,’ I
explained.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Oh.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘And we do have a lot of work to do tomorrow.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘I know. I feel guilty. About our Slaves.’ </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Because she seemed to be showing some kind of
remorse about her actions, I ignored her blatant disregard for work. In any
case, I knew she’d be bright as a button in the morning, having the gift of
youth. It’d be me that would likely sleep through most of the day, as a
consequence. ‘I’m sure you can make it up to them,’ I replied, comfortingly.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Mimi was silent for a moment, while she
considered this. Then a mischievous grin spread over her features. ’I know!
I’ll go and jump on their heads!’ she said. And with that she was back through
the cat flap and into the house. I followed her, wearily, looking forward to
the comfort of my basket. And the oblivion of sleep.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But sleep didn’t see to come that easy any
more. When I heard the click of the cat flap, I found myself beginning to
worry. Surely I wasn’t getting attached to this mischievous interloper? But
this disappearance marked the start of many such occurrences. And the next time
she vanished was much more serious.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt;">END</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Read about Mimi's arrival in the household here: <a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/2019/02/blacksmoke.html">Black Smoke </a></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Or catch up with all The Cat's adventures here: <a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/p/the-cats-page.html">The Cat's Page</a></span></div>
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</style>Guy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7153101505071915432.post-68327692239698177562019-02-23T14:09:00.004+00:002019-02-23T19:17:56.540+00:00Black Smoke<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo_6jtvvQ-fNJIKYrJE_erh2iR_82ng0j1dnuvGfqjCZbq-pR3wbA7kMxWAAiPxPLO07_92ep0EN3cwNegIdMF0dMdpvkwm-cUe-22E0uyNH5-r__WmmklTBRZDAJaaSLmLm1NPLQSoihI/s1600/MimiBanisters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo_6jtvvQ-fNJIKYrJE_erh2iR_82ng0j1dnuvGfqjCZbq-pR3wbA7kMxWAAiPxPLO07_92ep0EN3cwNegIdMF0dMdpvkwm-cUe-22E0uyNH5-r__WmmklTBRZDAJaaSLmLm1NPLQSoihI/s400/MimiBanisters.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And who do you think you are?</td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">It was my agent Smilodon’s idea, of course.
When I’d explained my predicament about my arthritic skeleton, he’d suggested,
in his usual somewhat blunt Teutonic manner, that I might need some help. I’d
immediately balked at this, being the independent creature I am. But he
persisted, dropping little hints into our communications. This was becoming so
irritating that when he invited me to a literary lunch in Belgravia, I almost
turned him down. But there is a little fish restaurant he takes his clients to that
serves the most delicious pollock with white sauce; so good it almost tastes as
nice as the stuff my Slaves give me on special days.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The day finally came, and I waited with a sense
of anticipation for my Slaves to get ready. This meant mostly standing in their
way on the landing, but remaining oblivious to the fact that they might trip
over me. Eventually in a flurry of excitement about keys and ID badges, they
left for what they call their jobs. Or rather the places they go to find more
money to pay for my increasing visits to the Green Gowned Devil, and the supply
of pills I’m forced to take. And my food of course, especially the
aforementioned tinned gourmet creation. And occasional scratching posts, as I
am wont to destroy them. Well, what else did they need to spend it on? They
know I’m not that interested in any toys they might buy me, unless they contain
catnip, but that doesn’t stop them.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">So eventually, the door closed, and I heard the
sounds of their cars as they drove away. As silence settled over the house, I
felt calmer and crept back to my basket on the landing, sniffing it. It made me
want to curl up, blot out the day already. I wasn’t sure I could face Smilodon
with his questions about future projects and the battery of inquiries about my
health. Duty soon got the better of me and I took the stairs tentatively, my
old bones creaking, until I reached the bottom. The house’s front door is also
a portal which leads into a network of tunnels in the alternate universe we
cats consider our own. These tunnels lead to many places in our verse of space.
But you know this already.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I hopped across space and time, coming out in
Hyde park, around the back of an art gallery beside the Serpentine. The park
wasn’t busy - a few cats sauntered along by the water, hungrily looking across
its expanse for any sign of wild fowl, a rarity in this universe - they exist,
but have better learnt to keep their distance than those in the human frame.
Occasional shimmers of light would suggest something, perhaps the shadow of a
duck bleeding into this world, but it could just have been the sun, reflecting
across the lake. As I approached the road, the blur of activity from the human
world became more obvious, visible even in the bright light of day: the
ghost-like outlines of the traffic encircling London’s main park, the buses and
taxis and lorries and cyclists. But they were in another space, and I crossed
the road, unhindered by these spectral shapes. Once you learnt not to see them,
they became invisible.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Soon I was amongst the white facades and
columns of Belgravia. What is a smart, affluent part of London in the human
realm, remains similar in our iteration; there are a few places, attractors you might want to call them,
where the topographies are identical, and this is one. I suppose something has
to knit all the various parts of the multiverse together, although why
Belgravia, I have no idea. Perhaps the creator of this whole thing just liked
the place.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Soon I spied the familiar large striped awning
that hung over the street, the buzz of the cats on the chairs outside. The
place was comforting, reminding me of the higher points of my literary career.
It felt like we’d met there innumerable times, although it roughly amounted to
once per book. The noise of laughter drew my attention back to the cats
outside. At least six bottles of <i>Les Moustaches</i>, a celebrated and prestigious
brand of fermented milk from Charolais, stood on the nearby tables - these were
obviously cats of taste. I wondered if Smilodon would stoop to one of those for
our meeting today, but knowing the price tag, considered that it might be a
little too much to expect.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Inside, amongst the dark wooden browns of the
wainscoted walls, I made my way to the back of the establishment, to the booth
I knew Smilodon favoured. He was there already, eyeglasses looking
uncomfortable over his pointy Burmese ears, as he flicked through a wad of
paper.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Lining up the next lamb to the slaughter?’ I
asked, as I sidled into the booth opposite.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Smilodon removed his spectacles from his face
and placed them onto the crisp white tablecloth. ‘<i>Aber</i>… But this is how
I discovered you,’ he said, in his German inflected but oddly British accent.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Any good?’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘<i>Schade</i>… Sadly no. It will be some years
again, before I come across a writer like yourself.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘I’m very flattered, Smilodon.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Which is why we must think of your legacy,’ he
replied, waving his paw at a waitress. To my surprise, a magnum of Moustache
soon appeared and in a deft movement, coiling her tail around the cork, the
bottle was open. I was so surprised, I could hardly bring myself to rail
against this premonition of my demise, so instead decided to enjoy the booze.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘<i>Ich weiss</i>… I know you aren’t the most
organised sort. That you are prolific, but most of your stuff ends up in your
Slaves’ attic,’ he explained.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘I think you are confusing a prolific output
with quality. I only send you stuff I’m happy with.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘<i>Vielleicht…</i> perhaps, some of that work
might be useful to a scholar of your oeuvre,’ he continued, his accent making a
mouthful of the French word.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘I don’t want any help,’ I replied. ‘If
anything it would hinder the creative process,’ I spat out, hoping that would
be the last I’d hear of it.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘What I am suggesting isn’t so much an
amanuensis. More a protégé,’ Smilodon replied, keeping his cool, whilst again
butchering the French language.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘I don’t need help.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Have some of <i>Les Moustaches</i>. And, I took the
liberty of ordering your favourite dish.’</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Arranging for this individual to come and join
me was more complicated and indeed protracted than I think even Smilodon had
considered. Perhaps if he’d known he wouldn’t have suggested such a course of
action. But, once he’d persuaded me, his mind was set firmer than previously.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Firstly my human Slaves had to be hoodwinked
into believing they wanted another cat. Which was easier said than done,
although cat people have a tendency to accumulate the felines in their lives.
And us cats are very good at subliminal manipulation of our Slaves. I was given
a set of instructions, which I had to stick to. I recognised some of it as from
The Alchemy of Feline and Human Interaction, the original of which I had once
leafed through in a library with gloves over my paws to prevent any damage.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Secondly, she who Smilodon had chosen to be my
companion was already located with other Human Slaves. It was therefore
necessary that they came to the conclusion to be rid of her. Again easier said
than done. She’d been placed with another ancient old British Blue </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">writer</span>, a
poet of some renown. But that hadn’t worked out - they simply didn’t get on. So
it was engineered that she keep the owners up every night until they lost their
patience with this unruly kitten.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">And thirdly, The Architect had to be consulted.
His job mostly dealt in appraising time, and making sure that the messy lives
of cats didn’t interfere too much with its continual progression towards
oblivion. This often meant the machinations of a clockwork device, which he
kept hidden in a chine in Bournemouth. But he knew the whereabouts of other
similar clockwork devices, one of which could interact with what Humans call their
internet. And so, my Slave’s computers were hijacked with adverts for a
particular feline, she who Smilodon had chosen to be my companion.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">So it came to pass that my Slaves woke up one
Saturday morning and drove halfway up the country. They returned after a long
day on the motorway, with a small black smoke British Shorthair and Scottish Fold cross. She sauntered in, tail held high, until she saw me.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Hi,’ I said.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Good evening. I’ve heard a lot about you. Not
just from Smilodon. But from them,’ she said, nodding at my Human Slaves. ‘They
do go on a bit.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Any idea what they are going to call you yet?
I asked.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Not sure. Mimi was suggested. But they haven’t
made a decision yet.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Right. Mimi is nice I suppose.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Well, anyway, I suppose I’d better give the
impression I’m scared of you,’ she said. I noticed a slight white tinge to her
muzzle, imparting a sense of age much greater than her months.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘For form’s sake, I suppose, yes,’ I answered.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘I’ll just stay here, looking at you,
pretending to be fascinated for a while.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘And if I creep closer and raise my paw.’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘I’ll then dash behind the sofa.’</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Over the next few weeks, it was incumbent on
us, when our Slaves were around, to pretend as if we were cautious of one
another. This generally meant fighting. But also displays of jealousy. If I was
on the bed with the Slaves, she’d jump up and clamber over me in a fit of pique.
And then when they went to their jobs, we’d get to work. She embarked on the
attic with a professional attitude, encouraging me to discuss the various
styles I’d used, or why certain things had been junked. At the same time, she
proved herself to be a proficient mouser, which was just as well as the
critters had been using my words to line their nests. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Looking back though, maybe in those first few
weeks, I hadn’t just been acting. I had been cautious about her arrival, and
how it would change things around my house. But it quickly became apparent that
she was a welcome addition. Soon I was teaching her and appraising her own
efforts to write. As Smilodon had suggested, there was a raw talent there,
which just needed channelling. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Now months have gone by and our Slaves have
named her something utterly atrocious, which causes embarrassment at the vets
for her and them. Although thankfully, she is happy that I continue to call her
Mimi. These days, it is less pressing for us to put on a show in front of our Slaves.
In fact, they seem to prefer it when we are seen to be getting along. And Mimi
seems to enjoy showing off in front of them with the cornucopia of cat toys
which I spurned. Although we do have the odd scrap, just because… But most of
the time, we are happy in each other’s company. And if anything, my creativity
had been boosted by her presence - my latest book ‘Black Smoke’, no doubt
inspired by my companion. The title of the book is inspired by her coat, the
tips of which are pigmented, but the bases of which are white. Such an
occurrence is a complication of cat coat genetics - the inhibited pigment gene
- but one, which I have to say, is rather fetching.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">END</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "cochin"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><i>There are a number of stories in this saga. Should you wish to read more about the misadventures of this particular feline, you can find them all here: <a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/p/the-cats-page.html">The Cat's Page. </a></i></span></div>
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</style>Guy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7153101505071915432.post-14179187204142088902018-12-15T09:01:00.002+00:002018-12-15T09:01:35.717+00:00Mylo
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6LIIFAQfNO8poGyTrNm6sycBknaZirPoWSssQzUdw-3JE1sPJokecq-t0f5h2BLNvigL9RhVm8AktFDsfL2lQvHVLwhc450yGtCKW5dBBl7ujyA1jSSMPYk49g8YGppyibHGmbx6rOK-i/s1600/SadCat.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1531" data-original-width="1600" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6LIIFAQfNO8poGyTrNm6sycBknaZirPoWSssQzUdw-3JE1sPJokecq-t0f5h2BLNvigL9RhVm8AktFDsfL2lQvHVLwhc450yGtCKW5dBBl7ujyA1jSSMPYk49g8YGppyibHGmbx6rOK-i/s400/SadCat.jpeg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond;">For a number of weeks now, my thoughts have
turned to those of the morbid variety. Being a writer, these often crystallise
in my mind as words, sometimes those of my peers. For example, the bon mots of
a famous Caterato, an American tomcat called Blatherskite,
who once said in his characteristic Mississippi drawl: ‘I do not fear death. I
had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born, and had not
suffered the slightest inconvenience from it.<span style="mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">’ Needless to say, his Human Slave, a man called Mark Twain, heard this
and transcribed it into his work (which is why you, human reader, may have
heard this quotation). And although Blatherskite is indeed correct, when faced
with the facts of the matter, trying not to fear the end, the final full-stop
to one’s existence, is easier said than done. Such macabre perambulations of my
thoughts, were centred on two events which occurred recently, which I will
relay to you in turn.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">The first episode began
a month or so ago, precipitated by a visit to the green-gowned devil - I have
had cause to mention her in previous missives. The visit was preceded by an
uncomfortable trip in the car, where I’d somehow managed to sit awkwardly,
hurting my back. This was in turn followed by a routine vaccination, the
effects of which morphed me into something from a horror film. A few hours
after said inoculation, which itself had been relatively painless, my muzzle
blew up like a balloon and my nictitating membranes began to bulge out of my
eye sockets. Needless to say this was unpleasant and caused my Human Slaves
much consternation. Especially when I proceeded to void bilious stomach
contents over their Persian rug. I add the last for effect - my Slaves were of
course more concerned about me than said floorcloth.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">So, off we trundled to
another green-gowned devil, who deemed it essential to forcibly insert a
thermometer into… Well, the less said about that the better. The swelling had thankfully
at this point settled, but my legs remained stiff. I was discharged, but had to
be followed up because this out of hours devil, with his all too thorough
examination, considered it necessary. Now, I had been suffering stiffness for a
while, but, you know it was on and off. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">High on painkillers, I
had almost forgotten about the dreaded follow-up until a few weeks later, when
I was hoicked off to the vet’s again. Now, I was slightly concerned - perhaps
they’d found something last time, which they had kept from me? Was there
something in my liver, or eating away at my spleen? Was it terminal? I was
reassured that only my smaller Slave was there for this particular visit. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘If it was the end, surely they would both
have been there?’ </i>I thought to myself comfortingly, while at the same time worrying
about my legacy, the loose ends of which seemed as frayed as the end of my
favourite multicoloured-dangly-toy-on-a-stick-thing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">But I wasn’t prepared
for her reaction when I awoke from the anaesthetic. Groggy as I was, my first
thought was that I was glad to be alive again. My second thought was that
because my small Slave was in floods of tears, something must be dreadfully
wrong. She was talking to my Taller Slave, on her phone, so I managed to glean
parts of what was going on from her side of the conversation. Incidentally, he
was away in Bristol at a writers’ thing where he’d been reciting one of my
stories; the circularity of this didn’t fail to amuse me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">To cut a long story
short (as my editor/agent colleague Smilodon often suggests), it became
apparent that I have arthritis. Now, I am relatively old - middle aged in human
terms, I suppose - but this still came as a shock. I suppose this particular disease
is one that you could associate with the process of the gradual descent into
decrepitude which we know as ageing. Some breeds of cat get it earlier than
others; unfortunately it seems I am one of those unlucky ones.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">I was coming to terms
with my plight and the bitter taste of the painkilling medication, when the
second thing happened.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">It was nighttime and my
Slaves were asleep. I’d spent some time upstairs, working on tying up those
loose ends of which I spoke. Finishing off those short stories which had been
hanging over me for months, as well as working on the end of a novel. But I
needed a break, so I padded downstairs. The night seemed to lay an odd hush
over the house, almost as if the lack of light altered the way the building
transmitted sound.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My old bones creaked as I squeezed
myself through the cat flap. Or at least, that was my perception - since I
started with the pain relief, things have been easier. I haven’t exactly been
running around like a kitten, although I can now jump higher than I have done for
many months. I exercised this new ability by jumping onto the garden table.
After a few moments, I realised someone else was also in the garden, sat on the
cracked patio slabs below.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘I wish you wouldn’t do
that,’ I said to The Architect, as he moved into a pool of moonlight.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘I hear you’ve been
unwell,’ he said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Athena told you?’ I
asked. Athena lived on the same street as me, a few doors down; her human slave
was apparently quite a famous Rock Star, or at least had managed to make a
career out of it, thanks to a hit single back in the 70s. Athena had been kind
enough to drop by a brace of freshly slaughtered voles as a get well present. I
thanked her, but when she’d left, quickly got rid of them - as I have
previously indicated, I’m fussy about what I eat and prefer my food to come out
of a can with a high end brand on the side.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">The Architect nodded in
reply, his jowled muzzle quivering in the dark. As the silence that followed
grew longer and longer, I eventually felt obliged to say something. ‘Feeling a
bit better, actually.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">He nodded again, but
this time spoke. ‘I saw you leaping onto the table. You need to be careful; those
medications can make you feel like you have super powers.’ I noticed something
in his tone of voice, as if he wanted to tell me something.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘What’s up? Something’s
wrong isn’t it?’ I queried.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Mylo has died,’ The
Architect said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">My legs were suddenly
heavy, like lead weights. I felt like covering my eyes with my paws, shutting
out the world. For a while I just shook my head, unwilling to believe this
could have happened.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘How?’ I asked,
eventually.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Poison,’ The Architect
replied, but failed to elaborate further.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Poison? Someone killed
him?’ I asked, immediately wondering who could have been jealous of the cat’s
prodigious talent. There were no doubt a fair few whose feelings could have spiralled
out of control.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Well, they think it
was a human. A local farmer.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘On purpose?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘An accident, in all
likelihood. Poison laid down to kill some mice or rats.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Which Mylo ate?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘I’m not sure of all
the details. But he was a voracious hunter. He probably caught and ate
something which had already been poisoned.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘He can’t have been
more than … what … five?’ </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">The Architect nodded.
Some of the autumn leaves that had fallen from nearby trees were caught by a
flutter of wind. This was so sudden, it was almost as if speaking about our
friend had caused some part of his spirit to return. Then, as soon as it had
begun, the wind died and the leaves began to settle one by one.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘The funeral’s next
week. Where he lived, place called Winterslow. Up Salisbury way. You going to
be well enough to attend?’ The Architect asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘I’ll be there.
Whatever it takes,’ I replied. ‘But haven’t some of the portals around there
faded?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Around Old Sarum they
have a somewhat capricious hold on reality. You’ll have to pass through the
catacombs in Salisbury.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Right. I haven’t been
that way for some time…,’ I said, worriedly.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘How about I come pick
you up then?’ asked The Architect.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">We spoke a bit more,
about our friend, before The Architect once again disappeared into the night. I
remember thinking it was good of him to drop by - he was usually so busy at
that time of day, frantically pulling together the threads of time which had
been lost. Before feeding them into that antique Victorian machine in the
chine, which smoothed out all time’s blemishes ready for the next day.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">Mylo had achieved more
in his five years on our planet than many did in a lifetime. He was a poet, his
bucolic surroundings often feeding into his verse, although not in an old
fashioned manner. His work was on point, up to date, tapping into some of the
paranoias and worries that human society fed back into that the feline world.
And it was brilliant. We’d become friends on the circuit, at some festival or
another where we’d both been reading. His was a larger than life character, the
central planet around which folk seemed to orbit at such events. Whether people
were there hoping to catch one of the witticisms he dropped at regular
intervals, or to have some of the brilliance rub off on them was uncertain. To
me, he was a fellow writer, another solider who fought alongside, and fabulous
company. His loss was a loss to the entire Caterati. With such a meteoric rise,
who knows what might have happened if he had lived.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">That Mylo had died at
less than half my age, put my current problems into a degree of perspective.
I’d already enjoyed more that twice the amount of existence than poor Mylo. But
everything was relative. Some lights burn brighter than others, and for shorter
times. This fact we simply have to accept, however inconvenient.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">The funeral was held in
the human verse of space, rather than that of the feline. It is a custom of
ours to hold such events in the realm of space where one meets one’s demise.
I’m not sure why this is the case, but it is a practice which goes back many
years. I expect it relates to the fact that, once your light has been
extinguished, it is difficult to then pass between realms.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">We followed the old
paths, through the dusty, dank catacombs under the cathedral, and then picked
up a portal which carried us over to the East of the city. The funeral was to
take place just outside a village called Winterslow, where there is a large
mansion house with a rather unusual sculpture garden in the grounds. It was
also close to Mylo’s old stomping ground. One of his friends, a beautiful
silver tabby feline called Sylvia had organised the entire affair, and was
ushering cats this way and that. Well, trying to: herding cats is, as you are
well aware, an impossible task. Although it was dark, a number of the
sculptures closer to the house were illuminated. Amongst the artwork on display
was a rather odd looking cat-like creature, the height of a human, which was
provoking an interesting reaction. Other pieces just seemed to loom out of the
dark: odd block-like shapes, inspired by some element of the human condition.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">I spent some time in
the vicinity of these pieces, wandering across the neatly manicured lawns,
spongy with rain. After some time, I located The Architect, and together we
wandered into the small courtyard which had been commandeered for the
proceedings. The place was full, as befitting Mylo’s status. I recognised many
familiar faces: Ziggy was there, now a fully fledged member of the Caterati,
with his debut novel making waves on the Indie scene. Athena was there too, her
owl fluttering above the throng, its steel casing shimmering in the reflections
of the spotlights.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">I remember there being
something in the air, something like a pheromone that put me ill at ease. At
the same time this discontent was laced with a base note of aggression.
However, I’d kind of put the latter down to Sylvia’s slightly obsessive
compulsive behaviour; she was grieving, after all, and sometimes this can bring
out characteristics we aren’t necessarily proud of. Or perhaps it was just that
everyone was at a funeral and it was a sad occasion - it had been a while since
I’d been to one.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">As things commenced,
everything had seemed civilised. Friends and relatives stood up and read out
Mylo’s work, to choruses of screeches and miaows from the throng. In between
readings, the air felt alive, with the vibration of the concerted purring
making me think there was a swarm of bees in the vicinity.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">I can’t remember exactly
when everything went wrong. But I think it started when a cat called Buxton, a
British blue, stood up and spoke. His words were powerful, casting the finger
of blame at the local farmer who had laid the poison. He called for retribution
and revenge. There were murmurs of assent at this, but even then the crowd
remained calm, as one, mourning gracefully. Buxton sat down and more followed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">I think something must
have happened as we were leaving. There were shouts for revenge, that something
had to be done. There was a sudden push and cats began scrambling over each
other as they made for the exit. I lost The Architect in the fray. Outside, on
top of the cat statue, a young cat was whipping up the throng, her tail
thrashing the air so violently that I thought she might lose her balance and
fall. She was spitting words, none of which seemed to hang together.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘…set fire to the
house…scratch his eyes out while he sleeps…kill his faithful hounds…poison his
family with the same stuff that…’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Poison them!’ a tomcat
shouted, which was greeted with murmurs of approval.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Let’s do it now! While
they sleep!’ another cat shouted, this time a female.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘STOP!’ another voice shouted.
It was one of Mylo’s friends, who had read early in the proceedings. He was
stood on the top of the wall that surrounded the small courtyard garden where
the service had taken place. ‘Poison? You will do no such thing. You think this
is what Mylo wanted?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Mylo would be alive,
if it weren’t for that farmer!’ exclaimed another female, on the verge of
hysteria.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Mylo was a peace-loving
cat. He wished no harm to come to anyone. How is this respecting his life?’
came the reply.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">A sudden indignant
silence fell across the crowd. Mylo’s friend seemed to have quelled the urgent
anger of the crowd. Knowing he now had his audience, he continued: ‘If you need
to do anything, you should do something naughty, something irreverent. An act that
respects the mischievous side of Mylo’s personality.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘Like what?’ asked a
lone voice.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘If you must do
anything, how about you spoil the farmer’s cider? I’ve heard that cat piss
doesn’t do much for its flavour.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">Hoping to find The
Architect, I followed the clowder as they marched up towards Winterslow. The
crowd was making a mess of the reception table, as they quaffed large
quantities of the fermented white stuff, in preparation for the proceedings.
Sylvia was flapping about and was somewhat unbelievably marking things down on
a clipboard; to this day, I still have no idea what she was doing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">As the line of cats
wound its sinuous way across the landscape, I found myself in conversation with
the British Blue called Buxton, who had given the rousing eulogy. Buxton was
named after a famous cat from a programme called The Magic Roundabout, he
explained, before quizzing me about my current projects. The way he waited for
me as we passed over a fence was touching, but made me feel my age. Perhaps I
was limping - the cold had set in a bit and my legs were aching at that point.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">In any case, we soon
found our way to the farm, where the cats were scurrying around, gingerly
removing the tops of the large vats he kept in his cider shed. Soon the boozy
aroma was wafting its way across to my nostrils. But at the same time there was
also the sharp tang of cat piss, as one by one, cats relieved themselves into
the large vats. A few of the cats fell in, had to be helped out, the liquid
sticking to their coats, making them seem like thinner, rattier creatures. This
went on for a time, until one of the cats jumped up onto the top of a cider
press and knocked the lid onto the floor. The massive crash didn’t go unnoticed
and soon lights were popping up in the windows of the adjacent farmhouse. At
this point, everyone scattered. I ran as fast as my arthritic legs could carry
me, and by the time I heard the shotgun go off, I was almost at the door to the
portal.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">On the way back,
without The Architect’s assistance, I found myself lost. I’d found my way to
Old Sarum, but it was there the portals faded out, forcing travellers to join
the older paths located in the human verse. I tentatively made my way along the
deep tunnels beneath the ramparts of the old motte and bailey castle, following
the immortal words of Mylo. He had travelled this way many times, and captured
his experiences in a quartet of sonnets, which were celebrated for their bleak,
gothic nature. These poems, like many of his others, hinted at a somewhat
difficult, perhaps even sinister, future ahead.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">It had been the
catacombs beneath Salisbury centre which had thrown me. There were too many
false turnings and dead ends, and try as I might, I couldn’t find the next
section of the portal system. Eventually I gave up, and found my way out via a
trapdoor in an old wooden pub called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Haunch of Venison</i>. The place was thankfully closed and in complete
darkness, reeking of a mixture of spilled beer and cleaning fluids. Being one
of the older public houses in Salisbury, it was naturally filled with the
liminal forms of ghosts, although they seemed more than usually discontent,
whispering incoherently at me. Some of them were protecting a box on the wall
of the place. I hopped up from the warped wooden floorboards onto a table, to
better inspect this artefact, sending the spectral forms scurrying into the
corners of the room. The box contained a mummified human hand; for creatures of
other realms, such a thing was like a honeypot for bees. And it drew the
tourists in, some of whom would leave with a ghost mired in their spirit.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">Leaving this hideous
artefact alone, I crept out of the pub via an open kitchen window, rimed with
grease. Having licked the dirt and grease from my coat and once again made
myself presentable, I made my way to the main street, hoping I would be hidden
by darkness. Instead, blue lights strobed across the night and the place was a
hive of human activity. Police officers were standing around, looking concerned
as they watched another group of humans, dressed in some kind of luminescent
protective gear, climb out of a van. Some people were shouting in the distance
and I heard the buzz of a helicopter overhead. I had once to flatten myself
against a wall as a large military vehicle thundered by. Something distinctly
odd was happening.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">I had to double back to
get to the cathedral, and even then I had to sneak under some police tape. Soon
though, I was beneath its towering spire and from there it was a short stretch
to the cloisters. Whatever had happened out in the city beyond the walls of the
protected place was spooking those in the dimensions beyond. More spectral
shapes skittered about, as if panicking. I ignored them and bounded down into
the crypt, where I could pick up the portal network again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">Eventually, with
relief, I found myself back in Bournemouth, my back limbs now groaning with the
effort. The Architect was waiting for me in the garden, a concerned look
furrowing his brow. I explained how I’d got caught up in something, where the
behaviour of humans was distinctly strange. And how their discomfiture had
spilled into the neighbouring dimensions, causing an unease in the regions
beyond.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘This is a world in
flux,’ The Architect said, in his usual flat tone. He explained what he’d heard
was happening in Salisbury; how humans appeared to be poisoning themselves as
well as some of us.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘It makes me think of
Mylo’s poems. The dark future he suggested,’ I mused.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘He wasn’t a
soothsayer, if that’s what you are suggesting,’ said The Architect, with an
uncharacteristic contrariness. I supposed he knew about such matters.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘I wasn’t suggesting
that,’ I replied, slowly, gauging my friend’s expression. ‘What I meant was …
perhaps he was able to pick up on the mess humans are making of the world? At
least more than some of us can?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt 72.0pt 108.0pt 144.0pt 180.0pt 216.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">‘You might be right. In
any case, the clock doesn’t stop ticking. Whatever happens, time will continue
its endless march forward. We are just bystanders in this, as we are in human
affairs,’ The Architect replied. I was struck by the eloquence of this and
thought about it for a while, as we both raised our heads to the heavens. I was
still staring upwards at the sky thinking about it when I realised he had
departed. I waited in the garden for a while longer, wondering if the leaves
would rise up and give me another sign from Mylo. But this time, they remained
still.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">The End</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond; mso-fareast-font-family: Garamond; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">Check out all The Cat's adventures here:</span></div>
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</style>Guy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7153101505071915432.post-31553801697987224372018-09-15T07:02:00.000+01:002018-09-15T07:02:49.859+01:00Alma Meta<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgukN2sPl-lbafzK5SYwz62U-7JSrkqyAWPMSf1NIxs8M4OFQFDohMhhOWpjXQx7rzjEZUdRKxFtLALWwzbzCVSt_PVEHx8YGN_EYQ5K6ZpHkdTPIJ4wjh1ITbDut1gwhzfMzbv9JHBdYEt/s1600/IMG_6998.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgukN2sPl-lbafzK5SYwz62U-7JSrkqyAWPMSf1NIxs8M4OFQFDohMhhOWpjXQx7rzjEZUdRKxFtLALWwzbzCVSt_PVEHx8YGN_EYQ5K6ZpHkdTPIJ4wjh1ITbDut1gwhzfMzbv9JHBdYEt/s400/IMG_6998.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Wren Library, Trinity College, Cambridge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I’m
not sure about…,’ started Jim.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘About
what?’ I asked.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Your
change of direction.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Ah.
You mean the cat stories?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Exactly.
I preferred the … well, the more sci-fi stuff.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘You
know I prefer to regard my stuff as SF. I don’t like the term Sci-Fi.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Whatever.
I preferred the stories about Space Lice. Psychic alien plants. And big fuck
off space craft.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
sighed. It had been a while since I’d seen Jim. We were in a pub called The
Mitre, one of our old university haunts. It hadn’t taken us long to make our
way there – I’d timed the time it took from when the train arrived until we
found the familiar seat in the pub’s window: less than 30 minutes. True to
form, rather than browsing the library’s latest catalogue or singing in the
choir, like some of the returning graduates did, we’d gone straight to the pub.
Ostensibly we were there for a college dinner, but from years of experience
they were dry stuffy affairs. During the halcyon years of university we’d
become accustomed to pre-loading before these events, and old habits died hard.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
looked up at his jowly and recently bearded features. His beard was full – much
better than the wispy effort he used to occasionally sport in our salad days. ‘Well,
I have lost a few Twitter followers…’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Twitter?’
he asked scathingly. ‘People still use that?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘It
all started out as a bit of a joke.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Twitter?
I thought Jack Dorsey was serious about the whole thing.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Who
is he?’ I asked.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘He
invented Twitter,’ Jim explained, a touch of sarcasm in his tone. I think he
was getting his own back for the SF versus Sci-Fi comment.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Right.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I’m
sorry. You were saying… The cat stories started as a joke.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Yes.
I’d been on this writers’ conference. The subject of writers’ familiars came
up. The cat was of course mentioned. In fact, I’d included a piece for
critiquing which contained a cat.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Thrilling
stuff, this,’ said Jim, managing to somehow simultaneously roll his eyes and drain his glass.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Anyway,
one of my writer pals suggested that my cat was sitting at home, bashing out
novel after novel and was far more successful than I was.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘You
did call him Isaac. What kind of a name is that for a cat?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘He
isn’t called Isaac.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Really?
Hang on, was it Arthur? Bradbury?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
ignored this and continued. ‘So I started writing these stories from the
perspective of a cat who was famous in his own right. But at the same time,
lived a double life as a house cat, tended to by his human owners, which he
refers to as Slaves.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I
think I need another pint,’ remarked Jim. ‘Same again?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> As
Jim stood at the bar, I gazed out of the window, looking across to the flank of
St John’s college. The street outside was busy with tourists, students, bikes
and the occasional bus or taxi. I’d whiled away many hours in that same spot,
often with a science fiction novel to hand, a pint in the other. Much had changed
since then, but in some ways it hadn’t. The smoking ban meant that the air
inside the establishment was actually breathable, unlike the toxic fog we used
to have to contend with – but at the same time, I couldn’t shake the desire to
step outside and spark up a ciggy. For old time’s sake. To feed the nostalgic
beast inside.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
wondered about the cat stories. Whether I was sabotaging my creative output by
writing them rather than the more generic space opera I’d started with. Was my
voice being stifled by The Cat’s feline miaows? Perhaps I should bring him to
Cambridge, to where it all started. I imagined him walking down the street,
looking at all the students pouring out of this very pub. Probably with
disdain.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Toxoplasmosis,’
Jim muttered, settling a pint of Abbot in front of me on the wooden table. As I
lifted it to meet Jim’s glass, I noticed it left a ring of wetness on the
surface. I was sure they used to have coasters in this place, which I’d routinely
tear to pieces over the course of the evening, my fingers needing something to
worry at when they weren’t tapping out stories.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I
recall learning something about that.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘You
get it from cats. Causes cysts in the brain. You can catch it from cat faeces.
Probably why you are coming out with all the cat shit. Because it has literally
voided its bowels into your mindbox.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Do
you mind?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I
think we were referring to yours.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Anyway,
since when were you the expert on feline fiction? I thought you were only
interested in rugby and kidneys?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Much
of what you say is true,’ Jim said, wiping some of the foamy beer from his
moustache.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Perhaps
you should combine the two. Make up a game with a kidney shaped ball.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> After
a few word games with this metaphorical ball, we set up Bridge Street towards
the river. We battled against a tide of tourists, groups of which were lead by
officious leaders brandishing selfie sticks. I’d always found the tourist side
to the town frustrating as an undergraduate. They just got in the way of the
purpose of the town: my purpose, I’d felt, grandiosely. But here I was,
essentially a tourist, my ties to the college now withered with time.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Jim
stopped just before the bridge, looking inside the windows of an estate agent.
There was a look of sadness in his eyes.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘This
was where–?’ I started.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Yes,’
Jim interrupted.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘No
more free poppadums,’ we said in unison.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I
can’t believe, given the amount we used to spend in there, he couldn’t keep
going,’ I remarked.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Maybe
he died. Probably died,’ Jim replied.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Perhaps.
Or set up somewhere else.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> At
the bridge, we hesitated, and stood watching the punts go buy. The river was
busy with tourists: tidy groups of more elderly travellers competing with
unruly packs of younger kids. Punts were strewn at odd angles across the river
– someone had tried to turn, but failed, and was now causing a huge backlog.
There was the dull clunk of wood on wood, as the punts collided. Some of the European students shrieked.
A young man tottered, trying to keep his balance, but couldn’t manage it and
splashed into the water.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Woah,’
said Jim.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Yeah,
he was lucky he wasn’t crushed between those punts…’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘No,
it wasn’t that.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘What
was it then?’ I asked, looking at Jim’s face with concern. Abbot was a strong
pint – perhaps it was having some adverse effects on my old friend.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I
just blinked. And when I opened my eyes, the entire place was filled with cats.
Cats on the riverbank, filling the punts… Everywhere. Like something out of
your stories.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Weird,’
I remarked.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘You’ve
never brought your Cat to Cambridge?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘No
he’s at home in Bournemouth. Probably asleep on the bed.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I
meant your fictional Cat.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘No.
Not yet. But there’s an idea…’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Later,
as we walked across Great Court, heading toward the drinks reception in the
court beyond, it felt for a moment like we had never left. The setting sun cast
long shadows over the court’s central fountain, lighting the great hall from
the opposite side, giving the impression it was filled with fire. A light breeze caught the sound of
evensong, which then capriciously danced away again. To our left a solitary don
plodded across the grass, wearing his robes as if they were as heavy as lead,
tired by the Atlas-like task of supporting the weight of his knowledge. Or,
given the sway of his vestments, possibly the bottles of port cached within.
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘You
know what I’ve always hated about cats?’ asked Jim.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Go
on.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I’m
allergic.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘But
you’re not allergic to spacecraft, right?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘No.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘But
who knows, you could be allergic to aliens?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Perhaps
all cats are aliens. I wouldn’t put it past them.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I’m
just a facilitator, in that case.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Just
part of their greater plan,’ replied Jim.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Like
we were part of this place’s greater plan?’ I suggested.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> We
left Great court, passed the hustle and bustle of the buttery and great hall -
the latter offering a glimpse of Holbein’s Henry the 8<sup>th</sup> through an
open doorway. And then we were part of the crowd of familiar faces: some
forgotten, some remembered, some even ignored. We went our separate ways,
dancing through the crowd in the Brownian motion that is required of such
events.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> And
occasionally, I wondered about a group of cats doing the same, drinking pints
of milk or even the bubbling fermented stuff, dancing through the shadowy
cloisters. As I stepped away from the crowd of humans, they bore me away to the
windows which offered a view of the backs. Offering a series of mournful
miaows, they pointed at the sky. Something large was descending, something
metallic and beautiful and strange. Something not of this world. It settled on
the opposite side of the river, shrouded in a pall of steam or smoke.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> There
was the peal of a gong, as the hatch beneath the craft opened. A gong struck
again, bringing me back into reality: m</span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">y fellow humans were pouring upwards into the great
hall, following the call to dinner.</span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I waved goodbye to the feline horde, then</span></span> turned away to join my fellow alumni, leaving the cats and their
giant spacecraft behind.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">END</span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Author's note: This is a companion piece to the last two Caturday stories. But despite any misgivings suggested above, The Cat will return. Being a capricious creature by nature, exactly when is an entirely different matter...</i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><style><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><font size="5">
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</font></span></style>Guy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7153101505071915432.post-24930565173833448282018-09-07T22:01:00.002+01:002018-09-08T11:33:06.306+01:00Smilodon<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinvmWFRXd5ZR-VUjb7qRGzMaYNm7CzqJ-DQQ0wHxteUNUE1KKmCAJ6Vpphe1fYJxMxC_tWyZ4WWFsmFTOKKIfABSppVvhXF1sA0Ymp7XVFQ3fEzwCpOcgMQnczxnCnoNTFyu9FXu-TzpmZ/s1600/Gordosaurus.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinvmWFRXd5ZR-VUjb7qRGzMaYNm7CzqJ-DQQ0wHxteUNUE1KKmCAJ6Vpphe1fYJxMxC_tWyZ4WWFsmFTOKKIfABSppVvhXF1sA0Ymp7XVFQ3fEzwCpOcgMQnczxnCnoNTFyu9FXu-TzpmZ/s400/Gordosaurus.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Gordonasaurus by Matt Kidney</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> The
spiral staircase seemed to climb upwards forever, the cold stone leaching the
heat from my paws. The steps were high, designed for human legs, so each one
took extra effort. On each landing, I passed a number of closed doors, beside
which were plaques bearing the immaculately hand-painted names of the room’s occupants.
Which tense of occupant – past, present or future – was uncertain. The place
was dimly lit, even for a cat’s eyes, but a wrought iron banister prevented any
accidental descent.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> On
the top landing, there was a single door, outside which stood a wooden chair.
The chair was a simple structure, austere, without any of the ornate woodwork
I’d seen as I’d walked past the great hall. On it sat a velvet cushion, tassels
and trim in a rich gold colour; it had also been embroided with the college
arms. I wondered about sitting on this, spreading my white fur over its rich
purple surface. But, being a cat, I didn’t have these thoughts for long, and
soon was kneading the surface with my claws.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> The
time for my appointment came and passed. I started to wonder whether or not I
should try and enter the room. It seemed to be the right place and the name S.
Moriarty was painted next to the door, as expected. Here resided the cat who
lead a mysterious double life: literary agent and university lecturer. I
wondered about breaking and entering, but decided this probably wasn’t the best
way to make a good impression.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Some
noise behind the wooden panelling assuaged the apprehensive feelings.
Eventually the door creaked open and a number of student cats strolled out.
They seemed to be sporting different kinds of hats and carried books in
knapsacks strung over their shoulders. A few glanced at me without interest as
they sauntered down into the gloom. One, a pedigree Siamese, stopped and began
to spark up a cigarette before a booming voice behind him halted him in his
tracks.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Not
here, Master Greatorix. I suggest you withhold from satisfying your addictions
until you are outside,’ spoke a moderately sized, chocolate brown-coloured
Burmese, sporting a black collar.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> At
this, Greatorix gave a louche shrug and slunk off down the stairs, following
the others. Then the Burmese turned to me. ‘Ah, you must be the author from
Dorset! Do come in…’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
followed the tail into the room, watching it jump onto a comfy looking armchair
near the fireplace. I jumped when I heard the door behind me click closed, but
before I’d had time to work out how that had happened (a series of
counterweights, it turned out), the Burmese was gesturing to the opposite
chair.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Introductions,
first! Well my name is Smilodon,’ he said.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Smilodon?’
I queried.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Yes.
My Slave named me after a formidable and indeed celebrated extinct <i>katze</i> cat, more commonly known as a
sabre-tooth tiger.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Oh,
right. My Slave named me after–‘</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘And
I’m extremely <i>fröhlich </i>pleased you
are here. I thought the novel was fantastic,’ Smilodon interrupted.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
looked at the slightly pinched features, thrown by the interruption, and wondering
what to say next. ‘Right–,’ I started eventually. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘It
is <i>lustig</i> funny isn’t it,’ he again interrupted.
‘These rooms are those occupied by my Slave in the other world we regularly
inhabit. We are such creatures of habit. I just wouldn’t want to be anywhere
else.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I
find–,’ I began again, only to be thwarted once more.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘My
Slave, the <i>Deutscher</i> German scholar
Professor Moriarty, is such a fusspot. Has me on this special food. Well, the
thing is I like exploring. Which takes me across the rooftops, into students’
rooms. And the treats on offer, let me tell you. But yes, ate a few too many of
the wrong things. Had to make a trip to that green-gowned fellow you refer to…
when was it, in <i>teil</i> chapter 7?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
stammered for a second, the German words which he instantly translated jarring
my thoughts. ‘J-j-just before–,’ I started.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘So,
the book was <i>Wunderschön</i> wonderful! You
see we have a little issue here, in Trinity. With a ghost. And given your
experience, I was wondering if you could help?’ With this question, Smilodon
finally stopped speaking and looked at me.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I’m
a writer. I make this stuff up. From my head. I don’t actually have any
experience exorcising spirits.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I
know, I know… And I’m sure this book is going to be a hit. But would you mind
awfully?’ he asked, looking distractedly at one of his bookcases, which I
noticed was bulging with tomes.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Of
course, since this moment, I have had countless requests for the same thing. From
readers who, to put it delicately, have difficulty separating my fiction from
real life. People who actually think I am the protagonist of my novels and can
achieve the same lofty feats. In a similar manner to Conan Doyle receiving
requests about unsolved crimes because people thought he was actually Holmes, I
suspect. Incidentally, that Smilodon's Slave is a J. Moriarty is pure coincidence
– these things can happen in literature, just as they can in life.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> So,
being somewhat naïve, at the time, I was completely thrown by Smilodon’s
request. I’d come expecting to talk about literature, potentially procuring an
agent, and now I was being expected to try and perform some kind of exorcism?
From my research about ghosts, I knew that some could be dangerous, particularly
when they crossed multiple dimensions – the energy required to do that alone
could be released suddenly with catastrophic effect.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I’m
not sure this is such a good idea,’ I suggested.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Oh,
come now, what harm can possibly be done?’ Smilodon replied.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> The
clock outside then struck, its note reverberating around the court outside as
it marked the half hour.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘<i>Zeit!</i> Gosh, is that the time?’ Smilodon
asked. ‘We’re going to be late.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Late
for an exorcism?’ I asked.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘No,
don’t be silly. Late for dinner! I assume you’ll accompany me to high table? We
can deal with all that ghost nonsense later.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Probably
best on a full stomach?’ I suggested wryly.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘<i>Natürlich!</i> Naturally!’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> High
table was in the great hall I’d passed earlier, peeking in through the open
doorway as cats rushed around with silver platters. I hadn’t expected I would
be returning there to dine a few hours later. In the Master’s lodge for pre-dinner
drinks, Smilodon furnished me with a gown, explaining, ‘You’ll need one of
these for <i>abendessen</i> dinner.’ It was
a ropy old thing, that reeked of cigar smoke and marked me out as a visitor to
the college.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> As
glasses of sparkling Kefir, a kind of fermented milk, were passed around,
Smilodon helpfully introduced me to the older dons as ‘The Exorcist’. This
seemed to garner a certain amount of interest, until I explained I was a
writer, their curiosity waning somewhat.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘But
you are going to help us out with the little problem in New court?’ asked a
grizzled old Tomcat called Confucius, all grey whiskers and jowls.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I’ll
try my best,’ I said. ‘Might need a few more of these first,’ I quipped,
gesturing at the Kefir.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Ah,
a fortifier. Good stuff,’ drawled Confucius, before turning to speak to another
member of the college about what sounded like the perennial problem of lighting
the avenue, wherever that was.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> At
the toll of a bell, we were ushered into the great hall. Large portraits of
cats adorned the walls, standing proud like lions. Their likenesses had been
captured in their finest poses, their intimidating immortal gazes passing over
the heads of the less worthy below. Beneath the raised daïs, rows of the
student cats sat, all respectfully silent as we entered.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> We
then stood for a while as some words of the old language were muttered by an
ancient grey cat at the top of the table, who barely seemed able to move. When
this was done I settled down next to Smilodon, only to be instantly confused by
the cutlery on the table. I was used to eating out of a bowl – the idea of
incorporating implements into this necessary, albeit pleasurable, function had
always seemed to me unnecessary - seemed too much like cats mimicking their
Slaves. But, rather than make a show, I tried my best to carve up the starter
of pigeon stuffed with quail, which I’d been deftly served.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘<i>Schau mal ober,</i> see up there?’ asked
Smilodon, raising his paw to the high rafters of the vaulted ceiling.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
turned away from the bird which I had by now badly butchered and of which I had
failed to consume a morsel. Eventually, following Smilodon’s gesture, my eyes
lit upon a wooden duck: a mallard, attached to the one of the rafters, high
above.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Looks
like a duck,’ I said, squinting. ‘How did it get up there?’ I asked. Even for a
cat, the distance between the rafters would be too much to jump, the walls
either side too sheer to climb without assistance.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘No-one
knows. But the interesting thing is, <i>die
Ente,</i> the duck, moves around from time to time.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘It
really is a long way up. I wouldn’t trust my paws up there…’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘<i>Nicht viele</i>, Not many would. It is,
you’ll understand, unforgivable to be caught climbing up there. But yet the
students move it around as a joke.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Hilarious,’
I replied.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘<i>Ich glaube</i>, I believe those who have
moved it are inculcated into a special society. A snub against the college’s
rules perhaps.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Out
conversation was interrupted by one of the waiting staff. I watched the carcass
of my butchered starter being removed, along with its requisite set of silver,
with a sense of relief.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘<i>Komische…</i>The odd thing is that the
wooden bird up has its own rules of physics. I’m not sure I can describe it as
well as some of my peers. I’m just a German scholar. But that duck seems to be
an anchor point between the human and feline universes,’ Smilodon continued.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘So
when the duck moves there…’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘It
also moves here. Some boffin’s idea: one of the brighter students is reputed to
have come up with the correct scientific formula. Clever trick, eh?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Thinking
of this trick, I thought of that which I was expected to perform in this place
called New Court. I was forced to reject the vintages which were being served,
much to my regret. Whatever it was I’d got myself into here, I needed a clear
head, not one fogged with the heady effects of my chosen poison.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> The
rest of the dinner passed in something of a blur, perhaps on account of my
nervousness regarding the after dinner activities. I suppose it was, in human parlance,
a bit like having to do a speech, traditionally left until after dinner, so it
is difficult to enjoy either food and wine on offer until this is done. The
fish course passed by and I managed to lick morsels off the odd-shaped knife
with which I was provided. And then the desert – some kind of creamy sweet
thing – I barely touched.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
do have some recollection of Smilodon asking me queries about the book: my
book. But it seemed these were more for the benefit of my elderly neighbour who
held a large metal cone to his ear, a so-called ‘ear trumpet’, to aid his
hearing. I wondered if this codger even had a human Slave, or whether he spent
all his time here, ensconced in this Ivory Tower. At least I didn’t stand a
chance of such a fate happening to me.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Soon
another noise, this time a large gong, signalled dinner was over. As before,
some more of the old language was muttered by one of the dons, which I tried to
make sense of but couldn’t. Although this seemed a rushed job compared to the
previous effort, as if they were eager to leave. Beside me, Smilodon nodded
sagely, as if understanding every word, dabbing his whiskers delicately with a
napkin.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘And
<i>jetzt </i>now we must return from whence
we came, leave this student rabble to it,’ Smilodon explained. ‘It’ll take them
a while to get out – the <i>Meister</i>
master, the decrepit old bugger, is leading the charge to the after dinner
drinks. So it’ll be less of a charge, more of a funereal dirge. This way,’ he
said, hopping off the daïs, and walking confidently between the rows of
students, tail raised high. A number raised their paws in greeting – he was
clearly a well-liked member of college.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
followed Smilodon out of the great hall, down some more stone steps to the
court where I’d met him a few hours previously. Then we wound our way across
the flagstones and through the cloisters into a vaguely square court, with an
architecture that struck me as a mixture of human styles: some of which they
refer to as Tudor, some Gothic. Crenellations adorned the tops of the sandy
coloured blocks, with towers in each corner of the enclosure. And in the centre
was a circle of grass, much of which was occupied by an expansive chestnut
tree.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
was led to one of the towers, up a few flights of a spiral staircase to a room,
dimly lit by the outside light. Another cat stood there in the gloom – a priest
of Bastet, who seemed to know Smilodon and had been expecting us. I was
introduced to this beatific, peaceful figure, who went by the unlikely name of
Tigger. (As an aside, this happens a lot in the cat world – our given names
reflect our Slaves rather than our temperament. Although I am pretty content
with mine.)</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
immediately sensed something wasn’t right in that room. I could see a tormented
soul, locked in the substance of a universe parallel to ours. What was odd,
however, was that the figure seemed to be human. As if something terrible had
happened here to that person.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Do
you know anything about this spirit?’ I asked Tigger.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Only
what I overheard from my Human Slave, another member of college in the human
world,’ the priest replied, his soft tones reassuring. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘This
spirit is in torment. I’m not sure what I can do – it seems as if they are
trapped between places,’ I remarked, gravely.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘The
spirit… She disappeared one day last term. No-one knew where. Her name was Charlotte.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘You
mean is. She is still very much alive,’ I explained. ‘Somehow, she’s managed to
her herself stuck. I scratched at the surface of spacetime, which roused the
spirit into action. She sang at us, bitterly, angrily, before retreating. But
in doing so, she’d revealed something to me: I’d seen the defect through which
she had fallen.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Now,
attempting to wrangle spirits isn’t for the faint hearted. What I did next was
not something I do regularly: the energy it takes out of me, the emotional cost
is far too much. Such things are better left to professionals, rather than
amateur dabblers like me.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
flung myself again at the ghost of Charlotte, feeling spacetime warping again as
I scratched at the defect between the worlds. There was a sucking sound and I suddenly
felt myself falling. At the same time, I watched the spirit of the human female
change into smoke and lengthen, her face one of confusion and shock. The smoke
was sucked away, extracted from this plane of existence, her form returning to
her own world, where she would once again take corporeal form.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Then,
when I tried to return, something had changed. I felt myself being pulled into
this odd bubble universe between ours, and scratched with all my strength at
the fabric of our universe. For a moment I felt like I was going under,
destined to haunt students like Charlotte before me. But then, summoning all my
strength, some field somewhere finally snapped and with a burst of light, I was
flung across the room, crashing into the wall beyond and dislodging a picture frame
which hung there. As I landed on the floor, the frame followed, but I darted
out of its way just in time – as it hit the deck, both wooden frame and the pane
of glass within splintered, large chunks of the structure embedding themselves
in the wooden floorboards.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Smilodon
and Tigger stared at me aghast. It was only later, when I found a mirror, that
I realised how dreadful I looked. My fur had been singed and my soft cream
coloured fur was blackened. As was much of the room, its pristine white walls
now bearing large smudges of black.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Well,
I think I need to go home now,’ I muttered, staggering for the door.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘That
was… beyond the call of duty,’ Smilodon said, humbly. ‘I only wanted you to
confirm the presence of the spirit. You know, like the character in your books
does.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Right…
Well, anyway, I’ve had enough of this. I’m a cat and a writer, not some kind of
performing monkey,’ I spoke bitterly.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> And
with that, I left Smilodon behind, heading across the courts and back outside
the college to All Saints Passage. Soon I was back in Bournemouth, my Slaves
fussing over me, as they wondered what the heck had happened to their cat.
Luckily, much of the burns were superficial, my undercoat spared, so the sooty
stuff brushed out. I let them pamper me.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">***</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> A
week or so later, I received a message from Smilodon. He apologised for what
had happened, and assured me if I would still consider to let him represent me,
he wouldn’t mess around with the spirit world any more. As a postscript, he
also told me that Charlotte, the human I had managed to release from the limbo universe,
was now back at college and studying. The police had interviewed her on a few
occasions, trying to work out what had happened the weeks she’d been absent,
but she couldn’t remember anything. Her boyfriend, who had been held under
suspicion of murder, was eventually released from custody. In the years since, I
gather Charlotte’s studies went well and she eventually graduated with a first
in Anglo-Saxon.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
kept Smilodon hanging on few a few more weeks, before I finally agreed to his
terms. The next time I returned to Cambridge, his tone remained as humble as in
the letter he’d sent. He took me to a fine restaurant on Midsummer common,
where the Cambridge Caterati usually hung out. And thereafter, not only did I
call him my agent, but we also became great friends.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> That
fateful night was not mentioned again, until I felt compelled to use the events
in one of my novels - with a fictional slant of course, a <i>roman à clef</i> if you like. Perhaps what you read above is the real
thing, or perhaps it is my fictional account of what transpired – my memories
have been so warped by the fiction I created around them, I can no longer
remember the truth. Nevertheless, when I presented him with this manuscript, we
had what you might call an interesting conversation.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
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</span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">END</span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYopy9_NeaAuFGtHjWwEkb1y0r7upK8OB-IgCOExPmYdkJOJ8mC0Yn8qbVUnqmCPQ7JkFfgM6AiOOThbNZTTxrx_0cKi1Af4VJIVGyG8fIjKMZ7-6FYNyfOIloE3kWnJqoYHqii3Xa_fKx/s1600/Jimodon.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="809" data-original-width="1146" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYopy9_NeaAuFGtHjWwEkb1y0r7upK8OB-IgCOExPmYdkJOJ8mC0Yn8qbVUnqmCPQ7JkFfgM6AiOOThbNZTTxrx_0cKi1Af4VJIVGyG8fIjKMZ7-6FYNyfOIloE3kWnJqoYHqii3Xa_fKx/s400/Jimodon.jpeg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Where to next?</span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Cat will return soon. But you can check out all his previous adventures here: </span></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/p/the-cats-page.html">The Cat's Page.</a></span></span></div>
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</div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><style><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><font size="5">
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</font></span></style>Guy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7153101505071915432.post-61474606787972716852018-08-31T20:43:00.000+01:002018-09-01T11:18:24.293+01:00Blind Mice<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXU1zQFY6PI8PWdg_KkbSG-f1ZbbbekbHFaM-zZ2d-RpPlGC1GmN65l4sdyR73Qj2V2992oS3-2ksBz7QD8xKvWxaYfllVQYOehiP1j3OSfdBQdU0xmeOsGctXaDeyJtjqWvZy-cJLzwmg/s1600/bridge.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXU1zQFY6PI8PWdg_KkbSG-f1ZbbbekbHFaM-zZ2d-RpPlGC1GmN65l4sdyR73Qj2V2992oS3-2ksBz7QD8xKvWxaYfllVQYOehiP1j3OSfdBQdU0xmeOsGctXaDeyJtjqWvZy-cJLzwmg/s400/bridge.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Artwork by Zwutschk</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> There
are a number of ways to approach Cambridge: a vast network of ancient portals
extends beneath the city. These pop up into hidden pockets around town. Some
are to be found within public houses, others within college walls, sometimes
they are even rumoured to terminate in the dons’ rooms. Many of these portals
are for those in the know, the privileged, the elite. But for the layfeline,
that is the likes of you and me, the most common way into town is via All
Saint’s garden.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> During
the week, this is a tranquil, triangular space, dotted with trees and benches;
at weekends, it transforms into an arts and crafts market, filled with cats
selling their wares. The location of this portal is pretty central, and was
close to where I wanted to be: Trinity college Cambridge. In fact, the
college’s great gate is only a few foot pads up the road.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> The
Cambridge in our home universe is a bit different to that found in the universe
we share with humans. Many of the edifices still exist, having been built by humans
years before. But in this universe, there are no longer any humans to speak of
– in fact, this world was empty of almost all life when we discovered it.
Across the spread of the multiple layered universes, this phenomenon has been
encountered a few times. As yet, no-one understands why.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> So,
the buildings in this feline version of Cambridge share many similarities,
although a number have fallen into parlous states. To my left, the walls of the
once proud Whewell’s court were crumbling into dust, large cracks exposing
overgrown gardens and rooms beyond. This isn’t to say that us cats don’t build
anything new. These human buildings in the centre of town have been roughly
kept as they were when we found them. In the distance, just visible in the sky
between the façades of Trinity and John’s colleges, were the tapering curling
pastel purple and green towers of something new. As these ascended into the
empyrean, delicate wisps of cloud floated nearby, giving the impression they
were an extension of these constructions. Dreaming Spires - you see, in this
universe, we like to embody a metaphor in reality.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
crossed the street, where I was almost run over by a number of maniacal student
cats of bicycles. Once the chorus of annoyed bells had petered out, I paused
outside Trinity great gate, looking up at the statue perched above the arch in
the gothic entrance. Where once a human king had stood proud, now there was an
effigy of the famous booted cat, holding a wooden chair leg as his staff. If I
squinted, I could just about see the shape of the human king bleeding through
into this reality, although maybe it was just my imagination.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> As
I was contemplating this, a few gowned, bespectacled dons burst from the gate,
speaking the ancient feline language, words of which I’d heard The Architect
mutter occasionally. Hearing this ancient tongue flicked a switch inside me:
the ghost-like shapes of the other worlds were instantly visible, as if
precipitated by these archaic words. Amongst the felines, I saw the spectral
shapes of human figures in their world, stepping across the threshold of the
college, clustered in small groups as they caught up after lunch.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
knew I should go in, but for some reason something stopped me. I considered the
letter in the bag strapped to my belly, which contained within the invitation
to this place, to meet a cat – someone who said they could help me with my book.
But I suddenly felt a sense of misgiving. I felt alien to the students on their
bikes and the dons in their gowns. Was I part of this world, a little cat from
Bournemouth? I felt as if I wasn’t ready for this.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
found myself moving away from the college, walking past a rank of public
houses, already filled to the brim with revelling student felines. Numerous
pints of the white stuff were being consumed, the slightly sour taste of
certain varieties reaching my nose. I was tempted to dive in, knock back a few
pints myself, and perhaps if the place hadn’t been so full I would have.
Instead I wandered up to the river, and sat on the banks, watching the punts go
by.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> The
cats who were controlling the punts were big burly brutes, more weight than
muscle. They guided the wooden boats by means of a large stick, the same stick
which propelled them forward, pushed deep into the murky depths of the river.
The pilots of these vessels reminded me of The Architect - in fact I
became convinced that one of them was indeed my friend himself, when the creature winked
at me as he passed, his cargo a swarming mass of fur. I waved but then he was
gone, born away on the current, up past Magdalene college.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
sat for some time, watching the traffic. There seemed no rhyme or reason to
this – cats sprang on and off the punts when they liked. A few even jumped up
onto the bridges, and one or two, having had a few pints of Holstein Freisian,
Kefir or even Jersey, didn’t quite make it. There was always a ruckus when this
happened, cats meowing in empathy, before the bedraggled creature was
eventually landed. Soon, I decided to jump on one myself.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> The
punt was called <i>Blind Mice</i>. Which
immediately instilled fear into me. The mice were the only inhabitant of this
universe when we’d discovered it, and had taken it on themselves to police it
against other intruders. When we started arriving in large numbers, this
immediately caused problems. The mice then weaponised themselves, being
otherwise defenceless against our inherent hunting skills. They struck somewhat
randomly, attacking the feline population. But my worries were amplified by my
lack of exposure to the world. The mice police were mostly under control.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
watched the colleges go by, passing under John’s bridge of Sighs, before the
backs opened up. Trinity passed on my left, the imposing Wren library’s
enormous windows glinting in the afternoon sun. Other Trinity punts passed me
by: <i>Wiseman</i>, <i>Harry Lime</i> and <i>Codon.</i> I
eventually hopped out near another college called Clare, jumping up onto the
bridge. It was adorned with round balls of stone, spaced evenly along its
length. One of the balls at the end had a slice taken out of it, like a cake. I
sat here for a while, again contemplating the letter.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> The
irony of the situation didn’t pass me by. When you are writing a story, your
protagonist has to have some kind of conflict. This can be any number of
things. The hero of the piece being thwarted by the villain, for example. Or
the hero has to rail against the society he has been brought up in to achieve
his ends. Some of the latter was a key component of my novel The Shadow Murder,
which had brought me to this place. And in doing so, created a conflict within
myself.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> As
I sat there, I realised there were two options open to me. The first was to go
home and spend the rest of my days slowly getting fat on the gourmet food my
Slaves gave me. In other words, shy away from any conflict and make my life a
form of unreadable prose. Or the other was to actually get a grip and go and
meet the cat who had suggested he would be my agent.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>To
be continued…</i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">More about the cat:</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/2018/08/the-manuscript-part-one.html"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Read his previous story 'The Manuscript' here.</i></span></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Or:</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/p/the-cats-page.html"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/p/the-cats-page.html">Head to The Cat's Page, where all his stories are listed.</a></i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>Guy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7153101505071915432.post-90667704953804862402018-08-25T13:57:00.003+01:002018-08-25T14:48:43.093+01:00The Manuscript (Part Two)<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJwdLut8HoqaiHik77At_TlnsS3Dojt1kmuMk4XinYheAjzt2Vhdext4XUvEccJ-0Btypk8KO9nXkSKxCHHWCPmgO4azUTKhAya6TLdlAOXrlFCOxZF2FlmnYH9tiU_RQg6ixksyjKPc2n/s1600/Gordiscope.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="904" data-original-width="1599" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJwdLut8HoqaiHik77At_TlnsS3Dojt1kmuMk4XinYheAjzt2Vhdext4XUvEccJ-0Btypk8KO9nXkSKxCHHWCPmgO4azUTKhAya6TLdlAOXrlFCOxZF2FlmnYH9tiU_RQg6ixksyjKPc2n/s400/Gordiscope.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gordiscope mirror © Darmy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>The story continues... </i></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Around
the corner of the alleyway was a yard which revealed its own narrative. It was
stacked high with railway sleepers, branded with the names of places in
England, and dates. They were from Sheffield, York, Birmingham amongst others;
some bore ancient marks of the train companies: GWR, LMS, LNER. Having
supported the weight of those steam trains transporting people across the land,
their penultimate trip seemed to have been to the South Coast, following the
same direction as all those holiday makers. I assumed most were from the railway
lines closed many years before, and that they’d basked in the Southern sun for
decades, the seasoned wood awaiting repurposing. I remember thinking to myself
that surely they wouldn’t be around for long now - being increasingly popular
for that latest shabby chic look people like in their gardens.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> The
yard was overlooked by a series of workshops, windows reflecting the light from
the heavens, casting eerie beams of moon at odd angles. A vintage truck sat in
one corner, reeking of oil and new paint. The body of the vehicle looked good
as new, but the doors had yet to be completed, their surface scuffed and worn. But
even so, its appearance was anachronistic. With the aged railway sleepers and
this mode of transport, I felt like I’d stepped back in time. I tried to ground
myself by listening for the familiar groan of the buses in the distance, but
instead I heard a different, unfamiliar noise – the sound of wheels on tracks.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
tentatively began walking across the yard, the surface of which was
unpleasantly sandy and gritty on my paws. I remember wondering about how I’d
have to spend time licking them later, and subsequently how I’d have to deal
with the gritty sensation on my palate. But then I turned to the matter at
hand.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> At
first, I looked around for the Architect, but he was nowhere to be seen. As for
the rat with my disc... I spent some time searching, walking between the ranks
of the sleepers, examining the various workshops, some of which had been left
open for the night - this itself was unusual, but I didn’t think much of it until
later. I sniffed every pot and bucket and toolbox in that place, but there was
no scent trail to speak of.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> As
I passed to the back of the yard, there was a large wooden shed. I began to get
a curious sense of displacement. I thought back to looking out of the top
window at the rear of the house, the room where my tall Slave likes to write.
But the wooden shed hadn’t been there before – as far as I could remember this
should have been an empty space, sometimes used as an <i>ad hoc</i> car park. And of course, cars wouldn’t have been able to get
access with the pile of railway sleepers there.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
heard the odd whistle of metal on tracks once more. Something really wasn’t
right. I sat and listened, but the yard was devoid of life. Even the bats which
often fluttered around overhead, jittering their choreic dances to the sounds
of echo, were absent. The night was completely still. Realising that the sky
was turning a shade of blue, signifying the beginning of dawn, I walked back to
the alleyway, only to find my path blocked by a tall door.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Uncertain
what to do next, I ran into the street, confused by the lack of cars parked
there. What’s more, the street looked different – the houses I remember seeing
through the window across the road weren’t as taller, nor as grand. In
addition, their front gardens looked different: more manicured, neater. Then I
saw some houses I recognised, but even these seemed different somehow, despite
the lack of cars and the gardens: everything looked newer, fresher. And there
were no television aerials, no satellite dishes.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
heard that screeching metal sound again, and saw something pass by at the end
of the road. Then behind me, very close by, there was another noise: the clip
clop of hooves on the road. I turned to see a horse drawn cart, laden with milk
bottles. It had stopped momentarily for a delivery, the horse snorting with
impatience. It caught me in its glance and I thought it was about to say something,
but instead it stamped its foot, stroppily.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
ran up to our terrace and looked at our house – wondering if my Slaves were
asleep. Or indeed if my Slaves were actually there. But the door and the
windows were different. I couldn’t recall the door being red, nor could I
recall the white lead mullions on the glazing. Frightened now, I started
running up the road. I’d been this way a few times, and was aware it was <i>interdit</i>, <i>verboten</i>, according to my Slaves, because they were worried about
me getting squashed beneath the wheels of an inconsiderate driver. But this was
an exception surely? And there were no cars!</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
simply had to find the Architect. Where was he? When I reached the top of the
road, I watched an open top tram screech past, the electrical cables above
fizzing. It was a beautiful sight, its red and cream livery lending a regal feel
– so much better than the buses we
now have. The lower deck was illuminated, and filled with men reading
newspapers and smoking. Their clothing all seemed rather uptight – no slovenly T-shirts
or shorts, like my tall Slave likes to wear. On the top deck sat a lone figure
who waved as me as the tram passed.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> When
I turned back to walk back down the road, I was once again surprised by the
milk cart. It had crept closer as it made its deliveries up the avenue. The
horse stood looking at me once more, stamping its feet as if trying to tell me
something. When the milkman dismounted to drop of a few bottles of silver top,
a familiar figure jumped out of the back of the cart: it was the Architect.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Um,
apologies about all this,’ he mumbled.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘What
the heck is going on?’ I asked.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Well,
there seems to have been a slight time blip. Happens occasionally. Nothing to
worry about,’ he added in a laissez-faire manner.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Time
blip? Just how many years have we gone back?’ I asked.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Only
about… well, only about eighty.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Eighty
years?’ I asked, incredulously.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I
think we’d better head back down the road, before that milkman appears again,
don’t you think?’ replied the Architect, rhetorically.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> It
made sense of course, when I came to think about it. My subconscious mind had
flagged up something, and I’d half wondered about whether or not I’d entered a
different part of the layered alternate universes. But the effect had been so
disorientating, I hadn’t been able to work it out.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> We
passed the family houses which would eventually later be converted to flats. We
passed rows of similar houses that would be bombed in a few years time,
obliterated from existence. We passed gardens that would be torn up to make way
for driveways for humans’ precious motorcars. Behind us, another tram circled
the block, which would be removed from service and sent to Wales or perhaps
down the coast to Seaton, the existing network pulled up and replaced by buses.
Everything would change, because everything always did.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Did
you find the rat?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Of
course. Rats can’t stop time like cats. I went to the library first, thought
you might be there. Left the disc there. It is all ready and awaiting your
arrival.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Well,
we just have to get there.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Just
as soon as we manoeuvre ourselves into an approximate position of where we were
before the jump…,’ the Architect explained.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Right…’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘When
we get back, we’ll walk around to the library on the road. It is early enough.
But before we go…’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘What?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘This
is your house isn’t it?’ he asked, stopping outside the terraced property. I
looked up, recognising the house number, the familiar brickwork, and nodded.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Yes,
that’s the one.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Follow
me then,’ he said, nudging the gate open with his head. I definitely didn’t
remember there being a gate. Beside the door stood two ice cold bottles of
silver top milk. The Architect scratched at the top of one of these, knocking
it onto the ground and began to lap at the cream layer beneath. He then turned
to me, shrugged. ‘Well, when in Rome… Your turn,’ he replied, with white
whiskers.</span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">*** </span></span></div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> In
a short while, we were back at the end of the alleyway, where the obstructing
door prevented access. And then in an eyeblink, it had gone and all that
remained were some old holes in the brickwork, where the hinges had attached.
As I examined one of these, a woodlouse crawled out, testing the day with its
feelers, before returning into the shelter of the darkness.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Wasn’t
so bad, was it?’ asked the Architect, looking at me with a worried expression.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘No.
But how… how did you know where I was? Or rather when I was?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Well,
my mistake really. Had to spend a while, you know, searching the timelines,
once I’d realised what had gone wrong.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Searching
the timelines?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Yep.
Every year back to 1928.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Every
year? But what if something had happened? What if you’d been blown to
smithereens by the bombs that landed?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘You’d
have been stuck, old chap.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
thought back to the car free roads, the old style trams and dress sense. Would
I have been happy there? ‘I suppose it wouldn’t have been that bad. I’d have
missed my Slaves though,’ I said, my thoughts continuing aloud.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Not
just that. Cat food. Wasn’t the same back then.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I
suppose not…,’ I replied in agreement. He was right though – there was no way
I’d be able to do without my gourmet white fish and spinach - it was bad enough
when the local supermarket ran out of stock.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
followed the Architect up the street to the library. He knew a secret way in
through a back window, creeping through the ladies’ toilets and into the
library proper. And there was an easy way up, so it didn’t require any kind of
athletic prowess. Inside, a number of computers hummed to themselves in the
centre of the space, surrounded by the warmth of bookshelves’ accumulated
knowledge.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Well,
there you go…,’ the Architect said, pointing at the technology, which seemed as
out of kilter in this space as I had felt in the past. My disc lay next to one
of the monitors. When I picked it up, I realised its plastic casing bore little
teeth marks.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Soon,
the printers were whirring into action, churning out my words. As I waited, I
looked around at the stacks of books, many of which hadn’t even been written a
few minutes ago. I wondered about adding my efforts to the similar wealth of
literature that filled the feline library, which occupied this very space in
our neighbouring universe. Maybe one day.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> With
the printing done, we stepped outside into the dawning day. I clutched my
manuscript to my chest, fearful of letting it go after all I’d been through to
print it. The world outside the library had changed once more, the sky now dark
with clouds. A wind whipped up leaves in the street, shook the trees.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
turned to the Architect, to wish my thanks for his help, but tripped over the
step designed for human, rather than feline, gait. In slow motion, I felt the
manuscript slip from my hands, split into fractions and be carried by the wind.
I tried to stop time, but for some reason I couldn’t. All I could do was watch,
hopelessly, as for the second time that day, my words were ripped away from me.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> But
then, in the next eyeblink, the next flick of the nictitating membrane,
everything was back to normal. The Architect was in front of me, holding my
intact manuscript.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I
stopped time. Which was why you couldn’t,’ he explained.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I
didn’t realise you could do that – stop others from halting the timeline, I
mean.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I
know. Rather brutish of me wasn’t it? Anyway… How about I see you to your door
with this?’ he asked, gesturing to my manuscript and laughing.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Sure,’
I replied, feeling a sudden tiredness wash over me, as I joined him in the
laughter, which for a moment I thought must have sounded strange to the
neighbourhood humans. But then we heard some foxes mating, their screeches hard
on the ears, concealing any kind of noise we’d been making.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Fox
mating season,’ the Architect noted.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Which
is why your fox friend couldn’t help?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I
imagine so,’ replied the Architect.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> When
we reached the alleyway, I was faced with having to make the return journey
over the sheer fence. Whilst I was sniffing around for a way in, the Architect jumped
up with the manuscript, almost pirouetting on the fence post before vanishing
from view. Moments later, he’d managed to unlock the back gate to allow me
access. I noticed my manuscript had been placed on the cast iron table, held
down by a small rock. The Architect continued to fiddle with the key in the
gate door, and I watched so I could do the same next time.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Eventually,
he managed to close the mechanism and leapt back down, landing silently on the
patio beside me. We sat in silence for a while, staring at the stars once again,
before I spoke: ‘Well, thanks for your… help?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> The
Architect raised his paw, waving this away. ‘But look, posting it is your
responsibility!’ he replied, before performing another acrobatic manoeuvre and
disappearing over the fence. I could hear him laughing to himself in the
alleyway beyond.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Thankfully,
the following evening, I managed to negotiate sending the book away without
incident or need for assistance. But really, that was just the beginning of
the story…</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">END</span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/2018/08/the-manuscript-part-one.html"><-- Nineteen: The Manuscript (Part One)</a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">
</span></span></span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Twenty-one:
<i>coming soon</i></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/p/the-cats-page.html"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Back to The Cat's Page</span></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><style><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><font size="5">
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</font></span></style>Guy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7153101505071915432.post-51799437562569500152018-08-18T10:22:00.000+01:002018-08-25T14:02:04.359+01:00The Manuscript (Part One)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTHhIS0nzo4N6Rup0AqUF6qY3P7VT2eXVf36e3m9plCjyboEBIX9VF1fq4DqpiVr9jjNkibcVjCKDDFm33yiSMdnSCMsgSfPUFGPqME7ohWM1BZL_PNudfuYdA-qctVeIKNxhuKFKjq8Vv/s1600/gordiscope1.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="368" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTHhIS0nzo4N6Rup0AqUF6qY3P7VT2eXVf36e3m9plCjyboEBIX9VF1fq4DqpiVr9jjNkibcVjCKDDFm33yiSMdnSCMsgSfPUFGPqME7ohWM1BZL_PNudfuYdA-qctVeIKNxhuKFKjq8Vv/s400/gordiscope1.jpeg" width="400" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Gordiscope by Darmy</span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Let
me start this epistle with an apology. It has been some weeks since you heard
from me. I hope you didn’t think I’d been squashed beneath the wheels of a car,
had my head bitten clean off my a neighbourhood hound or some other such
horror. I was merely ‘on tour’ with my agent. Entertaining my clutter, if you
will. Or my clowder. There are so many collective nouns for our species, I lose
track.</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i> </i></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>In
any case, the new short story collection ‘Vestigial Ghost Tails’ came out a few
weeks back. Which means a contractual obligation to follow my agent around to
wherever he thinks the books will sell best. Or at least create a buzz, which
might sell more books. Perhaps my adventures in the foreign climes I visited
will make their way into these sheaves of the interweb. Perhaps not.</i></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>I
suppose I was fortunate enough to acquire an agent for Shadow Murder relatively
quickly after I’d finished the book. I know others spend years trying to find
someone to ply their wares for them – my tall Slave for instance hasn’t found
one yet, just a sheaf of rejections. But sending my first novel away wasn’t
without its problems…</i></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span></span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">***</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> In
the olden times - or you might say: ‘back in my youth’ - agents preferred
proper printed documents. My Slaves do have a desktop inkjet printer thing, which
would have been convenient, but for the fact they didn’t have enough paper and
the machine took ages. Also, trying to print off a thousand or so sheets
surreptitiously wouldn’t be easy and they would be sure to notice. I considered
engineering it so they blamed it on one another, but ultimately, I didn’t think
this was fair on them. They had just started spending a lot of money on my
gourmet food, appeasing my fastidious dietary desires – I really didn’t want to
risk a return to the cardboard flavoured generic branded cat meat. (I’m sure
you know which one I mean, but I’ll refrain from writing the name here for
legal reasons.) So, I had to think up another plan.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
was sitting in the garden one night, wondering what to do about this, watching
the distant stars, when I heard a scuffling nearby. Moments later, The
Architect loomed into being over the top of the fence. The fence wobbled for a
moment beneath his bulk, before he landed on the patio next to me. I was, as
ever, surprised by the light grace of his movements, which belied his size.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Greetings,
my good sir Architect,’ I offered.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> In
response, the cat issued a deep mioaw. He remained silent for a bit longer, so
I resumed my search of the heavens, hoping for Bastet to reveal herself and
solve my problems. Perhaps she was busy in her human form, dealing with their
multitude of problems. I believe they call her Artemis, but I could be
mistaken.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Some
time after this, The Architect chose to speak.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Your
neighbour remains quiet…,’ he said, talking of Athena, the Rock Star cat.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Quiet?
She’s been making an awful racket. Apparently she’s in some creative purple
patch. The Owl is her muse. Et cetera,’ I explained.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Oh,
right. I think…’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Therefore
you are cat?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Very
amusing. But Let me rephrase that. She has been quiet when it comes to time,’
said the Architect.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I
didn’t realise time was loud.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘My
ears are attuned to its vibrations. In a similar manner to those cats which can
detect Earthquakes before they hit.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Are
you trying to say thanks?’ I asked.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘In
a manner of speaking,’ he replied.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Well,
perhaps there is something you can do for me…’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
explained my predicament, The Architect nodding as I outlined how such a
transgression as abusing my Slaves’ printer would likely not pass them by.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Well,
perhaps you could try the library?’ he suggested.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘The
library? Isn’t that just full of books?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘It
is quite different to the feline libraries you’ve visited. As well as books, Human
Slaves like to populate their libraries with CDs, DVDs, books which can speak
to you and computers which can print things. It is just around the corner,’ he
continued, raising one paw to point over the high wall that ran along the
alleyway behind the garden.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> As
I’ve pointed out before, I am not really one for climbing. At most I will jump
onto the garden table. But that is about my limit. I regarded the wall with
suspicion.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Isn’t
it a bit high?’ I asked, half expecting The Architect to call on his fox friend
to help. But he didn’t mention it. And I was reluctant to ask this favour of
him, due to my rather British sensibilities.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Eventually
he replied: ‘Look, I’ll go first. You follow my footsteps. If you fall, you’ll
land on your feet anyway.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I’m
not so sure…’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> But
as I spoke those words, the Architect had launched himself back up the fence,
teetering on its summit.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Hang
on! I’m not ready! I need to get the disk!’ I replied, dashing back into the
house and charging up the two flights of stairs. This was before the ubiquity
of USB sticks and the invention of cloud drives. Data had to be saved to a
shiny disk, which you’d transfer between computers – the disks themselves were
housed in brittle plastic cases. I selected the disk onto which I’d saved my
opus magnus and gently placed it into the belly bag I use to transport things
around the place.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Moments
later, I was downstairs, watching the Architect swaying on the top of the
fence. The disk strapped to me was bulky and uncomfortable; even worse, it
seemed to get in the way every time I stretched for the jump. I shook my head,
expecting the Architect to say something, but he remained patiently silent.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
jumped. But undershot. And was forced to scrabble up the creeper which grew up
the trellising. I almost lost it at one point, but then I was up there, next to
The Architect, feeling the structure yaw. My thrashing around caused the
security light next door to flash into action. Remaining mute, the Architect
turned and jumped straight at the wall, leaping over the length of the alleyway
and attaching himself to the vertical surface. He climbed up like a fat spider,
before settling himself on the top and glancing down at me from what seemed
like an unfathomable height.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
sat there contemplating the leap until the security light flicked off again.
The Architect vanished against the night sky - all that remained of him were
the glittering eyes, like two additional stars in the sky. Soon though, the rod
cells in my eyes became accustomed to the dark, the crevices of the wall; even
the footholds my friend had used became visible. I decided to go for it,
leaping across the expanse. But then as I hit the wall, I found myself sliding
downwards, my claws too finely trimmed by my Slaves to make purchase on the
surface. I flipped backwards and felt myself falling, gravity pulling me
upright and I landed with a bump in the alleyway.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
looked around, noticing a rat next to me, baring its teeth. I swiped at it, but
it ducked, refusing to back away. Brazen creatures, are rats. I swiped again,
but the creature refused to move, almost as if it was interested in me. Seconds
later it pounced and we began to tumble around, scratching and biting each
other. And then, as quick as the attack had begun, it shot off down the
alleyway. Feeling lighter, I quickly discovered that the disk had vanished, my
belly bag empty. I looked around in a panic, hoping it had just fallen out in
the scrap. Unable to find it, I realised that the rat had taken it.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Above,
I saw The Architect charging across the top of the wall, keeping pace with the
rat as it plunged along the alleyway. I also began to pursue, darting through
the overgrown lane, giving the large bush of holly a wide berth, jumping over
the old pots and pans left to moulder over the years, and then speeding up as I
reached the stretch of herby stuff which sprang beneath my feet. At the end of
the alleyway, a bike was locked up, its wheel jutting into the alleyway at an
angle, spokes glinting in the moonlight. Some movement also flashed nearby: the
disk which contained my novel.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> And
yes, before you ask, this was the only copy. And yes, I should have known
better. There is a lesson here for all you writers. But I suspect these days
everything is automatically saved onto your cloud account. Nothing can ever be
deleted. These words will remain here, on the interweb, in perpetuity. Even if
I remove them from this website, they will remain saved somewhere on a hard
drive deep beneath the earth’s crust. But this wasn’t the case with my novel
back then. As the flashing disk disappeared around the corner of the alleyway,
I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. And a sense of disbelief, which slowly
morphed into anger.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Continues...</i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/2018/08/the-manuscript-part-two.html"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Part Twenty: The Manuscript (Part Two)--></i></span></span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/2018/06/athenas-owl-part-one.html"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><--Or go to The Cat's previous story: Athena's Owl</i></span></span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Or </i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/p/the-cats-page.html">Return to The Cat's Page</a>
</i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i></i></span></span><style><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><font size="5"><i>
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--> </i></font></span></style><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span> Guy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7153101505071915432.post-36009410303884204682018-06-16T14:58:00.000+01:002018-08-18T10:40:39.084+01:00Athena's Owl (Part Two)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0AIQnNF2EG8puBFOs91DS7bib07O2MohSnXoLwzT0bschiNiIEcFadbwXTf0DK3OpcWwVjMbP8g7nyDm_yv8kgOrDP4NHcc8Zl7EJH4wcfl1-bUqTZis1PZrzjVGtJR6ZquX50oofrkst/s1600/Athena2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1168" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0AIQnNF2EG8puBFOs91DS7bib07O2MohSnXoLwzT0bschiNiIEcFadbwXTf0DK3OpcWwVjMbP8g7nyDm_yv8kgOrDP4NHcc8Zl7EJH4wcfl1-bUqTZis1PZrzjVGtJR6ZquX50oofrkst/s400/Athena2.jpeg" width="290" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Owl and Cat by Zelda's Slave</span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>The story continues...</i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
waited a few days before I put the second part of my plan into action. Part of
me hoped that this wouldn’t be necessary, that fate would intervene on my
behalf and engineer some kind of encounter with my neighbour, the Rock Star cat.
But the thread of this feline’s fate was not to be interfered with.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Let
me explain first where the idea came from. It was born out of my own stupidity.
But perhaps I’m being hard on myself – the human and cat eye are not exactly
comparable, nor is the way we perceive the world. In any case, I had of course,
become aware of the black box in the corner of the room, which seemed to pour
out light and noise. The same one which my Slaves enjoyed watching for hours on
end. Sometimes they were so engrossed they even forgot to feed me and I had to
remind them of their duty.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> In
any case, I hadn’t paid this thing much attention, until one day something
darted across the box. The thing immediately caught my eye. It looked like some
kind of bird thing. I immediately jumped off the bed, where I had been lying
next to the Tall Slave, and set about examining the box. The bird didn’t appear
for a while, but other strange things flickered over the box’s face. Eventually
the bird was there, flapping around. I reached up and tried to touch the box’s
face, but there seemed to be some kind of forcefield in the way. So I checked
around the back of the box, but behind was all wires and dust. I moved back and
carried on watching, intrigued by the bird. Meanwhile, my Slaves were watching
me, waiting for me to click.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Of
course, I know now that this is a television. And I’d been tricked by the bird
on its surface. But at the same time, this hadn’t been any old bird. This bird
was some kind of metallic owl, from a famous film of long ago. I didn’t think
much of the rest of the film at the time, but that owl caught my imagination. In
fact, to the point that I wanted one for myself.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Now,
across the universes we inhabit, there are many different creative cats: there
are writers, like myself; there are musicians, like Rock Star cat. But the diverse
interests spread amongst the Caterati doesn’t stop there. Smith lived up to his
name, and was a dab hand in metalwork, and clockwork. And, to fulfil the second
part of my plan, it was Smith I sought out. Following the preceding paragraphs,
I suspect you know why.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘You
want me to make you what?’ asked Smith. He was a burly ginger Tom, sporting the
long leather overall of his trade. His expression was one of almost constant
surprise, due to the singeing of his whiskers and face.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘A
clockwork owl. Which flies and everything.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Right.
And you want it to speak too?’ he asked, jokingly.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘No,
I’m not that fussed about it hooting,’ I replied, deadly serious. Noticing my
demeanour he then brushed away the hilarity, mimicking my expression of
seriousness. Good salesman, he was. ‘But it needs to have bewitching eyes. And
it needs to come back when I call it.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘That’s
not just clockwork, that’s sophisticated electronics, that is. So it’ll cost
you.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I’ve
got the money.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘What
was this film you mentioned it was from?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
pointed him in the direction of a relevant youtube clip and we then agreed on a
price. It was steep, but what I expected from such a highly sought after
craftsman. And he didn’t disappoint.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> When
I returned two weeks later, the bird was complete. He nodded as I walked in,
gestured that I follow him. He took me out into the yard of his forge, littered
with old machinery and pieces of metal, some of which were draped in thick
black covers. Perched on the corner of a large vice was the owl. When Smith
clapped his hand, the bird fluttered into life and began to circle us, the
technology within preventing it from hitting the surrounding obstacles. I
instinctively tried to snatch the owl from the air, but it was too quick even for
my lightning reflexes.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Smith
then made a whistling sound and the bird returned to its perch on the vice.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘It’s
perfect,’ I told him.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I
know,’ he replied.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> He
then showed me how to set it to come back to my command, how to increase the
amplitude of its circling motions, how to track it to my movements, how to wind
the thing up and so on. I left with my clockwork owl, the facsimile of that
which I’d seen on my Slave’s television all those years ago, fluttering beside
me.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
had to wait until my Slaves had gone to sleep that night before I put the final
parts of my plan into action. Under cover of night, I sat in the yard and let
the owl free: it shot off across the gardens surrounding the buildings which
surrounded my castle: a shard of glittering silver glinting in the moonlight.
Keeping it company were other shadowy parts of the dark: the local bats, which
darted about, sating their appetite on the evening’s insects.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
sat waiting, watching the owl do its circuits. Occasionally, I’d miaow and it
would return and I’d wind it up or change its settings. This went on for a week
and I began to think that Beast had been right – the plan was crazy, and likely
induced by the cat nip. Or perhaps it was too clever - too reliant on ancient
Greek history – the human mythos of course reflecting that of the original
feline.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> But
then, during the second week, it happened. As the owl came to perch on our cast
iron table, there was a noise in the alleyway behind our yard: a kind of
scratching sound. And then she was there, tiptoeing across the top of our
fence, eyeing both me and the owl suspiciously.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘What
is that thing?’ she asked, demurely.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘It
is a metallic owl,’ I replied.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> She
jumped from the fence, landing gracefully amongst the beds of lobelia and peonie
and scampered over to where I sat.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
miaowed, issuing the command for the bird to take off. And we both watched as
it rose up and darted behind the stand of bamboo.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Don’t
worry, it’ll be back in a second,’ I replied, happy that I’d already broached
the subject of time. At least in a certain manner.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I’m
Athena by the way,’ she said. I’d known this of course.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
told her my name, explained I was a writer. She said she’d heard of me, read
some of my stuff. But at this point, I wasn’t well known, so I think she was
just being kind.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> The
owl returned and I showed her how to reset it, how to make it fly in smaller
circles. She was transfixed, unable to keep her eyes off the thing. Eventually
she told me she wanted it, in fact that she had to have it.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘It
isn’t for sale,’ I replied.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I’ll
pay you. More than twice the amount you paid for it.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘It
is one of its kind. There won’t ever be another,’ I said, resisting.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Four
times the price. It’ll be perfect for the new stage show.’ The last she said
more to herself than me, but I heard it anyway and knew the plan was working.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Well…
four times the price… I suppose I can’t really say no.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> She
leapt up, excited and began to chase her tail. Such affected activity may work
on humans, but it doesn’t cut the mustard for me.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘There
is one thing though,’ I said.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘What’s
that?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Once
the bird is programmed to your command. Well, you mustn’t stop time.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Why
not?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Things
get reset.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘And
the owl won’t work?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
shook my head, gravely.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Of
course, you’ll realise that I didn’t actually speak or suggest an untruth.
Stopping time would have done nothing to the metallic owl. I simply told her
not to stop time and pointed out that it can reset things, as indeed The
Architect had shown me. Athena made the link to the owl, because I wanted her
to. And when she asked me if the owl wouldn’t work, I shook my head: she
perceived this in context, not as the literal answer to her question.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> She
bought it though, and the effects lasted. Athena and the Owl became
inseparable, as in the myths of old. The Owl became, in many ways, her unique
selling point, featuring on many of the following album covers. And becoming a
cult amongst her multitude of followers.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Of
course, many years later, I told her about what I’d done, but she didn’t seem
to mind. In fact, she seemed almost grateful. As if the time spent off line,
where she’d stopped the forward motion of the clock, had somehow become
addictive. It was almost as if my intervention, on behalf of The Architect, had
somehow saved her. I wonder now if that was perhaps his intention all along…</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">THE END </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/2018/06/athenas-owl-part-one.html"><-- Seventeen: Athena's Owl (Part One)</a></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> <a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/2018/08/the-manuscript-part-one.html">Nineteen: The Manuscript (Part One) --></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /> </span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> <a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/p/the-cats-page.html">Back to The Cat's Page</a></span></span></i></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><style><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><font size="5">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>Guy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7153101505071915432.post-44215007434502455122018-06-09T11:12:00.002+01:002019-03-02T10:39:00.337+00:00Athena's Owl (Part One)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiku7QIQs2BqLi9Wegw2Jnyf3a1NVMryJ1hi3yjHy01VHRnG7cNCstWMKDp6OeYjPp98NwWVn2FThc-ndPApYXxzS8Ym3-6zu2PMhLasG15m0kI9oVmrYebJ_8hhj1-Ubhd4NxfxMPHOFJS/s1600/ZwutschkNOFILTER-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1230" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiku7QIQs2BqLi9Wegw2Jnyf3a1NVMryJ1hi3yjHy01VHRnG7cNCstWMKDp6OeYjPp98NwWVn2FThc-ndPApYXxzS8Ym3-6zu2PMhLasG15m0kI9oVmrYebJ_8hhj1-Ubhd4NxfxMPHOFJS/s400/ZwutschkNOFILTER-1.jpg" width="307" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Portrait of The Cat by Zelda's Slave</span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Every
night I trick my Slaves. Around ten o’clock, I wait at the top of the stairs,
beckoning them upwards. Informing them, with increasingly loud miaows, and
increasingly agitated movements, that it is their bedtime. And, this usually
works. Having impressed my feelings that <i>I
need to sleep now</i> upon them, they usually complete their ablutions quickly
and retire.<i> </i>I curl up next to them
and when I am certain they are asleep, I creep off, upstairs to the study.
Where, I can write my stories.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> As
I said, this usually works. Sometimes, they will dally. Often this happens when
I smell alcohol on their breaths, or when they have friends over. All of which
can be particularly annoying if I have a deadline to hit. But then they’ll
usually sleep in the next day, so… On one occasion their friends brought some
catnip over for me, wrapped in the form of a mouse. Or rather a packet of
three. So I was expected to perform with one of these toys and as a result
spent the rest of the night intoxicated. The subsequent words that issued forth
have yet to see the light of day.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> It
was the presence of this so-called ‘toy’ in my Castle that gave me an idea about
how to contact Rock Star cat.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> You’d
think it would be easy, speaking to a neighbour. But there were a number of
problems. Firstly, I wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what I had to tell her. And
in trying to impart to her that her behaviour wasn’t entirely acceptable, I
risked coming across like an officious schoolmaster. Which, I was certain, being
a creative like myself, was something she wouldn’t respond to. This meant I had
to first take her into my confidence, somehow. And secondly, there were the
crazy hours she kept, as a result of her band practices and gig schedule.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
wished I hadn’t agreed to say anything. Couldn’t The Architect do his own dirty
work? Couldn’t he get through to her about the effects her ever longer
intermissions were having on the timeline? As he’d explained, you simply
couldn’t stop time for such long periods without ill effects. But of course, I
reminded myself, he had tried to speak to her. And where he had failed, he
thought I could succeed. To this end, The Architect had also given me his
blessing to abuse my time privileges more than was usual. Not that this had
been of any help just yet.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
wished I could put a signed novel through the door. Show her I was a creative
too - that because of this coincidence, there could be some kind of connection.
But at that point, my oeuvre was confined to short stories - some of them award
winning, like the stories to which The Architect had referred. I’d had the idea
for <i>Shadow Murder,</i> but I hadn’t
finished it. And I just didn’t think putting through one of my contributor
copies of Cat’s Cradle issue 19, containing <i>Die
FrankenMaus</i> would cut the mustard. (And yes, before you mention it, this
was a Mary Shelley inspired effort, although more of a crime fiction than
science fiction - the latter, as discussed previously, not being my genre.) It
was The Architect himself who suggested I try something more oblique.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> So
there I was, looking at this stuffed mouse, or at least trying to, with my eyes
pointing different directions. And the idea occurred to me. I’d done a reading
of the aforementioned story a few days earlier, so its content was still fresh
in my mind. And subsequently twisted by the Nepeta drug. The idea wasn’t a very
good one, as you’ll see, but I ran with it all the same.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Firstly,
I needed some hard cash - I had some, but not nearly enough for the purposes I
required. But that was easily resolved. Or at least I thought it would be. I
had two more toy mice, stuffed with catnip, which would fetch a decent sum on
the black market. If only I knew who to speak to. So that night, instead of
writing, I snuck through the portal, sniffing out the ever dependable Beast. By
the way, for those of you who are keeping tabs on my timeline, or checking for
continuity errors, this was before he left. Although it goes without saying
that remembering things accurately and keeping track of timelines may well be a
function of fiction, but the converse is much more like real life. I digress…</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Beast’s
neighbourhood was in a quiet patch of rural Devon, lacking light pollution. Given
it was a clear night, the entire cosmos was spread out above me, as if rendered
three dimensional. The starlight cast eerie shadows across the land, and there
was the smell of odd country creatures. I found him sitting in his favourite
spot, on the top of his Slave’s garage, surveying the darkness.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> His
reverie was shaken when I jumped down next to him and he sat up abruptly,
bearing his claws, before he realised who it was.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Do
you really have to sneak up on me like that?’ he asked.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
apologised and began to explain what I wanted to do.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘So
you basically want to be a drug dealer?’ he asked, incredulously.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Well,
look, if you want to buy them off me…,’ I began.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘No,
I don’t,’ he sighed. ‘Look, I know a cat… But this is dangerous. If the Mice
Police get you… What grade of stuff is it anyway?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I
don’t know that kind of thing!’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘You’ve
tried it?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Inadvertently.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘And
this is when you came up with this ridiculous plan of yours?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Yes.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Right.
It’s the strong stuff then.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Beast’s
directions led through a portal, back to another part of the human aspect of
the layered worlds. To what was a well-appointed Victorian street. I’d expected
some concrete jungle, stained with blood and smelling of urine, but I suppose
this is a clichéd perception of those who deal in illicit substances. These
terraced houses were well kept, with flower baskets outside, and neatly
manicured front gardens. Cars were parked on the road, all of which bore the
specific brandings which I associated with human wealth.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
was careful to avoid human contact, sneaking behind a privet bush when I heard
some voices. Wild humans, when they encounter a cat, are unpredictable – at
best you might get a rough stroke. At worst they might grab you and carry you
away somewhere and torture you. And if you try and defend yourself, they get
irrationally angry. Can you imagine a giant picking up a human and them not
having anything to say about it? In any case, I had the toy mice strapped to my
stomach, which might have attracted attention.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> The
street curved around and then ended abruptly at a gate, which led onto a wide
expanse of grass. In the distance, I saw some humans dressed in white clustered
together. There’d be an occasional crack as something hit wood. I was halfway
to the pavilion, edging around the field, when something planted itself in the
foliage in front of me. Suddenly a horde of the white clad humans were shouting
and charging toward me. Without hesitating, I bolted away from them, the
distance between me and the pavilion closing rapidly. It soon became obvious
that they weren’t after me, and I slowed, turning to watch the crazy humans as
they retrieved some kind of ball and threw it in the air, cheering all the
while. And they think we are stupid when we play with toy mice?</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> The
storage room behind the pavilion was strewn with exercise mats, on which Monty
was lying, or rather lounging. He was a large Birman, his hair immaculately
groomed. Which couldn’t be said for his company: a few moggy looking strays,
which sat nearby, subserviently. Both bore war wounds: the one on the left had
a scarred nose from a previous fight, and the cat on the right seemed to be
missing most of an ear.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
sat down in front of them, leaving a good distance between me and the exit. My
hair was bristling and I felt the beginnings of a growl at the back of my
throat. For a while Monty said nothing, just glared at me. When he actually
spoke, where I’d been expecting a cockneyfied drawl, his words lacked an accent
- a feature I associate with the more aristocratic felines.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I’m
Monty. But I suspect you know that,’ he drawled, lazily. ‘And you are?’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I’m
not interested in chit chat,’ I replied. ‘Someone told me you were the cat to
speak to about a Nepeta deal. I’m selling.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Ah,
straight to the point. Excellent.’</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I
undid the tie holding the two mice around my neck and let them fall to the
floor. Even in their plastic packaging, the potent smell of the weed leached
out.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Benson
will come and check them out’ Monty said, nudging the cat with the scarred
nose. Slovenly, the cat got to his feet and began to saunter over, his path
following a loose arc as he approached, as if weighing up the surroundings. Or
giving Monty time to check me out while my guard was down.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> As
Benson approached, I raised my left foot, and placed it carefully on the small
parcel. This was something Beast had told me to do. ‘You don’t want the cat
scarpering with your goods before the deal is done,’ he’d said. ‘Exert your
authority from the beginning. Then they will respect you.’ Benson wasn’t phased
by this action and had begun to sniff the package with what was left of his
nose. He turned to Monty and nodded, before sauntering back.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘The
money, Hedges,’ Monty said to the cat with the ruined ear. Soon Hedges returned
with a wad of notes and placed it on the floor in front of his superior.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘And
now, we negotiate. How much do you want?’ Monty asked.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> But
I was prepared for this, coached by Beast. Thereafter followed a few moments
haggling, until we reached the price I had hoped for and which I expected I
would need for this enterprise. And then, Hedges gave me the cash, while Benson
liberated the goods.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘A
pleasure doing business with you,’ Monty said, but I didn’t reply. I was out of
there, scarpering back across the cricket pitch, and along the terrace to the
portal. And a few slips later, I was back at my home in Bournemouth.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>To be continued... </i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/p/felicette.html"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><-- Sixteen - </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Félicette</span></span></span></a><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/2018/06/athenas-owl-part-two.html">Eighteen - Athena's Owl (Part Two) --> </a></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/p/the-cats-page.html">Back to The Cat's Page</a> </i>
<br />
<i></i></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>Guy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7153101505071915432.post-74063112799112503562018-04-25T12:08:00.000+01:002018-05-01T07:33:19.811+01:00Post Eastercon Blues<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi77GFZrB0-wrIbl8YAjkANpWQfgYFwPNqNyANDCkTkK7jcdP4JCCJORnrE8In5ej1BwBgRNTUIPkRIBAusB0WdfgknYB6ps7glBg1GLlZUFwIfBlv75Re1SWGRvJgLX_pTeD9pdxbJNSIW/s1600/Follycon1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1160" data-original-width="1546" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi77GFZrB0-wrIbl8YAjkANpWQfgYFwPNqNyANDCkTkK7jcdP4JCCJORnrE8In5ej1BwBgRNTUIPkRIBAusB0WdfgknYB6ps7glBg1GLlZUFwIfBlv75Re1SWGRvJgLX_pTeD9pdxbJNSIW/s400/Follycon1.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It
has occurred to me recently that my cat has been overtaking my Blog somewhat. With
my consent, it has to be said. But even so, the real Guy T. Martland is being
somewhat diluted behind his furry façade. Writing this blog post is my attempt
to wrest back some degree of control from the sharpened claws of my significant
alter ego. The Cat has made it clear what he got up to at Eastercon, but I
haven’t. So here’s my bit.</i>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
***</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
To tell you the truth, I always
find cons a bit difficult. The first one I went to I felt terribly alone and
miserable for about a day, until I finally found someone I knew. And whilst
things have moved on for me since then, I still suffer a degree of apprehension
about attending. Being 6 foot 8 and having what some people might term a posh
voice can make things somewhat difficult socially. I’m immediately shoved into
the generic public school boy ‘rugger bugger’ category. Which, as those who
know me, is really quite far from the truth. In addition, my height often
belies my confidence at such events. I’m really not much of a social animal: I
spend most of my life locked away in a lab looking at slides for goodness’ sake!
Talking to loads of people at once can thus come as a bit of a shock.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
There are a number of things that
have helped with cons. Firstly, the Milford thing. This has been an absolute
godsend when it comes to Eastercon and the like. Knowing that con stalwarts
such as Jacey Beford will be there to support you and introduce you to other
writers is wonderful. So, thank you Milford! And also, the friendships have
blossomed from Milford course themselves. In fact my old pal Philip A. Suggars’
attendance was one of the deciding factors in making the long trip up from the
South Coast to the darkest trappings of the North. Also, my wife seems to love
these things as well, and has made pals with some of the Milford lot. Even so,
I tend to stay at cons only a few days, finding a whole weekend just a bit too
much. But that could be because of the quantities of real ale consumed...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMiZgRRpEOw34H5Mt1B21sV1Euj5cCUMXdM89cO6FAB43KODst6oAD1CLeHcH5wsGdKe7hyVYu1gTU_ibZgqWlgS1IC-FM_j6N46jExHEjIgeX72LhXxfOpkq7cd86gjqz4n4YsMcIB8hk/s1600/Follycon4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMiZgRRpEOw34H5Mt1B21sV1Euj5cCUMXdM89cO6FAB43KODst6oAD1CLeHcH5wsGdKe7hyVYu1gTU_ibZgqWlgS1IC-FM_j6N46jExHEjIgeX72LhXxfOpkq7cd86gjqz4n4YsMcIB8hk/s400/Follycon4.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
I wasn’t on any panels or reading,
like last year. Just happy to be there, hanging around, soaking up the rarefied
atmosphere and feeling like a proper writer for a while. There were a number of
fine moments this year, which I’d like to share with you. Of course, every con
has magical moments, but these ten stuck out for me in particular.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimMHeaAaQZ9w01FaI5dg1eP0oBH90Q5uFuIqS3RZOEjQ4jO_Js800LxkX9H53t_H2OhgGAoIC28vfk3PURxUJbU2nw5wnV_KqlLts5M-HVp-7qAAAkhgMlMdO_zSArvvG9gkvYhEl4tQkn/s1600/Follycon2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimMHeaAaQZ9w01FaI5dg1eP0oBH90Q5uFuIqS3RZOEjQ4jO_Js800LxkX9H53t_H2OhgGAoIC28vfk3PURxUJbU2nw5wnV_KqlLts5M-HVp-7qAAAkhgMlMdO_zSArvvG9gkvYhEl4tQkn/s400/Follycon2.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "times new roman";"> </span></span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Attending the NewCon press book launch,
including the best of British SF 2017 book launch.</i> Seeing Mr Philip A. Suggars
in his pomp, soaking it all up behind the writers’ desk on the stage, was
fabulous. And I managed to get hold of a copy of Liz Williams’ Winterstrike
sequel, for which I’ve been waiting a long time.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "times new roman";"> </span></span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A very drunken Adrian Tchaikovsky telling me
how much he’d enjoyed my band.</i> Until he realised I wasn’t Jon Boden. And
that in fact the only thing I had in common with former Bellowhead chanteur was
a leather jacket. And a ridiculously handsome face. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "times new roman";"> </span></span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Simon Morden asking me if Dominic Dulley was
my significant other.</i> As much as Mr Dulley is a fine looking chap, he really isn't my type - thankfully, this slightly awkward situation was soon resolved. I
reminisced with Simon about the Noesis days, when we shared space in the short-lived
magazine. I think Dom, as a newbie author, seemed pleased to have some advice from
the seasoned Morden. Incidentally, Dom’s debut ‘Shattermoon’ comes out next
month on the Jo Fletcher books’ imprint and it is fabulous.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "times new roman";"> </span></span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Listening to Kim ‘Stan’ Stanley Robinson’s recollections
about his mate Iain Banks.</i> Until this point, I hadn’t realised they were
such good pals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stan recounted a
visit to Iain’s house in Queensferry, South Scotland. ‘Where shall we go to
lunch?’ asked Stan. ‘The Hebrides,’ Iain replied. And so it was, the meandering
roads of Scotland providing no match for Banks’ lightning reflexes behind the
wheel of his Porsche. And when it came for Stan to fly back, realising that
he’d got the wrong airport, Iain simply replied: ‘Good’. Because this meant
he’d have the opportunity to put his foot down and break the speed limit. Stan
made his flight.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3nu7-sz1lAZo5DUUKsbURs-y76En03UjyQiW8wg4Xh3Mt7vm4pYYoqxrKFeYzicrvaCDFpqP_ofYEjXfpvZT-h7kiOBe3vRTV8RwFqgFI-8nNLO6ckVS_0KyU4YeGzD9913O4sY6K5856/s1600/Blog8.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3nu7-sz1lAZo5DUUKsbURs-y76En03UjyQiW8wg4Xh3Mt7vm4pYYoqxrKFeYzicrvaCDFpqP_ofYEjXfpvZT-h7kiOBe3vRTV8RwFqgFI-8nNLO6ckVS_0KyU4YeGzD9913O4sY6K5856/s320/Blog8.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "times new roman";"> </span></span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Running the Harrogate ParkRun, with Simon
Morden and one of the guests of honour Christina Lake.</i> Well, I say running
with them, but the leisurely run around The Stray descended into a full on
endurance fest, when it became apparent that half the course was just a muddy bog.
People were losing shoes in the mire, others were just giving up. I persevered,
completed the course, and returned to the hotel with mud up to my waist.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "times new roman";"> </span></span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Getting Jeff Noon’s new novel signed.</i> He
tried to nick my pen because it was a Black Muji 0.5mm tip. By way of
explanation, he told me that he also wrote with those pens, hence why he’d
tried to lift mine. He then accused me of buying them all up which is why there
were never any left when he went shopping. Perhaps this explains the Noonisms
that appear in my prose when I jot in my notebooks with these implements.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "times new roman";"> </span></span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Catching up with Marcus Gipps who revealed
that there were a few old unpublished J. P. Martin novels which he was thinking
of kickstarting.</i> When asked what I was writing, I said something like:
‘been writing these cat stories.’ And didn’t really elaborate much further. Really
selling myself there to one of Gollancz’s prime editors, I reflected later...</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">8)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "times new roman";"> </span></span></span>S<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">eeing Peter F. Hamilton and Kim ‘Stan’
Stanley Robinson hugging each other in the bar. </i>Settling old grievances?
Rekindling their bromance? Or just happy to see one another?</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">9)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "times new roman";"> </span></span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Going for dinner with the most excellent Carl
Allery, who has been missing in action the last few Eastercons.</i> Lovely to
see him again. And we went to the most splendid and ridiculously ostentatious
curry house.</div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">10)</span></span>And
of course, hanging in the bar with Philip A. Suggars, Dominic Dulley, the
Morans, Sue Oke, Noel Chidwick, Tina Anghelatos, Jacey Bedford, Dave Allan,
Matt Colborn and a whole bunch of other Milford folk.</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
I also believe The Cat was active
over the weekend, posting all kind of nonsense. You can find it in the hijacked
parts of this blog, I’m sure.</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
We stopped at York on the way back.
Walking the walls, it struck me that York is very much George R. R. Martin’s Winterfell.
Well, he’s admitted before that he nicked Hadrian’s wall for ‘The Wall’ in
Westeros (England). In fact I heard this from the horses’s mouth at Worldcon a
few years ago (the con referred to at the top of this piece). So York as
Winterfell it isn’t such a stretch. Then we went to look at some trains, had
some more beer and went home.</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
And that was Follycon, 2018.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next year we return to the Ballardian
landscape of Heathrow. Martland will be once again stuck on his Concrete
Island. Actually, Balard’s protagonist was named Maitland. Close, but no
driving off the M4 into a decrepit wasteland populated by nutters just yet.
</div>
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</style><br />Guy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7153101505071915432.post-49656641569184969212018-01-20T14:13:00.003+00:002018-01-20T15:35:00.362+00:00Space Cold Wins<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnP5w3pldp9IXmYsI_zVoqJGfgjsdXhg9I7gPiAhgetF9JLhBe3x4_GbYGxjmZfooWkXQHZKDXjizu85lma7YnGrKbAXKndOf3mMoQwIBJG1wYPY2bK70sMAZ9lIqkU73WzNcDkOhyphenhyphens92c/s1600/PEPOLL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="150" data-original-width="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnP5w3pldp9IXmYsI_zVoqJGfgjsdXhg9I7gPiAhgetF9JLhBe3x4_GbYGxjmZfooWkXQHZKDXjizu85lma7YnGrKbAXKndOf3mMoQwIBJG1wYPY2bK70sMAZ9lIqkU73WzNcDkOhyphenhyphens92c/s1600/PEPOLL.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
'Space Cold' has come top of the Positive Future Short Story Category in the Preditors and Editors Annual Readers' Poll! Admittedly it was the only entry in its category, but I'll take it. Any excuse to have a few beers, basically.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUHvcFAK9UyCb-5tSzRGBD9XhQWaaLzOEyXC2mocWl3CfZYKe-H9auKwykOSoYph1EbyaZACRNC8L_8rnlD0a_wlcSGaPr3ElpTLc9k4UKxMYSYj0PtChg45WI-sEtgtccrcAp8xF0B56K/s1600/BEER.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUHvcFAK9UyCb-5tSzRGBD9XhQWaaLzOEyXC2mocWl3CfZYKe-H9auKwykOSoYph1EbyaZACRNC8L_8rnlD0a_wlcSGaPr3ElpTLc9k4UKxMYSYj0PtChg45WI-sEtgtccrcAp8xF0B56K/s320/BEER.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drinking some Space Cold beer, earlier...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Thanks to everyone who voted! And for the people who wrote these lovely comments:<br />
<br />
<i>'Having 5-starred The Scion and beta-read Lines of the Dead, I love
Guy's organic and sentient spaceships. His inspiration for revenge on
the 'cow' in Space Cold was inspired by the real-life horror story of
the blue dogs of Mumbai. But this story ends on a positive note -
something sorely needed in this market of dystopian SciFi.'</i><br />
<br />
<i>'Yet more brilliance from the Martland!'</i><br />
<br />
<i>'Inspiring work, great story and a fantastic way with words.'</i><br />
<br />
Link to the Critters Website (which will direct you to the story): <a href="http://critters.org/predpoll/final_tally_shortstoryposfut.ht">HERE</a><br />
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Guy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7153101505071915432.post-50187923540643699742017-08-31T20:14:00.001+01:002017-08-31T20:14:21.310+01:00Guy T. Martland is now on Steemit!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Q4lXRhnb-A0T5i3544BmhjM8gYdt8qFT8Qylzhsyyu5-Ft1cZC1eprtNkZ2nuwhoE6G6mhopVVLFdK97ej-AXbDF8sR36qDVDRupJG1S_hMkjmrLhemEutSfizavVmjbp1DPc_BViJb1/s1600/DSC04292.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Q4lXRhnb-A0T5i3544BmhjM8gYdt8qFT8Qylzhsyyu5-Ft1cZC1eprtNkZ2nuwhoE6G6mhopVVLFdK97ej-AXbDF8sR36qDVDRupJG1S_hMkjmrLhemEutSfizavVmjbp1DPc_BViJb1/s320/DSC04292.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">So I've taken the plunge and set up a Steemit account.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">For those of you who don't know what this is, it is a social media platform. But if your posts catch someone's eye and get upvoted, you accrue Steem dollars. </span><span style="color: magenta;">Do I understand how this works,
with the payments you get for posts? Not really, but I'm assured the
Steem dollars you get for an upvoted post can actually be turned into
hard cash... Possibly.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">As you can see, I'm still getting to grips with this, but so far it all seems pretty exciting. There are some very enthusiastic writers on this platform, who seem to be pretty encouraging. Writing competitions are flying around (see below) and there are a bunch of enthusiastic writer folk on board. I've only really dipped my toes into the ocean, but the water seems pretty temperate. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Guy's Steemit account: <a href="https://steemit.com/@guytmartland"><span style="color: magenta;">here</span></a> </span><br />
<span style="color: magenta;"></span><span style="color: magenta;"><br /></span><span style="color: magenta;"></span>
<span style="color: magenta;">So far I've put a few posts up - '<a href="https://steemit.com/sciencefiction/@guytmartland/time-out-at-the-cafe-metropole"><span style="color: magenta;">Time Out at the Cafe Metropole</span></a>', which featured in a 2014 issue of the legendary Perihelion SF, is getting another airing. I also added a story I wrote for one of the Steemit competition prompts, entitled '<a href="https://steemit.com/writing/@guytmartland/space-cold"><span style="color: magenta;">Space Cold</span></a>'. I didn't win, but received an honourable mention. And I also wrote another sort-of-story about <a href="https://steemit.com/writing/@guytmartland/an-author-s-battle-with-social-media"><span style="color: magenta;">battling social media</span></a>.</span><span style="color: magenta;"></span><br />
<span style="color: magenta;"></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">More to follow...</span><span style="color: magenta;"><br /></span><span style="color: magenta;"></span>Guy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7153101505071915432.post-55885865067952336082017-06-11T21:54:00.000+01:002017-06-11T22:33:58.668+01:00We Become Machine<style>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Art Show, 1963-77 (Environment aus Galeriemobiliar und 19 Figuren) - Edward Kienholz und Nancy Reddin Keinholz</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Technology’s advance, trampling across the first few decades of
this millennium, has been rampant, unstoppable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every day we plug into our machines and are bombarded with
countless pieces of information – more than we can ever properly absorb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People flick through information,
hardly ever reading to the end of an article.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Look at the tube – everyone stuck into their phones in the
morning, all silent and lost in a bubble of information.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In fact, we have become so dependent on our machines that
our memories just don’t work as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>How often have you tried to recall something, then instead just checked
Google?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This happens mid
conversation with some friends -<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ve even done it myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>‘Hang on, let me check the collective consciousness,’ I’ve quipped, to
stifle my slight embarrassment, to try and cover the hiatus in normal
conversation.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But hang on a minute… What has happened here?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s recap a little.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most human communities were hunter
gatherers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then came increased
agriculture, industrialisation and the move into big cities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could we really cope?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not so much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sheer size of our communities was confusing for our
brains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People were used to
running around but suddenly have sedentary lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We hadn’t properly evolved into such societies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But suddenly we were in the middle of
them, trying to cope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cue
diabetes, heart disease, mental health disorders and a whole host of other medical problems.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Now throw in tech.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And our increasing reliance on it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Another significant step change from our hunter gatherer
predecessors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No wonder our minds
are going crazy with this. Our tech is interrupting our normal human
interactions, changing us as humans, affecting our relationships and our
minds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And no wonder we are
getting addicted to our tech.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
it IS addictive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That feeling you
get when you look at the TV, then look at your phone, then back to the TV?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s dopamine, released by your basal
ganglia and causing pleasure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
an addictive pleasure at that – it is the same reward pathway associated with
heroin addiction.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Art Show, 1963-77 (Environment aus Galeriemobiliar und 19 Figuren) - Edward Kienholz und Nancy Reddin Keinholz</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When writing ‘Update 13.0’ all these thoughts were floating
around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was trying to envision
where our tech will take us next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Attending
the Keinholz exhibition in Berlin solidified some of the ideas in my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Keinholz was critical of many of the
facets of modern life and his strange chimeric human machine creations are a
reflection of this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It came as a shock to see his work, which preceded our modern day society, but to which we've been heedless. In Update 13.0 I came up
with a weird amalgam of our current tech and our biological form, which needless
to say has disastrous consequences: it is meant to function as a stark warning, similar to Keinholz's work.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But would it actually happen like this?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would our nervous systems be able to
cope with such a wetware interface?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Our current technologies prevent us
from sleeping properly, due to the blue light, the repeated stimulation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And as humans we need sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Poor sleep can cause a host of
disorders, from depression to poor glucose control and, some even suggest, obesity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And this is even before we talk about
the disruptive effects electromagnetic fields can have on the brain.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I’ve
been listening to the mindfulness tsar Burgs recently, who claims that even
plugging ourselves in for a short time can cause significant damage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that’s really it - we stop being
mindful, we lose ourselves in our phones and stop being aware of what is around
us. We lose the beauty of the
world, and instead become reliant on that dopamine fix.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Generations of people hooked on the
drug of information.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is our
version of Huxley's Soma, and it has crept upon us so quickly we haven't even really considered it; we've hardly had a chance to sit back for a moment and wonder whether this is actually a
good idea.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Art Show, 1963-77 (Environment aus Galeriemobiliar und 19 Figuren) - Edward Kienholz und Nancy Reddin Keinholz</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Update 13.0 is one scenario, but there are others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lavie Tidhar’s wonderful Central
Station, a Clarke award nominee this year, shows us tech a bit further along:
this has become so prevalent that if you aren’t enhanced, you are regarded as a
cripple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It isn’t hard to imagine
being regarded as a pariah if you don’t have a phone – I’ve seen people look
askance at those who have one of the older Nokias and refuse to update.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘You can’t get Facebook on your
phone?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What are you, some kind of
dinosaur?’</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">However, the floodgates have opened and now there is no turning back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But we need to be able to
deal with the flow of information, and somehow control the proliferation of technology before it harms us significantly as a species.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
For all Gate's genius, he didn't foresee the alternative consequences. </span>We need to take stock and consider the negative effects these new
technologies can have before we plunge headlong into a virtual reality, where
real human life no longer really exists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
As I see it, we are moving towards a worrying </span>singularity event. Every technology has its pros and cons, and whilst our current tech is useful, it isn’t part of the reason for our existence.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Step back, go outside, look at the trees, listen to the
birds. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Consider why you are
here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a big world out
there, outside the confines of your computer, your phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a reason mindfulness is
suddenly the rage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unplug for a
while and then you might, if you are lucky, start to live properly again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or maybe, if that is too much to ask,
put down your phone, pick up one of those paper books and read it to the end.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Art Show, 1963-77 (Environment aus Galeriemobiliar und 19 Figuren und Guy T. Martland mit iPhone) - Edward Kienholz und Nancy Reddin Keinholz</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Read Update 13.0 by Guy T. Martland here:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.disclaimermag.com/other-stuff/weekend-fiction-update-130-5248">Disclaimer Magazine </a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">
</span>Guy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7153101505071915432.post-57809679678562498182017-06-07T17:43:00.003+01:002017-06-07T17:57:42.857+01:00Update: Sequels, Stories, Readings, Speeches and Disclaimers<style>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The writer Guy T. Martland in action - Eastercon 2017.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After neglecting this blog for a while, I’m back - mostly in
response to those who have been asking me questions like: what have you been up to? how's the writing going? where's the sequel to The Scion? where can I buy your books from?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I'll attempt to answer a few of these questions in this post. Here you
go:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">December to March:
Putting the finishing touches to the sequel to The Scion.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I took the first 12K words or so of 'the sequel' to the Milford SF
conference last year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At this
stage the novel was pretty much complete.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But this process helped me align various thoughts about the plot, which
wound themselves together over the following few months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I had to add a few massive space
battles.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Being a regular at Milford I was ready for what the
collected writers would throw at me, but it went down pretty well, all things
considered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you are about to
get a bad crit, people present chocolate or beer – I wasn’t one of the
receivers this time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although in
previous years, I remember Bob Neilson (Albedo One) handing over a bottle of
ale, before proclaiming that he couldn’t stand my piece and that it was ‘Like
bloody Harry Potter in space.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I forgave
him when he published ‘The New Galvanism’.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">After The Scion was pulled from publication due to the small press
going the sad way of many small presses, I thought about consigning its
sequel to the dustbin. But I kept being asked about what happened
next... </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In any case, I couldn’t have written 'the sequel' - in fact I might not have even got started
- without the encouragement and help of many people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of note, Carol Kean from Perihelion SF, who was so enamoured
with a particular species in The Scion that she begged to see more of
them: having annihilated their
planet in The Scion, this wasn’t without problems, but I found a way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d like also to thank Liam
Orchard-Webb for his infectious enthusiasm and kind words about The Scion,
which inspired me to get back on the sequel’s horse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So 'the sequel' is now complete.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> D</span>espite it being a standalone (i.e. you don't have to have read The Scion), it is still a sequel. And with The Scion is still floundering in limbo without a
publisher, will it ever make it out there into the big wide world?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who knows…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To paraphrase GRRM, I may not ever get another book
published, but I sure as hell am going to write one.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Following on from this, the process of editing and
re-editing this book did spark something in me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had been planning to finish this up and move onto pastures
new, but ideas kept coming and before I knew it, I’d been bitten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am now embarking on the third installment
of Mr Septimus Esterhazy, complete with shapeshifting aliens, hideous alien
creatures, warts and all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Basically, I couldn’t resist – I was having too much fun.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Oh, and by the way 'the sequel' now also has a title: LINE OF THE DEAD.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb2_M4L2vjEUrQ8CHo__e9U8tEAMPx5VvyYCPgGNLT-0bDukGnjnlyjWBzFHHp93bh8NdbOsF-dufWaJG2O7dad5ueuwUeh1HZ98dRxqUhkBNgneuFLS_wVn4BZfg3TJmL-c30daz5vof6/s1600/IMG_9355.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb2_M4L2vjEUrQ8CHo__e9U8tEAMPx5VvyYCPgGNLT-0bDukGnjnlyjWBzFHHp93bh8NdbOsF-dufWaJG2O7dad5ueuwUeh1HZ98dRxqUhkBNgneuFLS_wVn4BZfg3TJmL-c30daz5vof6/s320/IMG_9355.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">March Monday Midday Murakami.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">More from March:</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">While procrastinating about LOTD, mostly reading rather than writing, I'd started going through
some old stories and was beginning to put them together as a collection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d been meaning to do this for ages,
and with a week off work, my wife away, this seemed like a perfect time to take
stock of my short story history.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Gordon the cat didn’t seem to object much either – he is always busy
writing another bestseller, putting my efforts to shame.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The collection pulls together stories from 1996 to the
present. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went for a
chronological order, followed by author’s notes or epigrams, whatever you want
to call them (hopefully not epitaphs).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of the stories intersect
with The Scion, some don’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
number have been published over the years, a number haven’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The early ones seem to have stood the
test of time, although a spring clean was necessary in a few cases: tricky,
that, trying to add a lick of paint but maintain the original feel of the
piece.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’m pretty happy with
the way it all turned out.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkGp1KRSdQKdhMREXjAuVlra0EMaLpw6D55Y8RuLe6nAyY_ztU4TsmB4Byk385ZaxHk4xUK5PRK9KOSeDlABb1OYH-6XKoo4kXAdU8sJuoT5WxfY264vQfncBm9D-LDbig9N19M4xL8TMH/s1600/IMG_9108+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1104" data-original-width="1600" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkGp1KRSdQKdhMREXjAuVlra0EMaLpw6D55Y8RuLe6nAyY_ztU4TsmB4Byk385ZaxHk4xUK5PRK9KOSeDlABb1OYH-6XKoo4kXAdU8sJuoT5WxfY264vQfncBm9D-LDbig9N19M4xL8TMH/s400/IMG_9108+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">From L to R: David L. Clements, Arthur Chapell, Aliette de Bodard, Arthur Chappell, Guy T. Martland, Donna Scott</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">April: Eastercon</i></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I’ve been to Eastercon, the British Science Fiction Association’s
big annual bash, for the past few years, but have mostly been content to prop
up the bar, chat to the Milford writers and let the whole thing wash over
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But with a sense that I should
be doing something a bit more constructive, perhaps getting involved somehow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So when I was asked to read for the Shoreline of Infinity
event this year, I leapt at the opportunity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My story ‘Approaching 43,000 Candles’ had appeared in the
inaugural issue of Shoreline.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For
those of you who haven’t read it, it is about a bunch of lighthouses going to a
conference in Birmingham, having partly been inspired by a visit there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kismet had decided that this year’s Eastercon
was also in Birmingham, so it seemed appropriate that I should read some of it.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2YOt5hLn9cwckPRd0kuzEukFMGFbOevb2QgbkwIjQY7Cax5xUfK5H14AmqCM-S0I7hBO9oh7No8J_zl2LL2c5wtW8RWYceIUfn5H_yImQ9bcXsMfacynwlcJCVwArDmnNQUpSo9uzDpqj/s1600/PGHN9935.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2YOt5hLn9cwckPRd0kuzEukFMGFbOevb2QgbkwIjQY7Cax5xUfK5H14AmqCM-S0I7hBO9oh7No8J_zl2LL2c5wtW8RWYceIUfn5H_yImQ9bcXsMfacynwlcJCVwArDmnNQUpSo9uzDpqj/s320/PGHN9935.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Doctor: last seen in Bos Vegas</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Not having done any readings since back in Bristol when I
used to do poetry open mic nights, this meant practising: my wife grew weary of
hearing the first part of this during the preceding week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the day, it turned out we weren’t on until about 9pm,
having been knocked back by Doctor Who, the first episode of the new series
being shown at the conference.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not
that I mind Doctor Who being my support act, but… it did mean I had to forgo
the vast selection or real ales on offer until after the gig.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> (I rarely do well on Dutch Courage, just turns me into a slurring mess.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Anyway, despite a few nerves, it all went well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a pleasure to feature alongside
such luminaries as David Clements, Arthur Chappell, Aliette de Bodard, Andrew
Wilson and Donna Scott.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And on the
plus side, according to Noel from Shoreline, we managed to shift a few copies
of issue 1.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlTmdFTVsh-c2wbDBZyNtC3cjOrYC6l8rxkoYd7cFT43RFBrF719h6NdZv0lNf6oO6cQmPT5vLJWsMleKM9aTeX7fyb882mq-PHWLCXHSHZbVu9qurYy0Iua-RNnz_SCjXsXjCcdIkMarb/s1600/IMG_9105+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlTmdFTVsh-c2wbDBZyNtC3cjOrYC6l8rxkoYd7cFT43RFBrF719h6NdZv0lNf6oO6cQmPT5vLJWsMleKM9aTeX7fyb882mq-PHWLCXHSHZbVu9qurYy0Iua-RNnz_SCjXsXjCcdIkMarb/s320/IMG_9105+%25281%2529.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Editor (Noel Chidwick of Shoreline) and Author catch up in the bar.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">May: Speeches and Disclaimers</i></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I’d been a best man before, but not for many years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having to write a speech for one of
your best friends, whom you’ve known for 30 years is a tough ask.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And very different from writing science
fiction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing like a prompt to
start you writing though…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The groom warned the guests beforehand that because I was a
science fiction writer, nothing I said was necessarily to be believed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, with 30 years of stories, it
wasn’t necessary to veer too far from Earth, or indeed into other
dimensions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although I had used the venue for a short story a few years back. I was pleased when
someone came up to me afterwards and slurred: ‘You can tell you are a
writer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve never heard the word
‘nuanced’ used in a best man speech before.’ I told the drunken guest that I'd actually said spaceship and they'd misheard.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKNly6lTGgWEQ8JRe2yo4TL777CwYUult4_HpGrghzaXw3puiropRTuo0rxAtwKekk9qcBbpChf-_rPk_rqn2zn3NKnvvtMzXpZbmeuuZg12SloEGQmZg3l494rHjKFc8aCAwEyyFNG_tJ/s1600/IMG_9307.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKNly6lTGgWEQ8JRe2yo4TL777CwYUult4_HpGrghzaXw3puiropRTuo0rxAtwKekk9qcBbpChf-_rPk_rqn2zn3NKnvvtMzXpZbmeuuZg12SloEGQmZg3l494rHjKFc8aCAwEyyFNG_tJ/s400/IMG_9307.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Balconic Solent Vista. And a nice day for a wedding. Pier and gardens as featured in my story 'The Leather Bracelet'.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On the same day as the wedding, just after the speech, sat somewhere on right of the photo above, I got
an email through to inform me that my story ‘Update 13.0’ had been published by
Disclaimer Magazine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m intending
to blog more about this over the weekend, but for the time being, you can find
it here:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.disclaimermag.com/other-stuff/weekend-fiction-update-130-5248">Update 13.0</a> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And that is it, November to the end of May in just over a
thousand words.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>Consider yourself
Updated.</span></div>
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</span>Guy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7153101505071915432.post-57380685253875769102016-11-06T23:03:00.000+00:002018-03-11T23:22:21.483+00:00The Flock: Here Be Monster Munches...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguzhlt5KrAiWtmykKGk_fP5-olgUNFU1FBt0PaabkD9gNwCofrUvSFO6Co5V6CLc5BQ_UX57Zsg7vCoHOrWi5v-T77WLsKdJNL8WtGSCrRv3NuJIpcJ67MGC0rKfCUyO9UUOQomBMC4bHh/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguzhlt5KrAiWtmykKGk_fP5-olgUNFU1FBt0PaabkD9gNwCofrUvSFO6Co5V6CLc5BQ_UX57Zsg7vCoHOrWi5v-T77WLsKdJNL8WtGSCrRv3NuJIpcJ67MGC0rKfCUyO9UUOQomBMC4bHh/s400/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="323" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some Monster Munch, this evening...</td></tr>
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<br />
So I am delighted to announce that my new story, 'The Flock' has been published by the lovely folks over at The Singularity! It shimmered into being a week or so ago on their website. You can read it here:<br />
<br />
The Flock <i>(I'm afraid this link no longer works - GTM 11.03.18)</i><br />
<br />
I came up with the original idea for this story after I'd visited an Antony Gormley exhibition at the Hayward gallery in London. Casts of his body were strewn around the South Bank, tottering on the edges of rooftops, and I gather causing some alarm: a few calls to the police from members of the public about men about to jump... The work was called 'Event Horizon', a suitable SFnal title.<br />
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The visit had piqued my imagination and The Flock was born a few weeks later. Or at least, a rudimentary outline thereof. I'd just moved down to the South Coast and had found a new writers' group, hoping it would be similar to the diverse, outward-looking one I'd had to leave in Bristol. But it couldn't have been more different.<br />
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For some reason, the glossy magazines strewn around, containing stories entitled 'The Violin Man' and 'Heartbreak in the Hospital', didn't register until later. Excitedly clutching the first few pages of The Flock, when it was my turn, I read them out loud. Whilst it left most of the group cold, some recoiled in horror. It seemed that I had misjudged their collective imagination. Afterwards, the woman who ran the group, somewhat insultingly, even asked me if I'd had my CRB* checked. I left, appalled, and didn't return. Luckily my faith in writing groups was soon restored by the wonderful Milford SF Conference.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I got wrapped up in writing The Scion and then Machine Songs, and The Flock was shelved. Returning to it brought back recollections of that dire evening. But I persevered, and the story changed into its current form, through various iterations.<br />
<br />
Since it has been published, there have been some great comments about my use of a popular crispy snack in the story. This didn't appear in the original draft I read at the godawful writers' group, which might have been the problem. Anyway, I fully intend that from now on, I use Monster Munch in all future fiction. Or at least during its creation...<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>*Criminal Records Bureau - for those outside the UK, new employers run your details through their system to make sure they haven't got a criminal record, etc. Now known as a Disclosure Check.</i>Guy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7153101505071915432.post-51859244553169737072016-07-02T12:32:00.000+01:002016-07-02T12:35:41.494+01:00Milford Blog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://milfordsfwriters.wordpress.com/2016/06/21/alastair-reynolds-on-milford/"><img alt="https://milfordsfwriters.wordpress.com/2016/06/21/alastair-reynolds-on-milford/" border="0" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Wurb42S-7NY44Oq3hPEC83S20hF3KuEbYX0ed_6CF8hPS59R4Jw3p3nD__FpXJ9SlCZZjy7Lg1SGJY9BXAy82jP1z5V2dCmB9aCU9OZWAr4lvGe9LvFTlAOXJHLOgmZ-r3xg2wVNUmOB/s400/Milford+SF.jpg" title="" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The new <a href="https://milfordsfwriters.wordpress.com/2016/06/21/alastair-reynolds-on-milford/">Milford SF Writers' Conference Blog</a> site kicks off with a lovely
piece by Al Reynolds (Revelation Space, other SF blockbusters).</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> I first went to the Welsh incarnation of Milford in <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" target="_blank">2012</a>, after which I was entrusted with the <a href="http://www.milfordsf.co.uk/2012.htm" target="_blank">annual report</a>. Then once I'd got the bug, I returned in 2014; some more words about that one <a href="http://www.guytmartland.co.uk/2014/09/i-am-not-number-i-am-free-man.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My story <a href="http://www.fictionvortex.com/2014/06/words-of-war/" target="_blank">Words of War </a>came out of 2012, as did a very rudimentary version of the first few chapters of the now finished (but as yet unpublished) Machine Songs. And in 2014? Well ... you'll have to wait! Needless to say on both occasions, I made some fantastic writer friends, ate lots of vegetarian nosh and explored Mordor; some beers might also have been consumed.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> And I'm back again this September for more writing related shenanigans.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Here is a screenshot from the Milford Success Stories page. Keeping some distinguished company there:</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ03-osm2wc5HcTngnPCjD0vEjJNTb7WmkaAfutFj8ZLbbH6-iHpXkSJ5fA4sLgiBIR74u1Rm3FPs2OxAZxwuCoO9unluK0eVz419qSdvmo2Yu-23H_xbORLoo-Pokjzbsnzf8ZW8ruIAO/s1600/Milford+Success+Stories.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="102" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ03-osm2wc5HcTngnPCjD0vEjJNTb7WmkaAfutFj8ZLbbH6-iHpXkSJ5fA4sLgiBIR74u1Rm3FPs2OxAZxwuCoO9unluK0eVz419qSdvmo2Yu-23H_xbORLoo-Pokjzbsnzf8ZW8ruIAO/s400/Milford+Success+Stories.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />Guy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7153101505071915432.post-53943410638026282412016-06-29T20:28:00.001+01:002016-11-06T19:41:25.003+00:00Dancing Around The Monolith<br />
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<a href="http://www.disclaimermag.com/other-stuff/weekend-fiction-dancing-around-the-monolith-3676" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.disclaimermag.com/other-stuff/weekend-fiction-dancing-around-the-monolith-3676" border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxq_buytIXzOro43DqX0wDGFWmHh008bYsSIGNkRPznajLHQiSyCQqsj21EPrjUvklm7ds6ZbTAFIN-FVnTMkTsS2D9vmtVWgHBaLgI56BtS9z6adzbeNQuDF9NQSK-RODknx1bZU1JnIV/s640/imDisclaimer.jpg" title="" width="288" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Seismic events: the referendum, Game of Thrones and, of course, the latest Guy T. Martland short story...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">The lovely folks at Disclaimer Magazine published my story 'Dancing Around The Monolith' a few days back. Although it feels like weeks as that referendum thing happened in between it being published and me posting this...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">They kindly tweeted about it lots at the time, but in case you missed it, you can check it out <a href="http://www.disclaimermag.com/other-stuff/weekend-fiction-dancing-around-the-monolith-3676" target="_blank">here</a>. Or by clicking on the picture to your left/above/in another dimension (depending on how you are viewing this). </span><br />
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<br />Guy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7153101505071915432.post-83923346728301891142016-05-29T00:23:00.001+01:002016-05-29T00:23:05.458+01:00New Story 'Kite' published by Nebula Rift!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.fictionmagazines.com/shop/nebula-issues/nebula-rift-vol-04-no-04/" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.fictionmagazines.com/shop/nebula-issues/nebula-rift-vol-04-no-04/" border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm2eEafAVgkNzeA10Q0lNN6wa__hXHarLTd7SgVnUx1E-TH8-7dcAxo6_2TF9CMGgklklxn5tL1clpe52cLyYjKlU8smQWJEfTU8sncwzqYtjoVGpCU-ZsrPZEb-gum3i1D63DfUDgCXKl/s640/Nebula+Rift+Vol+04.+No.+04.jpg" width="484" /></a></div>
<br />Guy T Martlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15837026477440038671noreply@blogger.com0